Hard to love.

Hard to love. 

     A simple statement, kind of like the simple click of a lock chaining the statement to your being or the soft script, tattooed on your midsection. It’s always there, hiding beneath pretty clothes & smiles. But you never forget, its burned into who you are. The others can’t see it. Only when you remove your clothes, bare your vulnerability do they see it. The dark bold letters against soft light flesh.

     I watched my mother wipe at tears as she sat on the floor at the end of her bed. Someone had told her she was hard to love. The way her voice shook and her eyes crinkled I knew she had carried the weight of those words for twenty years. Someone had cursed her in a way that can’t be outrun.