A Letter to No One

Unhinged prose at the witching hour

Perhaps it’s good that you aren’t home. That you aren’t here to witness my unraveling, my pitiful ramblings on our bedroom floor.

I am tired of carrying these feelings. I am tired of looking into your eyes and wanting you to carry them for me. For someone to carry them for me. Anyone.

But I know no one’s listening. I wonder if the universe thinks I am this strong all the time or if it is waiting for me to give up.

I won’t. Just in case you were wondering.

If I could, maybe this would be easy.

I am trying to heal, but I can’t stop calling this void “my trauma”. I am scared that soon it will become my identity. Soon it won’t be something that happened to me, but something that I am.

I just can’t live like that.

That’s not who I am.

And yet, when I look at you, I badly, deeply, want you to carry this pain for a moment. Just for one moment. To truly feel what it means to be me. For just one moment, I want to look into your eyes and see myself - all the rage, bruises, and storms that make up my soul.

Is that cruel? I know it is. You don’t deserve this.

How are you so perfect, and I…I am full of scars? Wasn’t I worthy of this gift of innocence? Why do you have everyone, and I am alone? Why do you get to say you don’t want to carry your burden, but I didn’t? Did God love me less, or you more?

Is anyone listening? I know no one is.

---

If you read it this far, please consider subscribing. As a new writer, your support is everything to me :)

Connect with me on Instagram: @storieswithpratiksha