The Girl Who Never Walked Away

There is a woman I know who never left. 

Year after year she stayed. She stayed in that same house with the same windows and the same doors. I often wondered what was keeping her there. 

I would see her from time to time and we would ask each other the same questions. She had a warmth about her and a softness in the way that she spoke. Her touch was gentle and her hands were sore. Sometimes I would watch streaks of anger flicker past her eyes when she spoke of that house. It was as though she tried to hide her frustration but had grown too tired. Lighter words coloured her rage in attempt to paint over their splatter. I wonder if she knows that she can be angry. I hope she knows their faults are not her own. 

    

It's easy to ask why she never left. I used to wonder that all the time. I couldn't understand why she never walked away and I can't say I do now. You see, I have always imagined dreams to be limitless until I realized that even dreams can be framed by shuttered windows and white paint. The thought of a future coloured with streaks of sunlight and young laughter provides hope. Her words always rang with possibility but it was as though that was all she was holding on to. I only hope she steps outside and discovers what her life can be without frames or curtains. I hope she knows that her life is not shared, but that it has always been her own. And while I sit and watch her return to that same doorstep, I only hope she knows that she is not bound by those inside that house. 

She has always been free to start again. There were moments where I wonder if she almost did. There was a kind of irreversible heartbreak that followed her wherever she went. Whether it was in the way that she spoke or in her extended hand that helped you stand back up, it was always there. A crack in her voice she disguised as exhaustion. A shakiness you would almost miss if you weren't paying attention. Sometimes I would think about who she was when we first met. There was a lightness about her that I feared they would take away. Over the years that house has changed her. Over the years I have wondered why she still remains inside. I hope she finds it in herself to step outside of that house, to drop her keys on the mat outside and never look back. I hope she finds the courage to look forward, to look up at the endless sky above her and realize the power in beginnings. I hope she has the courage to walk away with grace. 

You see, there is something rescuing about grace and the way it introduces a purpose more beautiful than imaginable. I hope she finds a different kind of hope - one with stronger foundations than those that house is built upon. Does she know that she can walk away from those who hurt her? Does she know that there are people who would stand with her? I have always admired her and how she carries herself. I hope she knows that she is clothed in strength and that bravery is a choice she can make. I can only hope she is bold enough to make it. I hope she knows that there are people who will hold her sore hands as she rebuilds her future. She has collected the tools she needs over the years that have been patiently waiting to be picked up. I hope that she knows that there are homes she will always be welcomed in.

Tonight, she will go home to that same house. I hope that one day she will find her home.