The Woman Who Was Always Left Behind

“People come and go,” she muttered under her breath as she wiped the tears that stubbornly escaped her eyes. She hated herself for being vulnerable. She considered herself weak for the pain that she felt. She despised the fact that she, strong as she tried to be, could still feel.

She is no stranger to people walking in and out of her life. While she had always feared the uncertainties that lie ahead, she took comfort in the fact, unfortunate it might seem to be, that one thing is certain — people will not stay. At least, not for her. Knowing this helped her prepare. She taught herself not to get too attached, to be always on guard, and not to expect. She knew that she had to be strong. She spent her years trying to feel as little emotion as there can be.

And yet, as she looked at her hand glistening with tears from trying to stop the flow of emotions, an action that she did not even notice she was doing, she realized that she still had not prepared enough. She still is as weak as the little girl crying herself to sleep, asking why she could not be worthy enough for her parents to stay. She was once again the little girl who wanted so much to feel loved and protected but had no one she could turn to. Once again, she was a little girl, lost and alone.

As she stood there, looking at her gleaming hands slowly dry up, she knew that she too had to keep moving forward. She checked her reflection in the window, wiped a few smudges off her face, fixed a few strands of her hair, straightened her back, put on her strong face — a mask that she’d worn for 13 years — and started taking her steps to the exit of the airport. It was then when she felt the faint vibration of her phone in her back pocket.

“I’ll be back. See you soon.”

She read the message again. And again. She fought but knew that the moment she read the name of the sender, it was a lost battle. As dangerous as it is for her, she hoped. She hoped that this time, it would be different. That this time, it would be real. This time, someone had chosen to choose her. And with that hope, her steps were much lighter than they were a few seconds ago. TC mark

About the author
I do not underestimate the power of words, and I dare not. Follow Rosselle on Instagram or read more articles from Rosselle on Thought Catalog.

Learn more about Thought Catalog and our writers on our about page.

Related