Spiralling

Once upon a time, there was a village with peaceful villagers, unafraid of the wars and violence of the rest of the world. In the middle of the night a deadly power ravaged the village. Homes were burnt down, children were terrorized, men and women taken into slavery. Those left in the city came together and built a wall around their small and vulnerable city. The gates were locked with an iron chain and the villages depended on themselves for everything. A long time passed and none were allowed to enter the little village. Until one day, what seemingly was a hero knocked and offered security and strength. The villagers embraced this hero and let him into the gates. There were merriments all over and the people rejoiced, for finally they felt safe once again. However, when all the villagers were fast asleep and the hero was supposed to be guarding the village, he casually left the gate opened and went for a stroll. On his stroll he found some splendid leaves and sat himself down for a smoke with his pipe. While he floated off into his own little world, the village was left to burn and all those that were left were now gone... The hero, returning in the morning found the village in ruins. Instead of trying to salvage what was left, he ran away. The village was never to be again.

I reached out and got no response. What I so fearfully said was lost amongst the echos of the unwanted voices. This feeling is beyond being deserted - at least you would know that someone left. This feeling is like pouring out your heart and letting go of the one thing that knots your stomach to the one person you wanted to make that feeling go away to begin with and having them not acknowledgeyou ever said a single word.

Brokeness complete.

Why do I keep opening that door to those who don't want in?
Why do I keep knocking at the doors that do not want to be opened?

Why do I keep hurting myself in hopes that that same wound no longer pains.