isurvive.org

It was sunny the day I met my abuser.
The day was glorious.
And as a lover of symbolism.
I feel the world owes me a thunderstorm.
When I met him, rain should have been lashing down in sheets.
Wind blowing Mary Poppins off course.
Thunder crashing like the very gods themselves were engaged in a tremendous fight.
As I walked into my house, the lightning should have struck with force.
It should have cut the lights and illuminated only his face.
The weather should have reflected the dread he would bring.
But instead, the kitchen door was open wide.
Inviting in the sunlight.
The day was warm but with a soft breeze playing with the tendrils of my hair.
And he smiled like he had brought that weather with him personally.
Created it, just so we could meet under fortuitous circumstances.
I almost believed it there and then.
How it frustrates me now, that my first and lasting image of this devils face had the sun placing haloes of warm light about his head.
The calm before the storm perhaps.
But what a storm he brought.

I find it confusing sometimes too. Like a betrayal. I have so many sunny memories right before the torture. I remember looking out the window so often at the beautiful blue sky. Wondering why it looked so peaceful and beautiful. It was like a weird opposition to what I was experiencing.

same

Wow. So beautifully written Closeyclo. I feel it, see it and hear it.

*Sorry. Edited to NT