She sat by the porch at the wee hours of the morning, only to find herself reliving it all over again…Not the happy memories, but the stings, the pain, the heartaches. Tears welled up unannounced.
It was all so clear in her memory, that she could strip her soul bare to the buff, and tell you the story behind each of the scars—even the tiniest ones. If she were a writer, she’d have strung together words, thoughts and emotions to weave them into a novel—from those big scars. And there could be endless short stories from those tiny ones—the ones that she’s been brushing aside, systematically, over the years. Twenty-four years seemed like a long time to even try to forget everything that had gone wrong with her life. Or should it be—their lives?
Even a little talent would do if she were to be a writer, but the real challenge now was the ability to remember the story behind every single scar, before she could pen down her story.
Years of pain had numbed her soul and erased her memories, even though, she still had flashes from the past visiting every now and then. On the days that she felt brave, she went scouring down the labyrinth of her mind, through dark alleys and ragged pathways, scrounging every sliver of memory, including those that she had dunked in her tears and drowned within her caged soul.
On most days, courage failed her as she strove to put pen to paper. But when the first rays of the dawn arrived on her porch each morning, hope glimmered.
On the other days, she reminded herself—
“Remember to breathe”.