She danced and twirled around him liking and hating the dance at the same time. It wasn’t an everyday occurrence, but an occurrence that happened enough to create shame, guilt, emotions that were not hers to own. She tried speaking to others. To talk about the pain ripping at her soul. She tried to yell, to cry in desperation with gleaming razors and blood-soaked palms. But others turned away. Told her it was a lie, too much to bear, to keep it hidden in darkness. So, it turned into a whisper that floats on the wind of her soul.
Blossoming Beautifully 