Diolch Arachnid translated to ‘Thank You’ spider in Welsch
Her reflection held her captive, a stranger in a familiar frame. “Not coming back,” she whispered, the words a chilling echo in the silent room. They said mirrors stole beauty, a cruel trick on souls already bare. But what good was inner beauty if it couldn’t fight it’s way out? Her hair, a tangled mess, mirrored the storm within. Dark circles bracketed eyes that held a question: how did I get here? Every neglected corner of her reflection – the disgusting fingernails, the cracked lips – a testament to a journey gone astray.
Her head held impossibly high, she strutted down the street, a performance for an audience that didn’t exist. Each click of her heels echoed the hollowness inside. In the solitude of her room, the act crumbled. Memories flooded back – nights consumed by a suffocating darkness, the desperate urge to escape the world’s harsch valuation that had shrunk her worth to a mere pittance. The confident click of her heels on the pavement now felt like a desperate plea for a different kind of attention, a yearning for a value she couldn’t possibly manufacture on her own.
The grand staircase spiraled downwards, a monument to forgotten hierarchies. She was its neglected bottom step, the one that tripped you up, and sent curses flying as you nearly met the floor. Eating shit. But the descent never ends, does it? Soon, she’ll be the top step, bathed in the light of achievement. A silent welcome to those who’ve navigated the darkness. Welcome home, you made it. You. have made it.
He left, and a part of me did too. But from the ashes, a phoenix. This isn’t a mistake, a chance occurrence, or some stroke of luck. I was forged in the fires of his absence, a shield to protect the girl who once was. A shield she can hide behind, a wall no touch can penetrate. But this fierceness, this anger…. It burns for her, not him. She’ll stay hidden until she’s ready until the embers of pain cool and a new strength emerges. Until then, I stand guard. This rebirth wasn’t for me, but for her.
The wait stretches before you, a desolate landscape, yet a single, precious breath escapes her lips. You love her, fiercely, unquestionably. But this woman beside you — a stranger draped in a familiar form. Her laughter, a ghost of its former joy, chills you more than the shivers that wrack her fragile frame. Buried secrets weigh heavy in her eyes, a cemetery of unspoken pain. You yearn to know who she is now, but a deeper truth resonates – your love transcends this fractured version. It stretches back to the woman you knew and embraces the one she’s yet to become.
The world used to be a kaleidoscope of anxieties, each fragment a worry for someone else. Now, a stark focus remains – her own reflection staring back, carved with lines deeper than sleep deprivation. ‘Enough water?’ The question hangs heavy, a stark contrast to the symphony of concerns that once filled her mind. A pain of guilt stabs at her – is self-centeredness a betrayal of empathy? Though perhaps tending to her own needs, she can one day return, stronger, to the world that needs her.
The walls rose with each heartbreak, each betrayal, a fortress built against the world. Even her own reflection feels like a stranger, a consequence of a life lived at a distance. No one can get through even, me, myself, and you. The thought of letting someone in terrifies her. But the echo of “you” in her empty space mocks the hollowness of her self-imposed isolation.
I love you for the secrets you whispered, the dreams you held close. But a bitter wind blows through the space you left behind. You walked away, and I slammed the door, locking out not just you. Now I stand here, a prisoner of my own anger. Hate simmers, a counterpoint to the love that refuses to die. “You” echoes in the emptiness, a constant reminder of what I’ve lost and me that chose to leave too.
Anjolie's Sake 