She’s not a victim anymore but a survivor. She has scars that carry stories forever. At one point in time the sight of them could make the world want to be blind, but now she wears them with grace. Every moment she breathes is a moment where they don’t win. Every word she writes, they see and must face their own false self, created out of the imaginary. She will never be silenced. The illusions once created are theirs to keep, shackling them to the ground and internally she knows they weep. Unable to speak because the truth would break away the fallacy they created for the world to see. The “I never needed her.” “She was nothing to me.”
Love. What is love? She asks. Love does not change when someone is sick, poor or struggling. Love withstands the pressure of all outside forces trying to conquer it. Love does not stand aside when the person you were supposed to protect is being cornered by those who are unworthy of having that power. It defends and defeats those who try to destroy it. And if you walk away leaving a wounded person on a battlefield, what should it be called? Desertion.
But in her case, this desertion brought her resurrection. And oddly enough, she bears scars on three out of four limbs. She carries the weight like a feather, because they ended up creating something that will never lose its light. Will never go to the pits of the darkness again, but understands the necessity of it. She has learned to stand alone and never let another impose on her will. And this was the most valuable lesson of her life. You see? These scars no longer represent the darkness but the will she had to fight for love.