Something died inside me last week. I find myself smiling at people as though everything is okay, but it's not. My smile might as well be carved in pumpkin. Soon enough it's gonna start to rot and you'll see it smashed along the side of the road with the other fake smiles.
But, I have it good. While the pain I feel is drawn on my face with washable marker, I see it carved in stone elsewhere. Everyone sees and thinks that s/he is exhausted. I wish that was the case. It's more than that.
S/he has been changed and irreversibly so.
What happened was cruel and worse than I could ever imagine. I was angry when I heard and can see myself yelling at you. Why didn't you call me?! Why didn't you call me?
I could have come; I could have done something...I couldn't have done a thing. You were raped.
I couldn't have been there then, but I'm here now. You walk with the weight of a heavy secret and even worse is the pain from keeping it. If I could put a band-aid on it I would.
It hurts so bad to watch you suffer. But know this, you did the right thing by talking to the police. Maybe, just maybe...someone else won't find themselves writing about the pain of knowing because of what you did.
I listen to people gripe day in and day out about misleading sales signs, bad weather, noisy kids and I smile...
My pumpkin carved smile can only go so far as to cover the howling within.
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