II. She

I don't remember being happy. My life started on a farm, working with only my father and the animals to talk to. When I woke up in the morning, I would open my eyes and see the wooden ceiling, and right now I don't think I've ever seen a sight that felt so safe. I don't think I could find that anywhere else, not even if it looked the same. It wouldn't feel the same. That feeling of safety I will always carry with me. As a memory.

But happiness… true happiness. That's not the right word to describe my earliest memories of life. I remember my mother passing away, taking my baby brother with her. When I was young I always felt like it was his fault my mother was dead. But that's just way children think. Sometimes I wish I still had that simplicity of mind. I could have easily blamed all my trouble on someone I'd never known, and it would be over. At least I wouldn't blame myself the way I do now.

There's no worse thing in life than having yourself against you. I can easily fight others, sort out my own battles with the outside world. But I can't fight battles with myself well. It feels like a circle. I relief myself by hurting myself. It just doesn't work.

I would feel better if at least my baby girl was happy. But all the travelling… it just breaks her up. I can't help the fact I have to move all the time. I had a home once. Having lost it made me a wanderer. I can't stay around the same people for too long. They'll remind me of home with the way they're not like home at all. And it hurts me, and I run. Taking my daughter with me, away from home. Again.

She's six years old now, but wise. She knows how to make friends, but also how to fight battles. A few weeks ago, not for the first time, she came home covered in mud, with a black eye. It shocked me and I was prepared to comfort her, but she shook me off saying it didn't hurt. I felt awful not being needed by my own daughter. At least not in that way.

Sometimes I still feel like I should've stayed. Maybe she would've been happy then. At least she wouldn't be dragged around by her mother who has no roots. But then again, I know it wouldn't have worked. It didn't last because it wasn't supposed to. But the way I ran has left a permanent impression on my mind, and it won't be taken away easily.

The last time we stayed somewhere for a quite large amount of time, I left because I chose to. I left my home because I was chased away, and even though I told myself it wouldn't break me down, it has traumatized me beyond belief. I realize I'm still young. I must've been a kid when I got married. Counting back, I know I was twenty one when I married him. Twenty two when our daughter was born. Twenty four when I left. Twenty eight now. Maybe some other woman my age is sleeping next to her lover, dreaming of the life that's still in front of her. I dream of the life in front of me as well. But what I see in my dreams can be considered nightmares.

Maybe my daughter is dreaming as well. I know it's not probable for a six year old to think of the future, but if she does I fear for the worst. How can she have a future perspective if she doesn't even have a steady home? I know she probably isn't thinking that way now. But when she starts, I know she'll know that others don't move around all the time. And she'll hate me. Until that day I want to hold her. But even now she won't let me.

I hope that one day she'll understand what it is that's haunting me, that's making me walk, run, never stay anywhere long. But I know she won't. Neither do I.

The day I left home was the first day I ever longed for my mother. I was afraid, sleeping in one bed with my little girl, holding her tightly to protect her from anything that might hurt her. Knowing that the only one who would probably hurt her was me.

I thought of my mother, of the little things I remember about her. I remember her smell. I remember the way she comforted me when I had hurt myself. But that's all. And that night I wished she was with me, and I was back to the three year old I was back then. That's me. Always looking for the impossible, leaving when I don't find it. Knowing it's useless, but pushing that thought away because if I accept that, my purpose in life will be gone. And I wouldn't know what to do.

But right now, all I want to think of is how to start tomorrow. We found a house in a new town, again. I know we probably won't stay, because I never stay. But for now it's okay. Laying between our blankets in the still empty bedroom with my little girl, my eyes wander off to the stars. And I wonder how long it would take to reach them.