The woman with a dagger in her heart
The hurting doesn’t subside; it prolongs for as long as God knows when. What happens is that, one day, you need to get out of bed and go to the grocery store. You do that with a dagger stabbed deep into your heart and every step, every breath, hurts like a nightmare.
But the errand is run, and the dagger stays put.
The next day, you need to go to work, so you get up, shower and wear a shirt that doesn’t get in the way of the dagger. You go to the meeting, talk business and agree on terms, sign the contract using the blood dripping out of your chest, then go home and cry yourself to sleep.
The week after that, you realize you need to eat, so you force-feed yourself. Every morsel of food is agonizing. Every swig of water that you swallow tickles the dagger and sends surges of shooting pain up and down your body. But the meal is eaten, and the water is drunk, all while the dagger makes a home of your heart.
A month after that comes a devastating anniversary of a memory, and it feels just like the day she died, as though all the time that has passed hasn’t passed and all the illusions you had of moving on have crashed. You spend that day in bed, in the dark, soaking your bed-sheet with tears and blood as the wound made by the dagger reopens and the pain comes gushing out like a waterfall.
The hurting doesn’t subside; it prolongs for as long as God knows when.
All you really do is learn to live with it.
You wear clothes that don’t get in the way of the dagger, you run errands, work and do your laundry with it protruding from your heart.
Eventually, people get used to seeing it and it becomes a part of you, like the colour of your hair and the glasses that you wear.
You become the woman with a dagger in her heart.
“Don’t tell me it could’ve been worse. That doesn’t make it any better.
Don’t tell me it’ll get easier because it hurts like hell now.
Acknowledge my current pain.
Hold my hand while I cry.
Be with me in my silence.
That’s all you need to do right now.”