The day I was healed.

I remember it very clearly. The tear streamed down my face. And it touched my lip. Spreading over it. I would leave it there as I searched my mind for nothingness and longed to simply breathe. And then I tasted it. This time so sweet. My mind had forgotten how it felt to be at peace and my cheeks no longer knew the feeling of the desert I live in. And my lips, my lips had only held droplets of salt, while my tongue only tasted the bitter flavor of the hatred in my soul. But this time. It was sweet. And all at once I realized I had not been crying at all. This droplet on my lips had fallen from my damp face. A face only dampened by the water from my faucet. And it turned out, I had not been crying at all. Not today. How sweet it tasted. I knew right then, that was all I wanted. Never again would I let him be responsible for the tears streaming down my face. Never more would I honor his destruction of my soul, my beautiful mind. He was toxic. And I had never known, until I took a breath of fresh air. 

And now I long for the courage to do so. I've felt it, I know what it would be like to be healed. To be free. And my mind has seen it. I've even felt it, a little. But my heart won't let me have it. I know what it will be like, the day that I'm healed.