Fine art by Joanna Haber

Dear Stranger,
I wonder what your year has been like.
I wonder if you remember what you did exactly one year ago today.
I wonder if you have thought about that day in each of the 365 days since.
I wonder what you did that evening and if you can remember the weeks that followed, weeks that were swallowed up for me in a thick fog that I still cannot see through.
did you know that it was a crime that you committed and, while devastating in itself, it would throw me into a cycle that began my most difficult spin around the sun to date?
I doubt it.
I doubt you even acknowledged that what you did was wrong, was an assault, was a crime, was a violation on my body, and more, my mind, my soul, my spirit.
do you remember what you were wearing that day? Is the coat you wore imprinted on your mind as it is mine?
I often think of the dress i was wearing, the one i threw out not long thereafter, how it was once my favourite and if it were a contributing factor to what you did.
It was not.
It wasn’t about me; I doubt you could recall a thing about me, let alone a flimsy dress.
I don’t think I was special in your choosing, just there, alone, ‘vulnerable’ stamped across my head like a magnet you were drawn to.
or maybe you didn’t see me at all in the darkness, just a body in the right place at the exact time of your depraved whim.
either way, it wasn’t about me.
it was about you.
you.
not that I know what about you it was for, what need in you it satisfied.
I’ll never understand that. i never want to understand that.
and you’ll never understand what you did to me in that moment, what traumas triggered, what followed.
I don’t think i’ll ever forgive you for what you did a year ago today,
I’m not sorry for that.
but maybe, maybe, today, one year later, maybe this is the day I should start finding a way to forgive myself.

—

Mariann Martland is a writer, a seeker, a lover, a friend. She wholeheartedly believes in the universe, love, connection and strength of human spirit, even when she is overwhelmed or confused by life; there is usually at least one moment in each day when she feels overwhelmed or confused by life. More of her writing can be found on at www.MariannMartland.com  and Facebook.

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