From Brick Wall to Rubble.

There was this girl, a time ago. She had visions of how her life should have gone, looking out windows from time to time dreaming of what would have been, could have been. Always keeping her head above water, this girl always knew that she had to be strong, hard; she had to be cold to be able to live. She couldn’t let anyone in. She was living a life punishing her for the mistakes that others had made along with her. She made them herself, but she did not make them alone. She was embittered, wounded though she made it though. Day in and day out, she made the beds, meals. She mended the “war” scars and kissed the boo-boos. She read “Where the wild Things are” at least a thousand times as they drifted off to sleep, keeping the ringer off because she never dared let anyone in her time. She let a few in, mistakenly thinking that it was ok. Friends, others- she should have known better. Now, here in the present-she has become a woman. Still making meals, beds are made not by her but by the growing ones that stand before her no longer needing as much from her but still needing. Battles are more present then kissing boo-boo’s as hormones rage and muscles are flexed. This now woman as become a bit warmer in her age, she has turned on her ringer, opening her world even though that thought still scares her still makes her wonder if anyone really wants to be apart of this. She has started taking down the wall that she so painstaking built, harden by years she picks at it daily realizing that she needs to. That she has waited so long to be able to do this that she owes to them to her to break it down. She never thought she would utter those words, the phrases, but she has. It felt good, and for once she actually smiled.