Crumbling

[purple_pen]

I walled up my heart to you, five years ago, when… Well. Then.

I walled out more than you and what I once felt for you, keeping out what happened to me, what you caused. But in walling you out, I found that I walled myself in, with all the things I no longer wanted.



What you did to me went far beyond hurt, far beyond cruelty. It went beyond anything I could understand, then or now. But I want to understand now, because the walls I built are crumbling, and I don’t want to feel trapped any longer. I want to be able to forgive, because people tell me I must, to be whole and free again.

But how can I forgive what I cannot understand?

You said you loved me.

You said it with more than just words, in a thousand different ways and I believed you. I never thought I had reason to doubt you. I loved you, beyond secrecy, beyond people’s words, beyond everything… I wonder sometimes if I still love you, even beyond betrayal.

Why did you do it?

Did you always mean to or did something happen? I want to believe something happened, that you did what you did because… but I can never think of a reason. I would have given anything, everything, for you. I would never have betrayed you.

You see that I am not doing so well at forgiving you.

Or at building walls to keep in the good things and keep out the bad.

Maybe it’s because I won’t be behind these walls much longer.

Were there good things with us? Well, there was an us for over a year, so I suppose there must have been. I struggle now to remember, good or bad. All I remember is that I loved you and you betrayed me.

No-one will tell me what happened to you. Maybe they don’t know; they tell me they don’t, but I think I see something in their eyes. Perhaps I just see what I want to. I am no longer sure what is real and what is in my head. If anything is real. I sometimes wonder if everything isn’t in my head. They tell me it isn’t, but they cannot tell me about you. I think that I need to know, if I am to understand this. If I am to forgive you.

I spent a year watching for you. Was that silly? I suppose it was, I knew you weren’t here, or I should have. I’m not sure that I did. But the look on your face, the way they were with you, when… I wanted to believe it wasn’t that way. I wanted to believe you hadn’t done what it seemed like you had. Inside the walls it was easy, easier, to… To pretend.

I stopped watching for you, of course. In the end.

I never stopped waiting, though. For something to explain, or apologise, or even gloat. Something to say I still mattered to you. A courtesy.

Maybe you’re dead. I tell myself I’d know, in my heart, if you were, but I don’t suppose I really would. For a while I wished you were, but not any more. I don’t want to lose the hope that one day… But there won’t be one day for us. That has been made very clear to me, many times. I cannot stay in this country, I have to leave, go home. Staying here is too much of a risk. Things have not changed so much, just been painted a new colour that allows me to… I don’t suppose I shall ever see you again. Maybe that’s for the best. For you, if not for me.

Did you laugh at it, later?

No, that isn’t fair.

Did you? You cried, when they took me away, but did you think it was funny that I didn’t understand? That I tried to cling to you, because I thought you’d save me. That I screamed don’t hurt her, don’t hurt her until they knocked me out.

I spent five years trapped here, inside my walls, inside other people’s, and I spent them searching every moment, every word, every look between us for signs that I should have known. You came to me in the dark that night. I could see your eyes, and the scarf in your hair. You kissed me and you said it would be all right, we could be in secret and no-one would know. And I loved you, already, enough to forget being told before I left England that it wasn’t safe to be different here.

I can’t believe that you planned it then. I don’t want to believe that you planned it later, either, but you must have, I suppose. Something must have happened, to scare you, to make you offer them me, because I was worth more, a foreigner… Why didn’t you tell me? I would have helped you, listened to you. I would have run with you if you’d asked me.

I wish someone would explain. I don’t think they really accept the way I loved you.

Love you.

They’re coming today, to free me, let me out. I don’t know what I’ll do then. Go home. After five years, I should have accepted this, grieved for you, for us, and moved on. You can see that I haven’t. It didn’t seem real in here, but I suppose it will be outside.

I wonder if I’ll ever see you again.

I wish I could tell you once more that I love you.

That I’ll forgive you, if you can just explain.

A key in the lock, and bright light.

“Ms Sandford? How are you feeling today? I’ve come to take you home.”