I’m not afraid to sit alone in a crowded restaurant. I might even prefer it.
In three years, three sisters were born. The first was meant to bear the weight of the world around her; joy came in double, but pain too. She was younger than she should have been (but older than her age) when she learned to drown out both. She lives in freedom of her cursed calling, in bondage to her vices. The second was spared of the weight of other’s joy and sorrow. Instead, she was given intelligence; the ability to discern truth and lies through thought. Early on, she recognized this as the curse it was, trying to feel her way out of knowledge. Eventually, she realized how impossible this was, and chose to embrace what was hers as a gift. Only time will tell if that decision will be her salvation or her demise. The third, dreamed. The others saw her soft (with reason). One tried to protect her from a broken heart–bearing double the burden of her already double portion of pain. Her success came at the cost of the youngest’s ability to protect herself, leaving her softer, unable or unwilling to believe that anyone might want to hurt her, thus unlikely to turn away. The other tried to sharpen her, with words that pierced and shattered the very heart the other sought to protect. Her failure allowed the third to love despite blows thrown. The third dreamed she might be a poet, a doctor, a wife, a mother, a savior, a healer… She dreamt so much, she forgot to do.
I did the right thing. The hard thing, but right. I feel it in my bones. But only time can call me the liar I might actually be.
I am the third of three.