Runaway

So you want to run away, then go, I won’t stop you, you said. I was no older than six or seven. I rose, walked to that door— I knew, somehow, this was not home.  
   
My little brother trailed behind, and I, with stubborn heart, set off to find the parents who’d left us behind. Love was a distant thing, but I was determined to find it, even if they never gave it.  
 
I dragged the dog along, his paws stumbling in the dust. The gate loomed, larger than anything I had ever seen— but I pulled it open, the metal stick unlatching and with it, I felt the surge of freedom.  
“Get your ass back here!” yelled my dearest uncle. The dog and my brother, they ran back, but I, I continued, running as if the world might collapse if I didn’t leave.  
   
I hated that house, hated you, for taking everything I was, for giving me pain too young, for robbing me of something sacred. I hated myself, hated every man who touched me, wanted a prince to save me, but he never came.  
   
So I dug deep, grieved the sins you left on me, and in the silence of the night, I learned to breathe through the hurt.  
But still, I forgive you, for the shadows you cast, for the wounds that still ache.  

I kneel before that little girl now, the one who thought she was broken. I tell her, softly, "I love you, dearest child, I promise you, in the end, everything will turn out okay, trust me we live everyday as if it were the last, having so much fun in the process.  
   
I see through her eyes, the eyes that have seen too much— we made it. I couldn’t have done it without any of you, mind, body, soul— we finally found love it was inside of us all along.  
   
NP