Well Enough Alone

Every person has a story – a series of events within a variety of circumstances, coupled with an array of associations, that all correlate to make you who you are. A beautiful concoction of Nature and Nurture, and one’s personality is born.
I often sit alone, watching time pass by. People come and go, with purpose or destination. Their heads confidently held high, daring people to look at their gloriousness. Their esteem almost provoking others to acknowledge their existence and respect their drive.
Once more, I sit alone watching, when She walks by.
Do not mistake Her frown and quick pace for destination. She is headed somewhere, but not a destination – away. Her demeanor does not welcome attention, nor does it invite one to notice. Instead, She hopes her trek remain undisturbed; that her name not be called and she would not have to turn, feigning surprise and forcing a smile.
Her gaze is lowered, and She is silently speaking to you, with her message painfully clear.
Once upon a distant time, I would walk with Her.
Little by little, She would tell me her story. I learned of her nomadic travels, her many loves and piercing losses, her family dysfunction, and her personal trauma. She could talk for hours, and never run out of things to say. Every situation had an interest. Every event had significance. For She was critical by nature, scrutinizing the mentality and intent of every person.
Just as She saw the beauty in everything, She sought the meaning behind every occurrence. Each time I began to think She had exhausted the reflective reservoir, there came so much more.
It wasn’t long before I discovered the secrets. Like the larger, hidden mass of an iceberg, they dragged Her beneath the surface.
I said I wanted to know Her.
She warned me. Then obliged.
Her voice remained toneless. Her expression remained uncracked. She spoke of horrors, yet never once faltered.
I had known Her as a woman affected by many people, who she cared for beyond their need. Their words hurt Her. Their hurt broke Her. She had felt so much for so many.
Yet, there She sat, inexpressively divulging the nightmares that plague her memory. Scars, they were – the kind no time could heal.
She felt strongly for so many, but felt nothing for herself. I saw, alone, just how cold and emotionless She really was.
Her voice trailed off eventually, having said everything I did not know. I wanted to hold Her. I wanted to make everything okay again.
But, She was just fine.
And She was gone.
She had warned me. She had said she would change. Me not knowing allowed Her a clean slate; a new beginning she so desperately tried to seize many times before.
She let me know her – for me. I understand now that She spoke for my benefit. She spoke for my understanding. She hearing her owns truths did not heal Her, but me hearing her truths destroyed what I was to her.
How could She run from her past if I owned a piece of it?
I sat alone that night. Her toneless voice whispering dreadful things echoed in my mind’s ear.
Every person has a story. Hers will never leave me.
Then to me, Her message became painfully clear.
She is well enough alone.

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