That last goodbye…

For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Michael challenged me with “?”But part of grace is not speaking-like the silent ballerina.” -Courtney Love” and I challenged Katelynn with “‘Damn that teacher. I should have gotten an F and she’s given me an A+'”
 
This post has been difficult for me to think of. The challenge was very different, and when I knew what to write, putting it down hasn’t been any easier, for this is not entirely a fiction.


It wasn’t love that brought them together, but a dream. One her parents saw for her, and she also accepted.

Before today, I had seen her last at the marriage reception. She had looked pretty. I had teased her a lot, made her laugh. I saw her final tears as she left her mother’s hand and went to her in-laws home – her new home.

It all began well. When she called after a few days, she told me she was happy. Her laughter hadn’t changed, and she was living her dreams too; but her husband doused her dreams and laugher quickly.

His abuse wasn’t physical – yet. She was sensitive, and began to lose herself slowly. Her calls stopped, she became recluse. And when the elastic of her emotions finally broke, she called again. Her voice was changed, and from her voice, I could make out she was in tears. She talked of extreme steps, but I made her understand that it wasn’t the right one. There was no firmness to her voice, but she told me, she knew what she had to do – her parents needed her more.

She moved back with her parents a few days after that call. Every day, she called me. The first few days, she was in tears, and I heard her out… told her she was right. I never let go of that support that I knew she really required. Best friends forever… we both were. Forever hadn’t ended.

Today, I was with her. As they walked away in separate directions, she couldn’t say goodbye. She just looked at him, as he drove away with his family.

But part of grace is not speaking – like the silent ballerina. If that was true, then it was true that her eyes spoke too. When she looked at me, there was mixed emotions in them.

There was relief, that she could make a right decision before it all went wrong; but they spoke of her dreams, which never came to fruition.


(March 23rd, 2012)

Poetry & writing to me are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

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