In one day ... a baby is born, an old man dies, and we have the chance to engage in an affair.

I wanted him to love me. To help me learn to fly. To believe I was the most beautiful songbird to have sweetly sung melodies to him on his balcony. But I fell short. I missed the landing.

Had I been nearer to his soul, he might have seen, REALLY SEEN I could have been his. His to cherish and adore. He could have watched me grow to become an exquisite, exotic, everlasting orchid that would remain abloom for longer than just a single summer. Perhaps not. As is often the case, I was faithful to my heart, but hopeful to a fault. I, of all people, should have remembered that when nourishment is withheld, flowers wither then fade. Ever so slowly, they die.

It's actually funny though, how the futures we long-planned have a way of falling mid-flight. I wanted him to promise I would always be a part of his plan.

If only...

If only I could have been "Daddy's girl." If only we all could awaken each morning and lay down each night feeling cherished, adored, loved. If only we could have found a way to "stay quiet and don't tell ANYONE." If only we stopped questioning what they were doing to us and why it must be kept secret. If only it didn't hurt physically at first, and leave us hurting emotionally, forever. How could they selfishly put OUR needs aside, deciding it was okay for them to use us to mop up their own sick needs? Then we were discarded like a used, wet rag in a dark corner. No, unlike the many tears we've shed on account of you, these memories cannot ever be wiped away...

This brings us to now. How do we deal with all the leftovers from the family dinner party gone awry? Inedible, stale remnants of a meal-mockery that refuse to go away. Invitations should have been rescinded. If we weren't good enough to exist, we surely didn't belong at your sick version of a "party." But now, it's far too late. The party is over and we have the job of cleaning up...not the kitchen or the dining room table...our LIVES!

If only we could go back in time and rewrite our own childhoods, so many things would be different, better. There'd be love, kindness, belonging and empathy. The title of that book would read, Plentiful Laughter, Feelings of Worth, and A Childhood WITHOUT Abuse.

If only perhaps we can learn to love ourselves, we can forgive OURSELVES for not knowing then what we know now. We can fall in love with the injured butterfly we are, find solace in solitude, and rest our lovely wings. We need not wait for anyone to tell us we DO MATTER, because we survived- and even if we cannot yet fly, we can find a gentle breeze to lift our wings so we can know what freedom will feel like.

My survivor friends, I say LET THIS AFFAIR BEGIN! We were made perfectly, and created to become so much more than a forever-wounded being. We have worth. We have hearts that can hold so much more love when we empty out the pain, regret and anger. We ARE strong, built to withstand that which threatened to tear us down! Amazingly, our precious hands are miraculously constructed to both open and close; once we release the grip we had on our powerlessness and self-pity, we can use our hands and reach out to others who are not yet where we are.

All in one day... Maybe today... We can begin an affair to last a lifetime. If only we can fall in love with our extraordinary and passionate hearts. What a beautiful new beginning to our story.

This story was long in becoming. This affair must never, ever end!