When she was very small the cool kids made her walk at least ten steps behind them, alone. She felt a red hard ball of shame lodge firmly in her chest, where it has remained ever since.
I have been visiting with her. Helping her find all these things that have become stuck in her heart. Breathing out the colours - red, black, and blue. Showing her how to package them up and throw them back to where they belong, and to who rightfully owns them. This shame is not hers to carry, it is theirs. Telling her to breath in love instead. "But I don't know what colour it is", she tells me.
Yellow, I answer, love is yellow like the warmth of the sun filtered through the trees of the forest. She closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath. It has taken her so very long to trust me for I, too, had treated her poorly. Called her names. This is my ammends.
She wants to know who I am. I ask her who she thinks I might be? She tells me she thinks maybe I am an angel. I whisper that if this is true then so is she. Curiosity plays across her face. I take her hand and explain ... "Sweetheart, I am you. All grown up". She folds in to me and thanks me for coming back. "I didn't think anyone cared", she says softly.
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