therapy

» words

We sat in the library as a thunder of voices roared a few shelves away from us. Our heads shot up, blinded by the hatred seeping out of the edges of the books. A mother pursed her lips and glared at the girl in front of her—books toppled around them as her hands were too tiny to carry all.

"You disgusting little brat. Look at what you did, look at what you always do. Drop every single goddamn thing." Her mother snuffed and flicked the keys at the girl, "I'm going to a friend's house. Go home whenever. I know for sure I won't be seeing your face anytime soon." And with those sickening words, the sound of tapping high heels scrambled away.

The little girl began to pick up the books, one by one, slowly placing them on the shelves around her. Seeing that it's no use to carry them all, she sat there in despair and chose just one book.

Next to me, she got up immediately and rushed to the girl once her filthy mother disappeared. I heard how her voice soothed the sobs as she placed the little girl onto her lap and read her the books she wished to take home. When the sun was about to set into the embrace of the night, the little girl with the spiral braids waved goodbye as she disappeared into the mist of misery the world had to offer.

She came back with a sigh and began to coat the library with words of innocence. "Isn't it fascinating that people have a way of tucking things into the slightest folds in their hearts, only to be exposed when they're feeling vulnerable again? The moment where it feels like you're locked in a windowless room, suffocating on your own remorse and all you want is to cry, to scream and run and say everything you've ever wanted to—but you can't. It's a bleak existence. You've lost the ability to voice out your feelings through the tricks of insanity and madness. Promise me a little something: the next time you come across a crestfallen smile, say something. Anything. Because your words are the light shining through their infinite darkness."