“...the outcast, the untouchable, the beauty invisible, yet the blemishes so visible...”
Everyday begins the same. I stand here unveiling every part of me, searching for her acceptance. A search which is never ending. I see her everyday, some days more than once. But it always ends the same, her turning away.
I feel her touch, but she doesn’t touch me.
Her fingers linger over me, tracing our history and uncovering the depths of our pain. She obsesses over my errors, reminding herself of why she must let me go. Why am I only worth my mistakes? If only she could feel my soul, she’d feel the scars that I endured for her. I’m the warrior who has fought through battles beside her, who has sheltered her in homeless times.
I hear her, but she doesn’t hear me.
She sits on the ground and turns her back away from me, reminding me that I only ever bring her down. She buries her fingers in her hair and hangs her head low. She begins to think out loud and reminisce our journey. Even though she knows the answer, she questions where it all went wrong. She takes herself back to our childhood, it was where the battles first began. She narrates the tales of disappointment and disapproval; it was the same hymn that she always sang. As it all comes rushing back, she begins reprimanding me but I don’t take offence, I know they’re not her words. If only she could hear me, I would set ablaze those very words with a victorious song. Then with the ashes of those remains I would paint a better picture of myself in her eyes.
I see her, but she doesn’t see me.
Her eyes are bare, but heavy as she stares at the floor finding the courage to look at me. She takes sneaky glances, looking at just a fragment. Still refusing eye contact, she angles herself sideways and arches her back. Taking a deep breath, she clutches onto her clothes. What is she trying to do? Why is she trying to change me?
Slowly she comes closer, keeping her eyes on the ground. After a few moments of hesitation, she looks at me. Her eyes are are full of unspoken words that speak to me in a million ways, they always have. When she looks at me she sees the outcast, the untouchable, the beauty invisible, yet the blemishes so visible. Disappointed she averts her gaze. Why did I let her look away? Why did I let her go? If only she would recognise me, she would see that I’m a celebration of her life, I’m the fire to her passion, I’m the power to her soul.
So tomorrow will begin as any other day, she will return to see more flaws and I will return to see her beauty. But even if the search seems endless, I have faith that one day this battle will be over and victory will dance in her eyes. Until then, I remain invisible to her, hidden behind the sanctuary of pain.