The truths

From every lie I gave, a part of myself was made

There once was a girl. I couldn't have told you at the time whether she died or not. But I knew she existed.

She came home late at night from school, ate dinner with her parents, her young sister, and when she was done. She sat at her desk, in this little chamber; and she wrote.

She wrote the lies she was telling herself and every truth she didn't want to admit to others. She wrote of her world and its people, of fake names from real stories.

The last thing she wrote was called "Deuil" and it is funny because right after that, she died. And I thought she did. I believed it so much that I forgot that girl who wrote stories of truths made of lies, hidden in a computer opened to the world.

What I didn't know at the time, is that she had never died. She only stayed buried, breathing under the amount of earth and rot I had put her under. Unreal Unearth.

I musn't have hidden her that well, because she came back. With a knife and tears of blood, she carved her way open from my belly, hungry, famished, hoping for something to tear down and feed herself with it. She only found me.

After devouring me, this girl decided to find her voice back. I could not give it to her, however; as I did not myself have a voice to give. How to speak when you forgot what you had to say? But this girl was so greedy. For love, recognition, and acknowledgment. From the guts of my belly, she cut down a line and two, sewed them together, and from flesh for the flesh created a tongue to speak. I should never have forgotten her. Now I am afraid I have lost the small control I had, and she is riding free and wild in our world, unaware of the changes it made as she lay down in the earth.

If you found her please be aware. The girl does not understand. She was born of love and attention, but I forgot how she needed to grow. I am sorry to have unleashed a child from my bosom, ungrew and hungry for love, in this world of ours.