Echoes

Everything I have now is an echo of the things I've had before.
An echo of the things that hurt me.

There is one with a sharp mind and a quick tongue and a chip on his shoulder bigger than his heart can handle.
There is one with a bright smile and an affinity for lying and hands made to stir the pot.
There is one with amber eyes the same color as the whiskey he drowns his demons in and soft, sad words that fall like poetry on my ears.

Everything I am now is an echo of what I've been before.
An echo of the different versions of me that have existed.

There is a bright and beautiful girl so full of hope and love and life that she glows when she smiles.
There is a ghost, a fragile thing so broken and scared and hurt that she craves only sleep to dull out the pain.
There is a warrior, wounded and bleeding but still standing on her feet, swinging blindly at anyone who gets too close, unaware that the war has been over for months.

I look in the mirror and the echoes ripple through me like ghosts all crowding into this one body, trying to fit together in one skin, all vying to occupy my mind.
I look around and the echoes of the people who broke me then and the people who scare me now glare back at me in every glassy window and every new face in every place I go.

I want to let them go; the echoes.  The ghosts.  The memories.
I want to walk out to the ocean where the waves are deep and strong and hold my head under the water until I come up new and clean and empty.
Empty of the pain and the thoughts and the nightmares.
Empty of the words I never said that clog my chest and sting my eyes and press against my lips.
But lungs full of water have no room for air.