Innocence is ripped from us all.
The loss of it is painful, often confusing;
and when unacknowledged,
it can be life-threatening.
Knowing only my own moment
of disbelief, hurt, anger and grief,
I massage it into becoming
a stress ball in my heart.
I squeeze it into every interaction thereafter,
until my soul aches with a desperation
that only I can release.
And therein lies the gift –
when I finally acknowledge it,
my own moment becomes
Truth instead of pain,
Love instead of loss,
Acceptance instead of blame.
Now, I can see my innocent me,
wandering around in disbelief
or
curled up in the fetal position of fear,
trying to make sense of it all –
all by herself.
I lift her up out of that confusion,
and tell her I see it, too.
And I let her know
she’s not the only one
that has held her moment so close
that it kept on hurting.
All others have cried, too –
most, just like her, alone and unacknowledged.
Slowly,
she awakens from the darkness of
my own moment
and reaches for the light:
“Put me down,” she exclaims,
“I must go and tell all the others!”