Overjoyed

I feel overjoyed

When you listen to my words

I see them sinking in

I can see them crawling underneath your skin

Words are all we have

We'll be talking

These words are all we have

We'll be talking

And I hear you calling in the dead of night

I've had enough!

My mother flew up from her chair and cleared her place.

My father sat at the table looking at me with aggravated eyes.

Do you hear yourself Kathryn? All you talk about is that man! You don't have a life.

His words cut like knives. I did too have a life.

All I was doing was waiting for a letter. A reply from a man I met in Paris.

The trip happened so fast that memories were coming back to me at a terrifyingly rapid pace.

They gave me such joy, I had to speak out loud.  

I now understood I had to keep my mouth shut about it.

Weeks had gone by and deep down I knew there wouldn't be a letter.

With a heavy heart I slowly crept up to my bedroom and gingerly took a copy of my letter and a picture of the Parisian man and I.

With them in my pocket, I thudded down the stairs, tore the screen door open and flew away.

With bare feet and agony I ran from it all.

I just needed to breathe.

I desperately needed to breathe and get away.

The summer heat of the day had left and the night breeze cooled my flushed skin. The sky had a deep blue glow threatening a blanket of darkness.

Down the street and into the forest I walked.  

I could no longer run like I wanted to, for the pavement was not being kind to my feet. Yet I liked the pain. I just didn't care anymore.

With tears beginning to trickle down my face,  I took flight again once I hit the cold soft dirt of the woods.

The trees seemed to hug me as I whizzed through, and my woodland friends peeked through their homes wondering what was the matter.

Colapsing at the riverside, I let the tears and the hurt spiral out of my body.  

Weren't you supposed to talk about your life with family? What was so bad about being excited about a letter? Why did they not like Andre?

Lately, It seemed no matter what I talked about...

No one cared. No one genuinely listened.

The youngest in my family, the things I was learning were already learned.

The milestones I was making were already made.

Whatever came out of my mouth was shushed. 

Breathing in I took out my letter and the picture.

My fingers sunk into the soil and I dug.

I dug

and I dug

and I dug.

With dirt in my nails, roots cut up my hands, twigs made them bleed.

I buried our picture.

I buried my letter.

Metaphorically the French man was dead.

And I was mourning being voiceless, lonely, and sad that a love would never happen again.

I kept finding myself returning to the forest and unburying my treasures.

It was interesting to see the picture fade, our faces become blurry, deformed and ugly. The ink on my letter began to blur and bleed.

Like my hope, it all became nothing.

To this day by the riverside, next to a tree stump sits a large rock with a French saying carved in it.

No one knows why it's there, and no one knows what was buried underneath.

And in the dead of night, deep in the middle of the woods, a ghost calls. Tempting me to return and unbury him.

This piece I've written is for each and every person who has ever reviewed my work or has become my friend.

YOU listen to my words.

You make me proud of myself.

You make me feel appreciated.  

I am overjoyed and I thank you.

Without you, who knows how many more things I'd be burying in the woods!

If you watch the video closely below, it will resemble myself and my story.

I watched this video shortly after the death of the French man and it gave me chills.

It's as if someone who knows me, followed me on that night and made a video about it....

 

Author's Note

Reviews

[dan]

Kathryn, Such a beautiful song by Bastille. Your writing turned me on to that band. Thank you.
There was an old movie, a black-and-white number, don't know the name, I am not an old movie aficionado. One of the lines in it, as the onscreen couple was parting ways was, "We'll always have Paris." Maybe if you remember this scenario in those terms it may cushion the fall?
I always love your writing. Keep it up!
take care...dan

[Coyote Poetry]

Good words and thought my friend. All of need someone to appreciate us. We must appreciate people also. Love and friendship is the kindest gift. Good video and outstanding poetry and thoughts.
Coyote

[wordman]

well i am the baby of the family with 5 older brother and sisters,so i can relate

[ANTO]

After reading this I began to think of my own youngest sibling (who, embarrassingly, even at age 35 with kids of their own they still get called 'the child' now and again). But I began thinking of them in a different way !! Thanks to this.
We do of course all get slotted into the roles - only child - middle child - youngest child - oldest child and become a kind of parody of ourselves because of that. I hope your own family get the opportunity some day of a different point of view. You're certainly a voice to be reckoned with.
well penned KS.

[Manavi_]

I think it's the best thing that you do, writing your heart out. And later when you'd be far ahead and over your past, these scripts will be the only thing left to show you all that you did for yourself, when no one was even bothering your existence. And that here you are, a brand new person rising from the ashes of humiliation and distrust.

[Brad P]

We gladly listen to your words!
We are proud of YOU!
We appreciate YOU!
We are overjoyed and we thank YOU for sharing your inner-most feelings and emotions.

[samparks,sam]

nice sweet so great you, I like it

[Writing Angel]

honestly this is amazing as it shows truth and detail in feelings..i too have buried a picture of a love that passed away last summer...it hurt so much..but i did because i knew he wasnt coming back