Many times we hate ourselves for being alone. We blame ourselves for the many times we opened ourselves up to people who didn't understand enough to stay. Sometimes we give up and give in to defeat and silence, strengthening our pain and our shame. We live inside the corners of ourselves for the fear of being discovered for what we are. Broken. Hurt. Damaged.
A lesson I learnt; "Don't mock a pain you have not endured". Halima gave in midnight showers. Something about the way the water reassured her that she was not alone even when she still had to face her lonely cold bed. She'd curl up and cry her eyes out for the people she trusted enough to see the real her. The people she wanted to stay. The ones who didn't. She gave into songs with lyrics that cut her deeper than knives. Songs that made her remember who she was. Lonely. She belonged too deeply to herself to belong to anyone now.
Nobody could want to be with her like she did. Or understand her like she did. Yet they wondered why she didn't blossom like the other flowers, why she didn't blush foolishly like the other girls. Like Mariam who blushed and laughed in her high pitched voice to everyman's joke. Who made them feel like the men they were. They flocked around her like bees. She never knew a lonely bed. Halima believed in love enough to try to be honest. She told each man of her burden. Of how her father crept in her room every night after she turned thirteen. How her mother was to lost to want to notice. How she bore scars that wouldn't heal. No one wanted a damaged girl. Some laughed waving her tale off. All of them ran.
Tonight she's fading away to memories. She's fading away to her own darkness. Somehow she wanted the comfort her own death would give her. She slit her wrists and laughed at her own pain in the same mocking way they all did till the red filled her bath tub
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