A New Year.

A New Start.

The sweet scent of a raspberry-pink candle washes over me. And the peace of a dark room envelopes me in its warm embrace.

Somewhere nearby water is running. Softly, gently, almost not noticeably trickling beneath the pitter-patter of raindrops.

My skin is cold, but the goose-bumps don’t quite hide the scars.

My breathing is slow. A little of the calm reaches my heart, tries to glue it back together like some sort of jigsaw.

It helps. The smell, the candles, the crystals. It reaches into me and draws me out, even if just a little.

I close my eyes. And watch, waiting for my soul to fix itself. I keep asking myself if I can really go on. But I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t already know the answer.

The peace is intoxicating, excrutiating…

Skin deep wounds bruise within. And now I’m black and blue inside. It’s not nice, it’s not fair. But that’s the truth of life…

…healing hurts…

A New Year.

But not a new start. Not for me.

Not this time.