In the black of night she cries
In the darkness of her soul she screams
For the pain, the endless loss
For the anger and the sorrow.
Surrounded with light and laughter
She hates that she can only feel the wound
Of a knife that never actually touched her
But skewers her heart time and again.
The hurt is too deep
The loss too big
The emptiness too wide
The anger too strong.
Why can’t she do it?
Why must she watch
Others reach that place
While she remains behind.
Never a mother always an aunt, a friend
Never a bride always the bridesmaid
Never the laughter or happiness
Always the tears and sadness.
What if she had it all?
The husband, the child
The happiness, the smiles
What would she be?
Would she be the same?
The friend everyone counts on,
The one they turn to when troubles come,
Or would the emptiness be of another kind?
Who knows? Not she nor I.
Still in the dark I hear her cry.
I see the broken heart she tries to hide
As she attempts to live on…
In response to Linda G Hill’s stream of consciousness Saturday prompt