I froze.
I couldn't move.
I tried to scream,
but the words were locked in my throat.
Disgust rose.
I felt huge urge to cry for help.
A tidal, trembling urge to reach for escape.
I felt like dying, right there and then.
Outside,
People looked at me with curiosity, not with concern.
Like I was an interesting story.
Not a person, who needs help.
But a story to pass the time.
No one truly wanted to understand me.
Please—keep your eyes away.
I told myself:
I'm okay.
It's alright.
It'll pass.
You'll survive.
You're strong.
You. Are. Strong.
I forced those words down my throat like medicine I wanted to believe.
I tried to hold it in.
Don't show it.
Don't let them see the fracture under your voice.
But to my surprise, I felt angry.
The fear I felt was not there anymore.
My angry and fear came out with my tears.
As if the water made the fire burn brighter in me.
It was fury that didn't wait for permission—sharp, bright, and blunt.
I led the gasoline to the room.
Burning the man in it.
I didn't care who watched or what they whispered. Their attention had been hollow anyway.
But I couldn't witness the fire.
Maybe its warmth
could've purified me.
Maybe cleaned my skin.
But I saw the man.
And I stood tall before him,
unafraid to meet what had haunted me.
Years went by and I tried to live.
Forget,
But it always returned—
a shadow that clung to my skin.
Maybe I never made it out from that night.
And unexpectedly one day,
tears again came to my eyes, and it healed me.
They did not fix everything. They only opened a place inside me that could feel less alone.
I guess I wanted anything,
...anything just to understand me.