"You are loved."
While walking home a few days ago, I read these words written in chalk on a stone wall. It was dark outside, yet the phrase stood out to me and I felt warm that night.
For weeks, I have been writing and re-writing to explain a sadness I have been holding for a long time.
Because how do you explain something your body won’t let you talk about?
None of the words felt right;
nothing seemed close to the truth.
Today, I struggle with the aftermath of sexual assault.
It hurts me,
shaking my emotions in a way I don’t understand.
Nonetheless, I feel largely okay. I function well and in the rare moments that the memories come, I try my best to forget.
Going, going, and then gone.