They say Time is a healer.
It's a nice idea to hang on to, to repeat as a mantra while you close your eyes tight and wrap your arms around a shaking body. To whisper in the darkness when tears are streaming down your swollen cheeks, when you reach a hand out in front of you to make sure that face you see leaning over you, isn't actually there.
But when does time actually arrive, when do you wake up and suddenly realise you are healed? Tomorrow? Next week? 10 years time? The answer is never. We will never fully heal, there'll always be something to remind us of the things that really hurt us.
A friend resting his hand on your arm, leaning in, laughing at the joke you just told. He doesn't understand why you jump back, laughter replaced by intense silence, and start rubbing the spot he touched - like you're infected.
Or when you're in a queue, and some guy walks past smelling of alcohol and you suddenly can't breathe, vision blurring and you're back in a dirty bus station, or being dragged into trees.
It's funny how people nod and smile, that stupid smile that's supposed to mean they sympathise but really says "You poor thing, I'm glad it wasn't me."
Why do they always assume that because it happened 4 years ago the first time, or 2 years since the last, that I should be over it?
Here's a smile for you
see, I'm obviously okay,
oh no, I never ever think
about those awful days.
So you can exhale now,
and laugh and say "that's good,
because I always had to pretend
that I fully understood"
And while we sip our coffee
In your eyes I read, relief
So I'll smile and then look down
hiding tears of grief.
Ignore me.
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