Falling silent

Her lips may be still but never assume she is at a loss of words.
Mistake her silence not for a lack of verbosity.
She has plenty to say, though she has fallen silent.

She's just paralyzed, speechless, reeling; inside.
Thoughts, memories, decisions, mistakes, ideas, and choices,  roll through her like waves during a hurricane.
She shifts from side to side, drifting like a ship at sea.

Scenarios play out slowly at first then quickly;
clicking wildly around and around in circles like 8 millimeter film.
Pictures appearing one by one like thousands of photo albums pulled from a dusty shelf.
Flip, flip, flip......
She turns the pages.

There's lightening inside her and sometimes when it strikes just right she's on fire:
up in flames she burns steady for hours, days, weeks,  months even.
It feels like years.

It's been too long since she was held.
Strong arms wrapped around her so tight; so lovingly that her soul feels safe again.
Her heart is like fireflies in a Mason jar.
So beautiful to gaze upon and to hold: all while flying around terrified and bumping into the glass; dying to be set free.
Longing to shatter that very glass that imprisones her.

There's beauty in the damage and destruction that has taken place in order for her to truly be set free.
Her bruises purple, her cuts deep and red, her scars white and thin;
while others are thick and pink.
She's a beautiful pallet of pain.
A painting worth a thousand words yet left unspoken.
She's a priceless piece of art to hang upon the wall of a gallery, for all to admire with appreciation or even dismay.
Some will say she's beautiful and some will say she's ugly.
Both are correct.

The gallery is silent but there is not a lack of thought or feeling.
She has plenty to say, though she has fallen silent.