When the anger fades, what am I left with? Scars that nobody could see, things only I could feel. There was too much shame in saying that I was hurt, that I scraped my knee when others got amputated. But the hurt was too much but I couldn’t stop living so I covered them under layers of skin until the scar tissue made it impossible to move. At that point I stretched myself so thin trying to be everything to everyone. My skin began to tear, ripping me open all over again. Connective tissue snapping. Searing pain and blood consumed me again and for a moment… I was warm.
But it never lasts. Once it cools and clings to my skin leaving me a greater mess than before. I clean myself up watching it all run off into the drain revealing a body covered in skin with no perceivable wounds. Back where we started.
But this time it’s different. I don’t need to prove anything to people who didn’t ask or care in the first place. I don’t care if you know what you did was wrong, or if it eats away at you. Though I have an inkling it does because of the destructive behaviors you always run towards. I pity our situation, it’s rather unfortunate.
Great men have spoken about forgiveness but sooner or later all men must die. While my heart still beats in my chest I know that this man made concept of “forgiving” is going to remain a mystery.
But I wake up in the morning and know that people who genuinely love me are near. People are excited to see me. I have hopes and dreams that I’m working toward. And the day they come true, you will have faded to a speck of dust in the back of my mind. I’ll carry you with me for the rest of my days but just as a backstory, no detail, no names. No pictures. No credits. Just a memory.
That is a peace I wish you could know.
I know I’ve been away and I’m sorry for being inconsistent but I’m not sorry for stepping away. I needed to for sake of everything that I am and ever wish to be. For the future I want to have, the life I want to live.
I have read too many books where you can feel the pain the author is still living with. The way the characters are written and how they respond. Using your own experiences isn’t the issue, Gods know I plan to. But the last thing I ever want to do to my readers, the people who trust me to tell them a story, is to use you all to cope. Being maladaptive is not the goal.
I want my words to heal something, even if its the seemingly smallest thing for one person. I would be over the moon. I want to you to read a dark romance but the darkness is from the world around them not the way they love each other. I want you to read about characters who save themselves and accept help when they need it. I want to give you a respite in a world of fantasy and wonder. Something that will make you laugh.
I’m looking forward to getting to know myself and slowly introducing her to you all.
Thank you for bearing with me.
Constance Persephone 
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