Scabs

Do I have the right to be unhappy? Is it okay to be sad?

Reminds me of the time I stood in front of my bathroom mirror so many years ago. Has it only been two? I asked myself, asked God, if I was a bad person. Was I a bad person for thinking that my father's death would not be altogether a bad thing? If he were to die, that is.

Do I have the right to be unhappy? Certainly. But why? Why am I unhappy? I present smiles, and when I do I typically am in a jovial state. Even in light of life struggles, I have a lot of good things going in my life. Despite any reasoning I can produce, though, I am still a person with a hole. This pit, hollowed out by years of witnessing...and I don't know how to fill it. More importantly, I don't know with WHAT to fill it. Logical to fill it with love, yes, but even that elicits a dull sting, as though it doesn't fit just right.

And for nights I have let my tears fall in silence because I can't escape this slight burning in the pit. Pushing, turning, looking away does nothing. If anything, it prods at the walls of the cavity in loud persistence so I can't ignore.

And for days I stare and trace the features, wondering if I haven't been a fool. Have I made a mistake? A mistake - if only because I fear and disproportion what I should not.

And now it has dawned on me. My pit is like a scab - generating a small itch, but only because it is the process of healing. Perhaps a scar, ever so slight, will remain - but it will be healed.

Now...how long will it take?