She buried them deep, but not deep enough for her to simply forget. It was well hidden from others but it was shallow enough for her to dig up easily. Many times people came over and many times she wanted to tell them. To show them her own box. A Pandora's box of gritty darkness, confusion, pain, and longing. It was the fear of judgment that got the better of her. It was the fear that they would no longer look at her the same that stopped. Maybe that's why her relationships felt flimsy, felt fake and it was difficult for her to connect truly. It was raw, yet not too recent of a wound. But it didn't heal. She could almost feel the maggot underneath, festering and thriving. Ugly. She was so ugly. She never stopped feeling ugly. She never stopped feeling unworthy.
She walked through the woods with her head hanging down limply. It was one heavy step after another, forcing herself to continue even when her legs were shaking. The forest was never truly kind to her. Beautiful, warm and full of promises whenever first light touches. Yet as night approaches, the wind was bitter cold and monsters lurked in the shadows. The forest left her a prey in the night when she was most vulnerable. It may have been days, it may have been years. Time never made sense after the day she came running into the forest. Foolish and looking for shelter. Naive and weak. She could've left easy, and she could've done it a few times before. She could've ran with the wolves, leapt with the deers or swam with the fish. She just couldn't. Deep in her heart, she knew they couldn't save her. So she walked on her own and she walked away from the darkness. Tired. Alone. Yes, she was always so alone. Looking up felt useless and looking in front only to see no...
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