He held the card and read it,
“Not her again” and threw it in the neighbour’s garden patch.
She was Deborah.
Who loved him,
And sent him a Christmas card, hoping to be his girl.
They were young.
He was fine, she was lovely,
Yet his silence. Yes, his silence was ripping her apart.
And the hurt went deep down inside.
She had a choice, in how she would reply,
To react or respond.
The way she goes could shape her entire life.
Wondering how she would be later on.
And if the same thoughts would still be there.
And if she would be free?
But Deborah stopped by the pavement
And her eyes brightened up.
Singers were there.
A bit of beauty.
The crisp, fresh, silent night spoke to her senses,
The song on their lips filled her soul,
The people who listened with an ear for hope.
This she knew, would stay, with her, inside her heart.
And the rhymes and rhythms of the night would remind her:
Life goes on.
She clung tightly to the thought that everything is all right.
What if your body language gave way to you being rejected? It just signaled to the other person a warning sign. The perils of body language, then. One must fight back the invisible throttle to one’s dignity and reposition one’s self in a self-accepting manner. One does this one’s self, it’s just a natural reaction to feeling like duh. Really deal with it later.