Fragile Strength

When she comes through the front door, hugs you, and starts crying; that's a horribly wonderful feeling. It means she trusts you enough to let go the moment she is in your arms and doesn't trust the world enough to let go anywhere else. A tough situation to be in. You can't save her, though she's looking for you to, and she'll never admit that she needs saving. You ask her if she's okay. It's too late to stop the tears from coming at all, so she answers honestly and says no. But as soon as that word escapes her lips she blinks hard, giving the signal to her brain that the tears are to stop there. They are to come no further, because she's afraid that if they did then she wouldn't be able to stop them at all. She is well aware of the geyser that will erupt if she isn't careful, and in her mind there will never be a time for that to happen. And it all breaks your heart. She has that look in her eyes that cries for help, but her lips would never speak for her soul. A long life lived of only having herself to depend on has kept her from ever really letting go, and as the tragedies in life continue to stack doing it now is selfish. So she believes. If you ask her who the strength is for she will rattle off a well-rehearsed list, her mom, her son, her grandmother, me...but none of that is true. Her strength is not to keep us from breaking, because her strength is irrelevant in that equation. Her strength is for herself and she can't bring herself to say that. Her world is unraveling and all she can do is watch, and so she does, from a distance. Only venturing to the very heart of it when conditions are just right and the probability of feeling anything is one in a million. It's easy to come to the reality of it all when you do so with rationalizations, but reality vanishes when emotions take control, and that, no matter how brief the time, will be inevitable. And she's not ready. No one is ready. But she pretends.