we pray for change in the dark // ines&sofia
Jan 30, 2022 4:04:54 GMT -5
Post by ines izar d11a 🖤 cait on Jan 30, 2022 4:04:54 GMT -5
I N E S
This is probably a bad idea.
A bad decision one whole year in the making. It’s taken that long for me to build up the courage to wander down the road to stand outside of Sofia’s salon. I check the address on the small card one more time for good measure, though I know this is the right place. I can feel it in my chest – a magnetic force, a welcoming friend.
I’ve worried myself sick about this moment so badly for one year that I’m fully expecting to spontaneously combust the minute I step through the door. It only feels like a matter of time before the world confirms what I’ve suspected for some time now – that my blood is bad, doesn’t have purchase on anything stable. An invisible forcefield springs to life inside my mind, and I can see myself being blasted off my feet with the knowledge that resides in my DNA: I don’t belong here.
The reality is much more anticlimactic than that.
I hold my breath as a shaking hand pushes the buzzer on the front door, the alarm slicing through the silence.
There are no flames, no electricity, no guards charging me down.
The world goes on.
I force myself to stay rooted to the spot where I stand. I’ve come too far to run away now, even as the seconds stretch into minutes and the doubt starts to creep in. Every fibre of my soul wants to turn and sprint back home, run into Nekane and force her arms to envelope me in a warm embrace as I apologise over and over and sob into her neck because I’m a bad daughter, I’m a failure, I’ve let everyone down.
I force myself to stay, despite my pounding heart and the nausea that’s been sitting in my stomach for a week, because I owe it to myself to have more, to be more.
But it’s a nerve-wracking feeling to wear your heart on your sleeve, to put your faith in a stranger you barely know who may or may not even be home, and wouldn’t that be just your luck?
It’s fate, whatever happens next. The future is uncertain, barely promised, but it crashes through me like a tidal wave when the door finally opens and Sofia Izar stands in front of me.
She opens her mouth but I may as well be underwater, ears stuffed with cotton wool because I don’t hear a thing she says. I’m rushing over my words to get them out, let them sing free, as if waiting a second longer will be too late. I’ve held onto them for too long.
“I have to tell you something.”
A bad decision one whole year in the making. It’s taken that long for me to build up the courage to wander down the road to stand outside of Sofia’s salon. I check the address on the small card one more time for good measure, though I know this is the right place. I can feel it in my chest – a magnetic force, a welcoming friend.
I’ve worried myself sick about this moment so badly for one year that I’m fully expecting to spontaneously combust the minute I step through the door. It only feels like a matter of time before the world confirms what I’ve suspected for some time now – that my blood is bad, doesn’t have purchase on anything stable. An invisible forcefield springs to life inside my mind, and I can see myself being blasted off my feet with the knowledge that resides in my DNA: I don’t belong here.
The reality is much more anticlimactic than that.
I hold my breath as a shaking hand pushes the buzzer on the front door, the alarm slicing through the silence.
There are no flames, no electricity, no guards charging me down.
The world goes on.
I force myself to stay rooted to the spot where I stand. I’ve come too far to run away now, even as the seconds stretch into minutes and the doubt starts to creep in. Every fibre of my soul wants to turn and sprint back home, run into Nekane and force her arms to envelope me in a warm embrace as I apologise over and over and sob into her neck because I’m a bad daughter, I’m a failure, I’ve let everyone down.
I force myself to stay, despite my pounding heart and the nausea that’s been sitting in my stomach for a week, because I owe it to myself to have more, to be more.
But it’s a nerve-wracking feeling to wear your heart on your sleeve, to put your faith in a stranger you barely know who may or may not even be home, and wouldn’t that be just your luck?
It’s fate, whatever happens next. The future is uncertain, barely promised, but it crashes through me like a tidal wave when the door finally opens and Sofia Izar stands in front of me.
She opens her mouth but I may as well be underwater, ears stuffed with cotton wool because I don’t hear a thing she says. I’m rushing over my words to get them out, let them sing free, as if waiting a second longer will be too late. I’ve held onto them for too long.
“I have to tell you something.”
