Was she worth it?
A short sharp sentence, with meaning beyond comprehension. Four little words driven together, almost crashing into and out of existence just by being summoned together. Was. She. Worth. It. The question, the answer will depend on the reader, the asker and the answerer. Each as important as the next, and can’t be disregarded, neither played down.
The first assumes an accusing question, one where the answer is already known. That tit-for-tat rendezvous that you thought you could hide. Leaving what was sacred, what was secure, known, to go in search for excitement. The thrill of the chase, the something new. A fresh character you could create for yourself, amongst the mundane. They, the new one, will love you, for the new you. They don’t know your past, or your full present. Two worlds carved out in the running up to this question. Each one to be kept apart, divided, secluded, contained. Yet, you revelled in dipping toes into both worlds, and that’s where the lines started to fade. We get closer to her question, anticipating it now, hearing it echo within us, before she’s even spoke a word. Both worlds now so consuming, you forget where one ends, and the other remains. Stories and memories shared leave bitter confusion to both sides, as you start to forget who said what, where and when. Her ears pricked up, when you remarked candidly about that time when, for it wasn’t her memory you was replaying. With a heavy heart, evidence in hand, she asks you the question. ‘Was she worth it?’ It’s ringing with begging undertones, something, anything to justify this new world exploration. You could tell her it was only once, you were drunk, or real off a list of reasons why you did it. Nine out of ten of those reasons will be reasons why the asker wasn’t worth staying sacred for. She will cry hot tears of fiery fury, as she recalls how worthless she is to you, so she must be to everyone, anyone. For the answer to,
‘Was she worth it?’
Had never been spoke aloud. It would be a defining moment, but not here or today. No, today would be a day of deals, contracts, offers. Clinical, with self-esteem shattering undertones. A price was set, pre-determined in her head. She know her worth, needed to know her worth. Key board warrior typing with passion and fury, everyone presumed she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. To the contrary, her needs for basic survival, to give, to love, to care for her pact, she was instead a sheep in wolf’s clothing. The world was not hers for the taking, it was knowing when to speak, when not to, and when to rattle cages. She would become a yes girl, loosing the argumentative streak. When a job was lost, the employer was never blamed. Internally, she quizzed herself, do I need to be thinner, lighter, taller, prettier. Those that made the deals, temporarily burnt away the rejections. The clan spoke often of prices, rates, prices for skin revealed. Being a muse to their shutters and clicks, not once could anyone reaffirm the sacred question,
‘Was she worth it?’
Was she worth saving from herself? Was the problem indeed inside her head, and not perceived as obvious as day is to night to everyone else. Perhaps, there was no problem, and it had been created amongst the memories, the to-do’s, the bills to pay. Recalling the times those sacred words had not been said before, unanswered questions strewn about her life. Her very existence, almost non-existent to the world at large. Could she be capable, deserving of being loved? Who would want to love her, to never leave her, to cherish what she could bring? Why, oh why, was she even here, created, what was the purpose again. Eyelids heavy from self-questioning, a heavy heart from yearning for it to be said. The ‘I love you’, ‘I want you’, ‘I need you’ ‘s, echoing in the silence once again. Screaming inside of her, the romantic, the female and feminine form is demanding the answer that no one up ’til now will give. To tell her heart that she’s amazing, the one, a thank you for the little things done. Thankful to have met her, to know her, to be there with her. But there’s no answer. Not a ring, nor a chime. No one pips up, yelling it will be okay. Her soul tattered, worn, where once there had been a cup full of future’s, you and I’s, together’s, forever’s. Alone, not even she could answer,
‘Was she worth it?’
The sacred, special sound of a child tiptoeing towards your room. A breath held as you wait for the request, an explanation to why their bed is yet to see them sleep tonight, as softly as a baby. ‘Mummy, I just want to cuddle you.’ The blow of the question, that question, being unanswered softens. A smile takes her face by surprise, for when you’re wrapped up in the questions, the possible answers, the tangled web of life, smiles come with rarity these days. How can you say no to that? They cuddled, perhaps she needed the cuddle more than the child. Maybe the child sensed her longing, wishing to be held. Or, maybe, more likely she had seen the tears that had flowed at the times she had tried to hide it not so well. The child began to recall a memory the mother had buried deep somewhere underneath the present, motherhood and homework. She, now with purpose in her voice tells the young ears listening that she will never leave them, will always be there, no matter what. Wanting the conviction of the answer to sound as certain as the answer, no differing here or grey areas to be left untold. An innocent tear leapt from the eyes of the child, followed promptly by the words, ‘Mummy, don’t worry these are happy tears, because you just said I would never lose you.’ The bitter day resurfaces again, to when she did think she would lose her, she, mother. It was that defining moment, when she could then answer,
‘Was she worth it?’
Her heart beating with gratitude, with love, but with a fierce protective overtone, she knew the answer. She was worth it. She was worthy to be alive, to have a purpose, to have feelings, thoughts, dreams, just like any other human in the worlds we have created. The sacred question, only four words long, had been answered. Not by another person, an object, an interview, or a job. Nor by a poll, quiz, or by opinion or vote. What she had given was life, created by union, was life. Something although created billions of times over, would not be the exact same recipe as the child who stood before her today. The one she held in her own arms, or repeated that word ‘mummy’ hundreds of times in one day. She was the hand to hold, the smile to the tears, the food to the plate. Her voice was of reason, of answers to questions not yet explored. She was their safety net, a carer, but perhaps most importantly, their mother. Was she worth loving? Yes, but not everyone would, or could. Was she worth the fight, the long haul? Only to those worth going the distance to find out, but right now it didn’t matter. One day they might see what they’ve been missing, and in that time she would have created her own world once over all over again. Her, with her own passion, her love, her children. A smile on her face as she awoke, and a tear rolled down his cheek as he remembered, clicked to answer to that sacred question,
She was worth it.
The sacred question now burning his tongue, could he make it up, show she was the one,
‘Was he too late?’..
Written by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, in response to Daily Prompt : Sacred.
Photography and edit by Rose-Sky Journey Pieces, 2016.