Second life

In a world where the only sensation that cuts through the numbness is pain, I’ve become accustomed to the ache of an existence seemingly devoid of true feeling. Every day, I wake up with a lingering soreness, sometimes a dull throb in my joints, other times a sharp pang in my stomach or temples, as if something unseen is pressing on me. Pain has been a loyal companion, the only connection I have to my own body. Where others speak of joy, fear, and love, I feel only this dull, lingering discomfort.

But lately, something has been unsettling my routine, something more elusive than the ever-present ache. I find myself pausing in odd moments—watching shadows stretch across the wall or noticing a lone flower sprouting in a crack on the sidewalk. In these moments, something shifts inside me. It’s not quite a feeling but a weight, something stirring in the depths of my mind. When this happens, the pain sharpens, like my body is bracing against something it has refused to let through.

One night, sitting on my bed, my phone in hand, I’m watching an interview with a young couple deeply in love. For some reason, hearing their words eases the emptiness in me, even if only briefly. The man is asked, "If you held your wife’s heart in your hand, what would you tell her?" He looks at her with a calm, comforting expression and says, "You are safe." The trust in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice, it’s too much. A tear falls, then another, until I’m storming out of my room, crying uncontrollably. My heart feels as if it’s pumping thousands of liters of blood per second, struggling to keep up with the air I’m gasping for. My lungs are on fire, and my whole soul is shaking.

I don’t feel like it’s me who’s crying. It’s as if someone else is inside me, sobbing without end, beyond my control. My phone screen blurs. I look up, and the room around me begins to disappear. Everything fades into darkness—black, black, black. There’s nothing. I’m in an empty void, lost, with no sense of direction. Wait—there’s a voice. Someone is crying.

The sound stops me in my tracks. I no longer feel the tears on my own face. Relief, I think, but then... whose voice is this? How can I find them in this dark place? Confused, I look around, walking back and forth, calling out, “Hello? Can you hear me? I can help you!” Can I? I’m not sure, but it doesn’t matter. All I know is that I need a way out of here.

The crying quiets, and a light appears before me. With nowhere else to go, I follow it. Suddenly, I’m in a different place—a familiar place. My old room. My old room. I remember this old, creaky desk, a hand-me-down from my sister. The legs were broken, and every time it moved, it made an unbearable sound. God how annoying it was. My parents passed down everything this way; I’d use it, then my younger brother would take it after me. What days.

“God!” I gasped, startled, when I see a young girl sitting in the corner, knees tucked to her chest. She’s small, maybe twelve, with bangs that cover half of her face. She looks up at me with wide, dark eyes, her gaze filled with a silent plea. A car honks outside, and I look through the window to see people dressed in black, five cars lined up in front of the house. What’s going on?

“My parents…” the little girl whispers, her voice trembling with tears.

Oh. This day. I remember it. ‘But why are you crying?’ I ask her, unthinking, too lost in the memory to process it fully.

Wait--This is a dream, right? Or is it a memory? No, it’s not a memory. I didn’t cry that day. I couldn’t cry.

“No, you didn’t”, she says softly. “I did”.

Listen, kid...or me, or whoever you are. I rub my temples. This dream is getting long. How do I get out of it? I was watching a video. I’d like to finish it.

I turn toward the door, hoping to wake up, but she stops me. “Are you going to leave me again?”

I pause, feeling a faint, unfamiliar tug in my chest. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. You can go.” She puts her head down, her small body curled into itself.

I can’t bring myself to walk away. I step back into the room, closing the door behind me. She starts to cry again, her face hidden between her knees. I stare at her, and a strange sensation begins to spread through me. I haven’t felt an emotion for a long time, I forgot what emotions were, I forgot how to recognize which is which. I wonder what feeling am I having now. It’s like heat, a heavy weight in my chest-something solid, like a stone pressing down. I feel the urge to comfort her, even though I don’t know how.

Sinking down to the floor, I slide closer to her, step by step.

I always believed I was never alone growing up. Even after my parents passed, I had siblings, uncles, aunts. We were a big family. I was never alone. Or was I?

I whisper, “I’m sorry.” The words scrape out of me, rough as stone. She stops crying and looks up. I repeat it, “I’m really sorry.” The weight in my chest begins to melt, little by little, as tears fall in steady streams. “I left you alone with those feelings because I couldn’t handle them. I’m sorry.”

The crying takes over, harder than before, tears I don’t recognize but that feel painfully real, breaking free after years locked inside. “I’m sorry,” I say again, my voice thick with remorse.

I don’t know how much time passes—hours or minutes. When I finally look up, my face is drenched, my body sore. This ache feels new, like a wound that’s been opened and is finally healing, raw but alive.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know you were still here. Alone. I’m sorry,” I beg, feeling the words come from a depth I hadn’t known was there. She looks at me, as if deciding whether to trust me. I reach my hand out, waiting.

“You’re safe,” I say, hoping she believes it.

After a long pause, she takes my hand, her little fingers warm and soft. The weight in my chest changes, a gentle warmth spreading through me. She stands and hugs me, and I hold her as tightly as I can, feeling the emptiness that’s lived inside me start to fill with something real. Crying nonstop, with every exhale, I feel lighter and lighter. With every tear I feel cleaner. I couldn’t help but close my eyes, letting myself stay in the moment, breathing her in.

She stands and wraps her arms around me, and I pull her close, feeling the emptiness inside me slowly fill with something real. Tears flow freely, and with each exhale, I feel lighter and with every tear I feel cleaner I couldn’t help but close my eyes and live the full moment, breathing her in.

When I open my eyes again, I’m back in my bed, phone on my lap, my arms wrapped around myself. I can’t help but smile—this time, with warmth and joy I haven’t felt before. And for the first time, the familiar pain in my body is gone. It dawns on me that maybe, all along, this pain was her way of calling out to me.

“Thank you,” I whisper to myself, or maybe to her. “Thank you, my body, for showing me the way.”

#ReedsyEncounters