“If you knew…if you knew.”
The girl of eighteen shuddered in the November air.
She shuddered it to no one and everyone.
She shivered and thought of all the unknown things.
She thought of all the people that did not know.
She thought of the ache she felt by not telling.
It felt like lying.
There, on the eve of December, she felt like a liar.
And this made her grip her shoulders even tighter.
She wanted to tell the truth.
No, she wanted to live truly.
But who or what could listen to her simple truth and not flee?
Lying or lonely.
These options haunted her days and nights.
And as the brown leaves danced on the grey cement, she tried a prayer.
She tried and maybe she succeeded.
No one had told her how to pray.
But like most things, she simply tried it.
And she thought maybe it worked because she felt known.
She felt known and not left.
It was a small part, she thought.
It was a corner of her.
But that corner was now held and so she released her shoulders just a touch before December came.