I can see you sitting in the far corner, waiting for the attention that no one is giving you. I see your eyes well up with tears, when you see me looking at you. I see your lips begin to slightly tremble as soon as I make an effort to smile at you. There are a lot of people here, but do you know why I look at you?
I look at you because we connect, on a different level than the people surrounding us. We find comfort in the fact that the same things happened to us and no one else. You are my friend and I want you to be brave. I want you to be so brave that you can obliterate the memories of what he made you go through. These memories will keep coming but let it go. When you grow up beyond this, you will realize they are just a bad taste in the mouth. I know it hurts and you would not have been able to do anything, but darling do you see how great your life can be? Look at him, he will never be a human again, never be able to feel compassion or wisdom and he has already lost out on life, because he touched you. He touched you the way you did not deserve to be. He touched you because his carnality was his life force, not love or care. People like him will always be there, but you cannot be brought down by rogues like him. Grow beyond the garbage of this world. Grow beyond narrow minds, and shallow walls. Grow beyond the rogues that see you as flesh.
I truly understand what he must have made you go through. You wanted to shout but you couldn’t. Either your mouth was clamped shut or your voice slowly left your side. You felt the world shutting out, leaving you in the dirt of one man who did not see you as human. His touch the kind of a crude metal rod on naked skin in the winter night. With no one by your side, and no one to see your pain, you make that small little corner your friend. Your friend provides you with sunlight and a window frame. Your friend gives you something to look out to. But what about the winters? When the gardens are full of fog and nothing is visible. When the sunlight refuses to pierce through the dense fog to warm you up. When birds refuse to chirp and make you happy. This is when, my dear, you have to start producing your own paradise. I know the feel of those cold, inhuman fingers around your feminity, the disparage with which he looked at you. You, the beautiful creation of God, you were made to beg for your own life. The feeling of hopelessness that prevailed around you while he slaved you for his pleasure. We are all born of a gender that denies the existence of men like him in our family. But the day you break out from the images and the haunting memories you will be that force of nature, God intended you to be. I only want you to be brave. I know you will be.
I see you now, many months beyond your trauma. You see me looking at you, and you are the first one to break into a smile. You come close to me, hold my hand and kiss my cheek. That old friend of yours, the small corner, now holds a vase of fresh flowers instead of you. I can feel the happiness that those babies give you. I see you living without your first family, instead making these children your everything. I feel your happiness radiating into me, and that makes me break out into the smile you started.