by Elijah Sanders
Even in the worst of times, you always remember the first time you were forced to be a survivor. You see the survivors every day, gloomy eyed with not a trace of fear. The questions of the what and who could have happened to this person, to make them seem so hollow. They are simply the products of good intentions; we are simply products of faithful risk. We learned the hard way that what is good is not always going to be right and what is wrong is not always going to be bad. There is no “I’m a survivor of…” , because surviving is something that never ends. As I’m sitting here at 1am, with the computer screen eager to know what I’ll write next, I feel hopeless. How do you love someone, who’s been molded to use love as a tool. Hell, how do we love somebody else without thinking that the very same tool is not being used against us? Love makes us feel conflicted in wanting to trust every word that dances from our lover’s mouth, but always being in fear that this lover is capable of the same things you are capable of, causing you more pain. We cling to our pain(s) as if it was an organ that is essential to living and even love becomes an event that we’ve survived.