Et brev til den trætte sjæl

I don’t know you, but I know something about you. I know you’re tired.

I know you live with demons, ones that are close and loud.

I know how relentless they are in their pursuit of you.

I know that you spend your days trying to silence them and your nights trying to hide from them, and the hell they put you through.

Most of all, I know how hard you work to hide it all, to pretend you’re fine, to paint a convincing smile upon your face, and to act as if all is well with your battered soul.

I know that all of this has left you exhausted, that you’ve numbed yourself and hurt yourself and starved yourself in the hope that their voices will become silent and their fists will be lifted and you can finally breathe again.

I know that right now it doesn’t seem like that moment will ever come.

I know right now you’d rather leave than live.

And even though I’m not standing in your shoes right now, and even though I don’t know you, and even though I have no right at all, I’m asking you to stick around.

I’m asking you to stay. To endure your incredibly painful, totally senseless now because I can see your glorious, blindingly beautiful then, if you do.