Music Speaks Louder Then Words
Music Speaks Louder Than Words
As I stood in front of the mirror, gazing back at my hideous reflection, tracing my fingertips over the black and blue marks on my body, wincing each time I touched the points of impact, I thought to myself, “What did I do wrong? Why can’t I make him happy anymore? Has our love faded? Was the love I thought we shared even real?” While contemplating these questions in my head, I began to reminisce on the old times. Going back to the beginning of it all, back when happiness was easy to come by, back when I would not be found without a smile on my face, back when these scars and bruises were not found on my body. Life hadn’t always been bad; I was brought up in an incredible home where love radiated through the walls into every heart and soul that entered in. Smiles where exchanged through passing no matter where I was headed, or whom I was with. There was that constant bounce in my step, the kind that would make your ponytail swish in the wind with every step. However as time went on, and the wrong friendships were made, life slowly started to turn sour. I may not have noticed it at first, but as I came back to reality, back to looking into the mirror, I realized it then and there, that I was no longer living in the happy life I once did. When I had come to this realization all I could do was cry. It no longer mattered what I thought I had done wrong, or why I couldn’t make him happy, or even if our love was real, because it was then clear to me that he couldn’t make me happy, and you don’t hurt those you love. I needed to make some serious changes in my life and find my happiness again. Would it be that easy as just saying it though? How would I explain these black and blue marks to my parents, much less tell them how sad I was and how my life no longer had meaning. I wasn’t ready for all of that yet. So as I covered my bruises with concealer I began to think of what used to make me happy, what used to be my escape, and what
As I stood in front of the mirror, gazing back at my hideous reflection, tracing my fingertips over the black and blue marks on my body, wincing each time I touched the points of impact, I thought to myself, “What did I do wrong? Why can’t I make him happy anymore? Has our love faded? Was the love I thought we shared even real?” While contemplating these questions in my head, I began to reminisce on the old times. Going back to the beginning of it all, back when happiness was easy to come by, back when I would not be found without a smile on my face, back when these scars and bruises were not found on my body. Life hadn’t always been bad; I was brought up in an incredible home where love radiated through the walls into every heart and soul that entered in. Smiles where exchanged through passing no matter where I was headed, or whom I was with. There was that constant bounce in my step, the kind that would make your ponytail swish in the wind with every step. However as time went on, and the wrong friendships were made, life slowly started to turn sour. I may not have noticed it at first, but as I came back to reality, back to looking into the mirror, I realized it then and there, that I was no longer living in the happy life I once did. When I had come to this realization all I could do was cry. It no longer mattered what I thought I had done wrong, or why I couldn’t make him happy, or even if our love was real, because it was then clear to me that he couldn’t make me happy, and you don’t hurt those you love. I needed to make some serious changes in my life and find my happiness again. Would it be that easy as just saying it though? How would I explain these black and blue marks to my parents, much less tell them how sad I was and how my life no longer had meaning. I wasn’t ready for all of that yet. So as I covered my bruises with concealer I began to think of what used to make me happy, what used to be my escape, and what