Image by Rickydavid via Flickr

There is a dead of silence with the whimpering of a broken heart and the tears of unspoken pain. The heat of the water stings her cuts and bruises upon her face. The aches grow stronger making it hard to move about, she jumps at the tenderness of her battered skin. Shaking and contemplating if this is what love really is…is the embarrassment of the visual appearance the expressions of love. The anger, yelling, screaming, and loud shouting is so normal it seems more calming than a sweet whisper of orchestrated music. As she lay in the darkness, she wonders if it was something she did wrong that could have been made right, but all she could think of is how angry and violent he got. Suddenly, the darkness is clouding the fact that life has become”the thin line between love and hate”and everytime he give her what he calls “love hits” the hate is the line she starts to walk, but a thin line it is. At the end of the day, I watch her make a decision, finding reasons of why she should stay with him. She throws excuse after excuse of why he used her body as a punching bag. Telling her to leave him is hopeless. Besides, you can lead a camel to a water well, but you can’t  make them drink from it. I ask myself as I watch her……when will she come to her senses? Will it be after she drowns in the sorrows of her own blood? Or will it be after she awakens to look in the mirror and see a face that she doesn’t know? There is no understanding to the passion, or somewhat need of that kind of love and attention that she longs. After watching her, if misery is love, then I want no part. As the days go by, being an onlooker is all that the by-standers can do. Its become a terrifying movie that replays day-to-day. Still there is no understanding of why she let happen…what do she feel…what is she thinking…what goes on when the door closes to what should be called home…all there can be is wonderment…if only we could see through her eyes…through her eyes.