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I hold her in my arms.
And I tell her about all of it. The fights, the helplessness, the hurt. I tell her about the things they screamed at each other. I tell her about the battles they fought and the wars that were waged in our kitchen, our living room, our hallways. I tell her about the shards of wreckage I picked up every night, and how they could not be hidden from my siblings.
I hold her in my arms.
And I tell her about how I've blocked it all out. I tell her about how my siblings still carry the wounds from the broken glass scattered across the floor and how I try to offer bandages. I tell her about how hard it is to bandage after I moved to college. I tell her about how I had to surrender, how I am recuperating.
I hold her in my arms.
And I tell her about how I wished it had been worse. How angry I am at myself for wishing that. I tell her how I long for it to be over, how I know it will never be. I tell her about how I still shrink when someone just walks into a room angry. I tell her that I don't know what to do.
I hold her in my arms.
And I pull her in tighter so she can't look up and see the tears that I can't stop. And I pray for relief.
I hold her in my arms.
And I try to protect this one shard of beauty that I've found in the midst of my shattered world.
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ReplyThis is super nice. And so deep. Wow
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