Oh, that furious walk. Crossing down the hall. Heavy and angry steps. Poisoned tongue. She still has it. We have also learned. Oh, we’ve mastered it. To defend and to attack. Her heart and her lung are getting weaker. She stressed out her stomach. Acid kept coming back. She does have courage and confidence. She has trouble in determining right and wrong. She lies. Says one thing and does another. Like every catholic.
Maybe she thought her body was enough, and he couldn’t help her with that. Diet pills. All the pills. Let’s be fancy and “take care of ourselves”. She feels taken care of when she takes those pills. She feels like she’s in control. That’s why she had to be the owner of the money.
I wish she had more love than violence. I wish she wasn’t so affected by her losses. I feel like I’m a part of her - because literally I am. He said she tried to kill me. I blame society. He screwed up and than he saved me - as he told. Can’t picture what kind of mess they were in to. She had to get married.
I understand the pressure. I understand being objectified as a target for their angry. They couldn’t be faithful. They didn’t recognize each other as human and vulnerable. They had to be strong. I’ve been told a thousand times to swallow my tears. They tried to hurt each other. They did it. They hurt themselves. I got hurt. I still hurt.
But there is also love. And kindness. She still believes in partnering. I thank her and my grandfather for bringing me this kind of faith. They both still have violence on them. They speak this language. I’m trying to unlearn.
Love is a way of treating others.
And ourselves.
It takes effort to keep walking through this path.
