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Where Her Skeletons Hide

I feel her heartbeat in her pulse and it carries the weight of a million horses.

She leaves a lingering scent behind her, roses and lilies, I think.

My heart beats faster each time I see her.

I don't even know her name.

I try to remember her features as if each time I see her could be the last time.

She leaves a lingering scent behind her, roses and lilies, I think.

Peaking my curiosity, she is alluring.

She is interesting to me.

I want to know more about her. 

Her secrets. Her story.

I find myself searching for her in everyone that passes. 

And everywhere I go.

The brown locks of her hair, the green in her eyes.

Her pale skin, and slender body.


The last time I saw her was at service last Saturday. 

I try to attend often, but even here I disappoint myself.

She's here; she's the first one I look for.

My pulse quickens. 

She doesn't know that I know, she doesn't think that her pain shows.

I ask, but no one knows her name.

She sits with her head hung low.

She flips through her King James almost feverishly.

Like a child looking for a lost trinket.

She puts down the book, and begins to pick at her nails and the dead skin of her cuticles.

She seems lost in a place so deep down inside,

This must be the place where her skeletons hide.


She waits until the very last bench empties, checking over her shoulder every few minutes.

Nervous, anxious.

The church is empty now,

All the worshippers long gone.

I watch her walk cautiously towards the front door.

She moves like air, she steps so lightly.

As if she's tiptoeing away from something or someone or somewhere.

Her movements keep me in awe.

I am wanting this vision to last.

She seems to be waiting.

Anticipating.

I think she looks for him in the faces of strangers.

Anticipating him to pounce.

To surprise her somehow.

Looking back, over her shoulder, she picks up her stride.

Walking fast paced towards the door.

She stops and lifts her head up once more.

And now she finally sees that the only one watching her back is me.


She stands right in front of me, and with my eyes I take her in.

Beautiful. Breathtaking.

Today something almost seems different, or perhaps it's that I've never been this close to her.

It was as if I was seeing her today for the very first time.

With a gentle smile, I reach out to her and lift up her chin.

Touching her skin sends shivers down my spine, goose bumps on my arms. 

Strange, I feel a tightening across my chest, the shivers cause my nipples to grow stiff.

Or was it touching her that moved me.

I look deep into her eyes, the windows to her soul.

She looks back at me and gives me a chance.

The chance to see her deep scars, her wounds, her colored bruises.

The pain she holds within.

The chance to hear her screams.

Even the screams she silently screamed.

I feel her heartbeat in her pulse and it carries the weight of a million horses.


This was no fairy tale romance.

She shows me a glimpse of her reality and opens her book to a page. 

A page so weathered by time, a page that I could not ignore.

This is the place where her skeletons hide.

A place that no one has ever been to before.

She brings me inside her soul, so deep down within.

Down to her place where her skeletons live.

Her monster's not safe here, you see.

This is a place no one is welcomed to be.

Dark and cold here; she is lonely and alone.

Years of pain and agony have taken it's toll.

Darkness prevails in this little realm of hell.

These secrets are hers and only hers to tell.


Lifting her chin, her eyes pulled me in, they were darkened with color blending purples and blues.

Losing herself here whenever she can hide.

In this place she is safe, here her monster can't hide.

My silence speaks volumes as tears fall from my eyes.

No longer does she have to run, no longer does she have to lie.

This is the place where her skeletons hide.


She begins to cry softly, and takes me by the hand.

Her shadows may follow but they no longer creep in.

Her hand in mine, we walk into the sun.

I tuck her under my wing, her healing has begun.

She leaves behind her monster as she crawls out of this hell. 

These are her secrets and now I know them as well.

This is her legacy, her story to tell. 


She knows that repairs to her soul must start slow.

She still sees his face wherever we go.

With patience and time this fear will subside.

With tender love and adoration and care, the pain will eventually go, this I try telling her so.

This is just the beginning of letting go,

Day by day. Hour by hour. 

Each minute she lets me in. 

Take your time, I whisper gently. 

You will know when it's time, trust me Angel, with time you will know.

Her skeletons begin to dance the dance of freedom, the dance of letting go. 

And time moves on, and seasons change.

She is responding to love, it no longer feels strange. 

And from the looks of her now you never could tell.

That at one time she perished in her own living hell.

Gone are the yellow rings and the purples and blues.

Colors that tinted and caused her pale skin to bruise.

She now walks a little taller, her feet firmly pressed to the ground.

Her head held a little higher, no longer looking down.

My living Angel, of whom I am so proud.

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