For once I will let my soul speak. I never do this as once the soul is uncovered it is open for all types of wounds. Can I trust you with my soul?
The little girl is just standing there in the cold rain, hair plastered to her head, tears mingling with the raindrops so no one can see that she is crying. She is bruised, battered and full of welts from the beatings given by others who were supposed to love her. She drops to her knees in the street. People walk by and don't even notice her. She is holding an egg, my soul, in her hands. She cradled it for years, protected it from all the blows but she can't protect it anymore. She opens her hand and fingers. The egg rolls out onto the street and gets crushed by all those who have hurt her.
Mother, Aunt, Cousins, Father, now daughter. The little girl just stands there in the rain, empty, void of all emotion other than such a deep sadness that there are no more tears to shed. She drops to her knees in the rain.
That little girl is me, kneeling in the rain, empty of all but sadness. Looking up to the night sky, wondering what comes next.
