Blogophilia 17.14



The hallway is long, lined with doors. Each door leads to a memory. Red carpet is worn beneath her feet. The walls are dark and dirty. Lights highlight the long path into the past. She knows each door by heart. She has visited some rooms more than others. Some she has avoided all together. This museum, the collected snippets of her life.

Now she stands in front of a trophy case. It is full of different cups of fame. All of them bear another person’s name. This case holds a place of honor in the hallway since it is the place she visits most often. It is not covered in dust. The looking glass shines clean and crisp. Each name brings up a memory of pain. This person did this, another did that.

The memories vivid, even in retrospect. She used to stand here and cry. Continually read the names over and over. A testament to her torment. Her body would relive the shame. Her heart would burn with terrible pain. Each name invoked a face, a scar, a heart break, and a piece of her, broken.

                She would scream, her voice echoing off the curling wallpaper and aging wood.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?”

                “Help me…”

                “I hate you… I love you still.”

                “Why did you do that to me?”

                “What did I do?”

                Silence always followed. No one ever answered. She would crawl to the door and return to her life feeling hopeless and lost until she returned to scream again at those who were long gone.

                She is not screaming today. Something has changed. She stares at the trophies with sadness realizing how much time she has spent here, alone in the dark.

                Glancing up, she looks down the hallway. It is the same. Curling paper, dusty corners, ragged carpet, and aging wood. This is her. A collection of moments and each one has led to now. She takes a deep breath. A cloth falls from the ceiling, covering the trophy case in black.

                She walks toward the door where white light shines in the form of the cross. Stepping into the light, she feels warm, alive for the first time in ages. She is finally free.

©Rebecca R. Grusendorf

“Things do not change; we change.” Henry Thoreau

“I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you.; and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.” Ezekiel 36:26

                I think I can say that I am a “new girl” since I no longer look to the past for answers but live in this moment right here and now. And I am so grateful for the life I’ve lived. I will not be celebrating with pumpkin spice though. Never cared for that flavor, but I will take a hot cider with cinnamon. ❤

  In recall, I found something from a long, long time ago that brings fond memories and renewed hope. My sister introduced me to this, and we spoke about it recently. I was eight at the time and she was returning from college. It was the time of tent revivals… do you remember those? Lol Anyway, this guy is a killer guitar player and listening to his lyrics, I realize I’ve always had a love for words. Here is a blast from my past. I hope you enjoy it. Blessings everyone.

12 thoughts on “Blogophilia 17.14”

    1. Ironically, she tried smashing it many times, but it always remained. The past stands here, inside her, but it no longer defines who she is. 🙂 Thank you for giving me an outlet to share these things Marvin. It really is a blessing.


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