Yesterday
Journal of Odelle,
I couldn’t speak anymore when the love of my life died in my arms. Words have forever failed me, and up until that day I was okay with that. But when I felt his body grow cold in my arms, and his last shaky breathe leave his lungs, the english language buried it’s self in a forbidden part in my mind. There was so much pain stabbing at me that it permeanately muted me. I’m in a world drenched in sounds, and yet I can’t utter a single sylloble.
After his death, I hid away. Or at least I tried. Where could you go when everywhere you turn is a lost memory of the one that is no longer here? My silence and unwillingness to try anymore drew people to me who thought I needed help. When I didn’t. Those people came to me like I was a baby a second away from having a melt down. And it wasn’t like that. My lips were sealed because what is there to say when life has punched all the words out of you? How could I try to be the lady I was before he popped into my life if he made me into the lady I am... was.
People didn’t get that.
They felt sorry for me, yet their emotions couldn’t spand that far because they have never tasted bereavement like I have. When they go home, and I am out of their sights, they’re placed back in their perfect utopia. And I... I sit alone in a crowded room wondering when my time would come. Begging for my time to hurry. Praying that when I wake, I'll be in the angelic arms of my lover.
But when morning came, I was still in pain. Still living with agony clinging on my heart. Filling the sting with every beat. And still, no one could ever see that. They only see a teenager grieving her boyfriend; the cover to this tragic novel, and never do they open that book to see all that strangles me during every waking day. They're blind to the world wearing me out like an old pair a jeans. One tug away from ripping apart.
I could explain to them how I feel, and make it simple. But I can’t speak, never could even with my voice. Meaningful words just seem to never appear when I need them the most. But now, they’re imprisoned. Even if I tried to speak... or scream, there would be no point. All I would do is state the obvious and leave all that care for me to stare at that cover.
That’s why I’m writing this. To let go of all that holds me down.
