Dear L.

by Tinaeshe Rudolph

I have wedded silence. Devoted my life’s stories to its empty sound. My vows consisted of committing to not echoing the bass that bounced off the walls of my mind. To continue to fear the spaces your laughter once occupied. To forever regret the corners I let you touch. To hold on to the idea that you took from me and even in your lack of presence, to allow you to steal my joy for all eternity.

I am as loyal as a dog, and I have proven time and time again to remain tied to this story that sits at the base of my belly, slowly rising like bile at each turn I take. I have not known peace since the day you took it from me. Sometimes I question whether the gravity ofthe act would still carry as much weight as it does if I spoke more openly about it. But my womanhood would be questioned if I did. The word strong would be used to describe me, even if the response was silence, the reflection of pity in the glossy eyes of those hearing would still loudly scream ‘You are so strong’. And I am tired of being strong.

Have you told anyone what happened? Have you even admitted it to yourself? Does it carry like  overweight baggage at the airport? Do you have to unpack it, leaving it at the door of every room  you enter? Taking in gulps of air when you’re drowning on land? It would be best for me to  assume that this does not affect you. It crosses your mind only when your phone reminds you of  the pictures you secretly took of me a year ago. 

It’s stained more than my clothes, It’s stained the colour of my teeth, I dare not try and smile as  wide as I did once. The sun feels like a heavy cloud sits atop it and dares not to move. No wind to  chase it. When I stare in the mirror too long I remember the things you enjoyed about my looks  and I could almost scrub my face off of my skin. I can still smell the scent of your room in the  houses of others. It’s tar. Its heavy tar stuck onto me and now that I’ve been stolen from myself, I  am not too sure how to return back home. To drown the smell of what equates to the memory of  you. You stole my home, the home I once carried, the one I once owned. The one that once held  the comfort of herbal tea bags and the beginning of a teapot collection. The home that brought  in eternal sunshine, of flowers in pinks and greens, of jewellery in yellows, golds and silvers. Of  tarot cards and the belief in astrology, of seeking God. Of being lost in the idea of being divinely  protected. This home is now a dark corridor, no broom would be big enough to brush away the  dirt that stains the floors. I can never seem to mop up the mess that keeps spilling out of me.  I’ve attempted to create a space for myself in others’ homes, but it never feels quite right. I tend  to stain the sheets they have laid out for me to lie on. And as quickly as I walk in, holding on to  their walls for stability, I leave an everlasting dark spot on the walls of their sanctuaries. Have I  become a version of you? 

I threw out a dress you undeniably adored. I wanted to burn each individual knot that held it  together. To erase the compliment that fragranced the outfit. But that would have meant burning the parts of myself tied to you. So I threw it away. It freed me for only a second. Then you reappeared and cluttered my brain, and destroyed me once again. And you haven’t left since then. I don’t want you to follow me when I find a new home for myself. I hope you occupy a different room, far away from my neighbourhood, far away from the places where the sun will begin to warm me up again. I hope to return to myself, to smile at myself and think of myself pretty and worthy and untainted, free of stains and unrestrained. To open up my heart to love, to not question the intention of those who say they love me. To not run from the possibilities of 

happiness and success. To see myself as sunshine again. To brighten my own life. To hold myself as gently as I did before, and only cry from joy. 

I hope one day I can forget you existed in the same lifetime as me. But until then, I will keep searching for myself in crowds and wait to feel as beautiful as I did some time ago. 

All the best, I actually do not wish you the worst, 

Tinaeshe