Of Camels and Straws

* The saddest guise of abuse is that the abused often believe it’s their fault, or that they are unworthy of anything better. * ~ flakes fell … wafting gently forth-and-back to sew invisible seams that joined night sky with a soft, white blanket covering the ground … the heavy snowfall was lit up like a wedge of dancing winter pixies in the streetlight’s buttery beam … she stood statuesque - arms straight out to her sides her shadow like a crucifix of oblivion consuming snow and light alike making her seem twice as mysterious - twice as imposing (‘if ONLY’ she mumbled to herself) … face-to-sky, she let the ice crystals sting her skin like little frigid kisses from heaven she was quite familiar with such chilled, ambiguous affections as her lips (and aching heart) had known only gelidity for quite some time now - the half-truths of a mouth pressed to hers - closed and pursed with careless indifference … (tenderness, a casual casualty) and a hint of something more - something … dark VERY dark … evident in their final kiss a painful nip of questionable intent - certainly not loving or even sensual - and though it did not draw blood it left a mark that lasted days … each time she glanced at it in reflections a cold, black fear dug into her gut and a chill went from marrow to skin arm hair standing like steel wool … it was THAT - the little brand of his evil motive left on her lip - that finally brought her here to the literal crossroads of her life waiting alone on a wint’ry eve for a bus to elsewhere - ANYwhere … her charmed Cinderella’s carriage - her pied pumpkin of hope and the wish for an existence without monsters … without a black pit of abused despair without the forced and phony guilt that she was unworthy of love and without mirrors that only returned a face of contusions that makeup couldn’t mask - the marred visage of a once beautiful angel she no longer recognized … or even … liked.