Happy New Year…
To the broken me. The confused me. The alone me. The me that isolated in the bliss of being safe. The me that craves arms to hold me but instead hold myself. Bruised and tattered and fragile and breaking.
To the me who is called survivor and cringes. To me who held on just a little longer while my peripherals became dark and my heart beat slammed in my ears.
To the me that never felt truly safe. Truly whole. Truly loved. To the me who plastered on smiles miles long if only to find warmth in the ones returned. To the me that believed the best because hope is so tempting to grasp but so devastating to lose.
Happy new year to the me that rings in with silence, in quietness, in solitude. With an ache as heavy as a boulder in my chest and words flying through my head like a file cabinet exploded.
To the me that’s decided a little longer. Just a little bit longer. Just a little while longer.
To the wringing of hands and tear stained cheeks. To the words left unspoken and to the fears still swirling in the pit of my being.
Happy new year to you, sweet girl. To me, sweet girl. Even though you don’t feel happy. Happy new year, anyway.
Because you deserve a little happiness too.