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Traces

The walk seemed endless, but after a while, I found myself back to where I started. It had been a painful walk in the shadows. I thought I could face it with less tears, but I didn't. Although, by any…

Traces

 

A few hours before daybreak. And I started walking again to that place I came to dread.

It’s where I go when I hurt; where I cry it all out until I feel more drained.

But this time, I went the other way. I took the road in reverse, hoping to erase the traces of pain it left. Yet still, I only faced the ghosts of what had been.

It’s the same dark alleys and the same ghosts that hide behind the windows: they were whispering a name that I loved dearly, yet caused me much misery. And the towers from the distance loomed, taunting me with memories I would never want to see again.

And each step only unearthed old hurts, which the winds carried to my heart. It felt heavier. Yet, I tell myself, one way or another, I would need to face the monsters. This is one way to get started. Maybe they wouldn’t look so fierce then.

The moon shied away as if feeling my pain. As if she knew the tears I suppressed and the cuts that once again bleed — I found they never really healed. Only laying dormant. Just barely hiding from sight.

The walk seemed endless, but after a while, I found myself back to where I started. It had been a painful walk in the shadows. I thought I could face it with less tears, but I didn’t. Although, by any means, I think I had been braver still.

I had started retracing my steps. I’m hoping I wouldn’t come to regret walking back to the shadows of what had been. I hope, this does lead me to healing.

 

If you liked Traces, please support Riya Ortiola by reading her previous works here at The Ugly Writers:

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Riya Ortiola

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