When the one you have cared for and protected all those years... shreds the edges of your heart. What happens to the heart beating from within? When those times spent listening with tender ears and a supportive tongue aren't enough. Simply forgotten. When nights holding her young adult hands are lost in anguish. When warm afternoons of laughter and smiles turned into ashes. What does the other one do when the tie is severed? She threw it out, tossed out like trash. Trash, nobody would want.
Nine years seperate yet love of sisterhood seamed the gap. She is emerged in self. Self is an ugly thing. Self is entitled. Self is cruel. Self is single minded. Self is fearless. Self is selfish. Self is self-consuming. Self is self-seeking. Self is conflicting. Self is loathing. Self is lonely.
"When wrapped up in self, it's hard to be wrapped up
in anything else."
The hatred she carries, exalts her very being. Destroying like a finely woven quilt the finely stitched patterns and weaves of relationship.
My heart aches with sadness and mourns for the idea of sisterhood.
I've realized this "relationship" was not one with depth or love. Rather, out of self gain and climb. When many times of need found desperate and destitute climbed it's usual way back in to predictability. When no where left to cry to, there was I. Relenting in support, relenting in unconditional love. Relenting in nothing. Always there, always willing. Each time bound with price. A price to pay. A way to connive. A way to deceive, twist, manipulate. A way to hurt. A way to inflict.
No one is perfect, no one is best, no one is without sin. But time should erode all hurt and anger...shouldn't it? Time should heal the inflictions, the words, the fire...shouldn't it?
I found this quote and while it probably fits the relationship of most of the sisters out there, this simply has never been the case for me. But He has blessed me with a threshold of girlfriends whom I treasure deeply. He has given me friends who appreciate and love me. And I them. Years passing bye they may, but memories lost are they not.
While I wish it weren't true, each garden has it's weeds. Weeds that spread with disease and decay. Scorching the life from the flowers that desire to do good and enrich it's flowerbed.
Juleianna