They were heavy on her back.
Dirty and matted from years of misuse.
They were a burden, really.
But without them, she would not be whole physically.
Without them she would always feel like they were there.
They aren’t supposed to be used as a prison.
They are the way to freedom and light.

She understood this.
She didn’t believe it.
How could she have faith in something
she was unable to find within herself?
It was safer somehow,
though no longer easy,
to fold herself inside.

She knew it was childish,
Thinking if she couldn’t see,
she couldn’t be seen.
If she let herself be honest,
admitting she was not invisible,
she might never come out again.
The self deception helped her survive.

Who was she to deny her nature,
she wondered one day.
She no longer believed they would work
but she started to pull out the things tangled, matted, useless.
She brought them into the light she herself was afraid to feel.
In that light, she found they were only.
Just only. Painful, sad, hurtful… but only.

She petted them and dirt fell away.
She ran her fingers through them and knots loosened.
She stroked until they started to gleam,
reflecting the light, taking on warmth, coming alive.
She was scared but it proved she was not dead inside.
She moved them, ever so slightly, and felt the air under them.
She felt the sores that had formed there weep and heal.

She didn’t know if she could stretch them.
She didn’t know if they would betray her,
as if resentful of her treatment all these years.
She didn’t know, but she felt.
She felt a stirring in her heart.
She felt it opening to the truth.
She felt, and that was enough.

The Eclectic Pen - Wings

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