A Composition for the Brokenhearted

Born. My first breath. My first cry. Blessed with good health and thick raven locks, sun-kissed brown skin. I remember all my lighthearted days as a child and my innocence. I breathe. The beauty is simple and vulnerable. Closing my eyes, my mind begins to recollect all the ghosts of my past that I've so desperately tried to chase away with time. But the memories condense, absorbing all the light. They linger. I begin to suffocate, drowning in those unforgiving waves of misery. I gasp for air. Because now the memories consume me. In a cold sweat, all I can see is a darkness in which I am victim of him. No one can help me. The helplessness gnaws away at the little strength I have. I want to cry again. I want to breathe again.