When the Light Hit the Floor

I didn't step out from the home that bruised me;

I clawed out of the hell that he built for me.

Fingernails torn from their place on the silence that held me,

and a shaking breath that pushed my bones through the soil.

-

I did not walk into my peace.

I staggered.

Launching myself from a false home,

where the walls watched me and asked why he had put holes in them.

Where breathing was equivalent to betrayal,

and the silence clenched it's teeth,

hissing at me to just shut up.

-

Those who believe that light is gentle have never had to earn it's warmth.

The morning I felt it return,

I thought the sun had made a mistake.

The shimmering glow touched upon the wood floors,

and sat there like a question that was too exhausting to ask.

-

My fists were still clenched.

I was still watching for his truck to pull into the driveway.

The ray of light that shone through was no longer a tell to my presence in a hidden window.

My pulse was still counting shadows, but as I looked at the scenery of many provinces away from the horrors...

Nothing moved.

There was no voice cutting me like shattered glass.

No apology to follow the threats.

-

Nobody tells you that light cracks before it pours.

That safety doesn't arrive like a mid-season monsoon.

Instead, it slides in like the jagged edge of a knife,

finding it's place in it's sheath.

-

That morning, I finally heard my heartbeat,

and I didn't mistake it for encroaching footsteps.

That morning, my hands shook,

but I did not flinch.

That morning, the sunlight touched the floor,

and I threw back the curtains and invited it to stay.

-

I finally exhaled the held breath of what felt like a thousand years.

I exhaled,

not air,

but the version of myself that no longer had to hold down the fort.

-

There was no musical montage of my healing.

There was no swelling vibrato to bring my peace to light to the audience at home.

Instead, there was the hum of the fridge.

The pattering of toddler feet.

The slice of light on the wooden flooring.

Someone had cracked the door to heaven to remind me that I didn't have to be scared anymore.

-

That was the moment.

My moment.

Not joy. Not victory.

Just stillness,

and a sunbeam that I didn't flinch away from.

That's how I knew;

I was no longer afraid.