She's lying against the wooden floorboards of the house, listening to the quiet and the sounds of her breaths, the solemn beats of her heart. It seems like the quiet is all she has sometimes, becoming part of an earth so forgiving once the world sleeps among violent beings and unspeakable crimes. Sometimes, words become too much, create such noise and disturbs the peace that we so much desire. But there are so many things left unsaid to where we can't help but drown ourselves in the silence, and when that becomes too much, well, they become the only thing we have left.
She's made a grave mistake, one she herself can't come back from.
It's difficult not to assume, to expect torment and deceit, to believe and come to conclude that the world is harsh, and so are the rest of the humans living among each other. We tend to believe that they are all the same, that at one point, we can't help but leave before we are left, that caring is a myth and compassion is purely a lie, that they all want to be a predator and we essentially become the prey. We tell ourselves that we can't go through what we just went through, that somehow, they have every desire to make sure we are desperate, craving their meats and thirsting their flesh. So we all become lecturers, predators, beasts, both devils unable to resist the urge to win against fate. Conclusions are made, assumptions are created, and we become those people who forget why we are meant to be, forget the intentions we instilled in each other's souls. We feel too much, we say too much, and suddenly we are eradicated, distant.
She is not making excuses for herself, of course, but understand that others never came through for her, that efforts were weak and feelings were lost, that she found herself drowning in the silence among so many words unspoken and feelings unexpressed. Her beauty was once a ploy, her voice was once destroyed, and her body was once taken by someone who didn't deserve to touch it.
So she forgot to admire a soul who relishes all those who are pain, to witness a being who sees what others can't see, and hears what others can't hear. She forgot to admire a blessing, too genuine to even be called a man, who unfortunately had to keep soothing her fears. He was a good man, she has to admit, a pure soul which no one could ever replace, a being who closely resembled a prince or another God of her own.
So she's lying against the wooden floorboards of the house, listening to the quiet and the sounds of her breaths, the solemn beats of her heart. She wonders if he's going to save her this time from her demise, if he's going to walk through those doors, carry her in his arms, and soothe the back of her fears, if he's going to kiss her alive with those lips, heal her wounds with his hands, console her sins with his soul.
But then the door unlocks from behind her and creeps open with purpose. A heavy footstep approaches the scene and echoes dangerously within the walls of the house, trudging towards her body, casting a shadow over her frame.
It was only then that she cried.