I am so sorry, Love.

I can tell it in her tone, the way she forms her words. Each one hard pressed for something deeper as the battle inside her wages on. She fights not only for her sanity, but for the sanctuary that she has built up in her mind for some time now. The walls she used to hide behind were her frontline defence, bitter and cold, she hid from the world. She used her words and turns of phrase to lash out at her victims, to make them weak with regret and fall to surrender. She was a thing of beauty, her aggressive and cold demeanor a harsh defence that meant nothing other than a simple warning. A clear and evident threat lurked behind those eyes that stare and tear you down, stripping you to nothing but I crying babe ready to profess the truth or squirm until you do. That way she folded her arms and jutted her hip, looking like a lethal rattler ready to strike at any moment and drench your vulnerable veins with her toxic venom. But the fiery bitch inside her that protected her half bitter, half scorned heart was defeated; the gentle girl emerging from beneath.

How I loved that girl, with the golden hair in perfect rings of silken thread, used to weave the most beautiful of tapestries, and eyes the colour of storm clouds that churned with the taste of her old defence on the edge ready to strike although beneath them the soft greys formed pictures that could fill you with the taste of the lightest of rains and the touch of the softest breeze. Her way of watching, always watching showed through, between her scowling brows and the look of ice melted to show the real fear that lurked beneath. The once defensive stance of arms folded across her chest turned from agitated digression to hostile protection, the arms instead wrapped around her, holding her tight and keeping her secure. The more that her wall was stripped away, the less it appeared that she was fighting the world off, than fighting to keep herself together.

Even now though, I can tell it in her tone, the way she forms her words. She fights again, between maintaining her own sanctuary, become reclusive and slipping away into the cold world she so well had adapted. And opening herself, to let fear and pain come through, to show she is not strong that she does feel so alone. I can tell it, the way her voice sounds on the phone, the hesitation in the words that she types, the way she pauses before each new statement. I can tell she is not ok, that she may not be ok for a while. I can tell she is not ready, to share or to open up. I know the pain she feels, I know the loneliness and loathing, I know the abandon and the regret, and I know the way that even now, she will not be asleep. She will be lying in bed, crying to herself silently as she holds her arms around her chest and thinks of everything she feels, wishing she could make it all go away. Wishing for her control and her anchor, wishing for her blade and blood, wishing for me and a friend.

Love, I am so sorry I cannot be there for you. I am sorry you are alone, and I am sorry that you have to continue to be alone. If I could hold you until the nightmares went away, wiped your tears, and promise you that you could finally find that better day; I would. I wish that you could see how strong and brave you are, how loved and cherished, and how not alone you are. I wish that, with all my heart. I know you are hurting, I know you are sad. But I know you can be ok, I know that you can overcome this, and I know that you can survive. You are beautiful, you are amazing, and you are worthy. I love you, baby girl. You better not ever forget it. <3

I miss you so very much.