Silence, sadness and space

She’s been siting there in silence, in space, today. No-one is home. Sadness sneaks up on her. In flashes, micro-memories pull her in directions that she doesn’t want to go, and her cheeks become silver, as tears flow. It is a part of it all, she knows that, and when her involuntary shudders wane, she hears a mouse scuttle in the cupboard across the room, and she is reminded that feeling lonely is an illusion. In her solitary sadness, she realizes that it isn’t only her own sadness that she feels, she feels the sadness of her mother, who was left shoeless to find her way to school alone. As she wipes tears from her eyes, she feels the sadness that she sees in the eyes of those she knows are desperate, people in suits, people cleaning the streets, the single beggar that sits outside the newsagent. She releases her sadness – for the first time in years. She rarely cries. But now, she creates a new space, a space where a separation begins to happen. It is painful, but she accepts it. She releases judgment, and a cathartic sigh. She lets go of an unexplainable heaviness that has been tugging at her mind for many years.

She lets go, today, and the morning sun finds its way into her living room. Her cheeks shimmer golden, and she doesn’t smile, nor look up to see the sun in its glory or the magpie sitting on the window sill. But she no longer cries.


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