Wonder

I thought it went away.

I wasn't sure when it'd happened.

Maybe it was with the first thump of his fists on my back, behind the ear, on the inside of my thighs-- always somewhere prying eyes wouldn't dare to venture.

Maybe it was that day I'd chosen to stay inside, rather than risk running into someone who knew me, knowing they'd see the unspoken shadows in my eyes.

Maybe it was that fourth of July when I didn't bother to light up a sparkler because I knew it would only burn brightly for a fraction in time.

Maybe it was the day I pulled my hood up, sheltering perfectly quaffed hair from glittering rain.

Or perhaps it wasn't one day at all, but the culmination of many: many minuscule decisions that slowly chipped away, until nothing was left at all.

Until I was hollow.

Maybe, I killed it on purpose.

Maybe it hurt too much.

Maybe I knew the world would try to take it if I didn't do away with it myself.

I don't know how or when or why, but one day I realized it'd gone quiet.

And I was relieved.

There was a hole in my heart, but that only made it easier.

Easier.

It was easier to never be disappointed.

It was easier to crinkle my eyes at the corners, to scrunch up my nose, to emulate the titter of laughter only felt in my throat.

It was easier to wave a dismissive hand at the things that might've caused me pain.

So I relished the hollow ache and didn't try to fill up that empty space.

Yes, I was glad it was gone, in the way one who feels nothing at all can be glad, anyway.

And then.

I thought I saw it one day, out of the corner of my eye.

I shoved it away.

Shoved it down, down, down, so far inside my spirit that I thought I'd finally smothered it for good.

But then, it began to haunt me in earnest.

It lingered in the steam rising from a cup of liquid chocolate.

It whispered in the wind, stirring eddies of sand between my toes.

It spoke in soft tones in the crackling of a fire, the smooth rub of a soft blanket on my legs.

It sang, a tickle on the shell of my ear, as calloused hands explored the planes of my stomach, so inexplicably gentle that a tiny fissure formed in the hardness of my heart.

It clanged like a gong in the spaces between the stars where untold galaxies beckoned.

It shouted with each tickling leg of a ladybug, dancing on my naked knee.

And then it roared, louder than a tidal wave, crushing the brittle walls around my heart, as I traced a finger across the translucent skin of an unfathomably tiny ear, as little fingers curled with surprising strength around my pointer finger.

I thought it'd gone away.

But as those fingers held mine, the empty well inside my soul overflowed,

and the world was technicolor.

I think it might be even brighter, now that it's back.