The key had been stolen by the people she hoped she could cherish, people she almost loved. They snatched the key away from her…slowly then all at once.
At her age…naivity was a state of mind.
One she never realised she had till the moment revealed it self and she made the wrong choice again, again, and again…and yet again.
She hugged them as they walked into her house. A house where she constantly called her safe place. Where she would run and hide from her reality; sleep and enjoy the solitude over a cup of tea and a movie.
Now, it’s crowded. Noisy and cluttered with memories she’d rather forget and others she will hold dear but the former superseded.
If only she could pack her bags and move. Start a fresh in a new haven. This time being wiser about who to let it and who to lock out. There, she would start to painting in brighter colours of hope, joy and peace found in the Lord. Colours of a new understanding of love.
We don’t always get what we want… but we are frequently in a position to aquire what we need.
So with the future hopeful in her eyes, she will dig holes through the walls of this trapped palace with the broken tools the thieves left behind till a ray of light shines in her darkness.
This will be the fist sign. Small but significant enough to make a difference. A difference that will set her free.
But, with freedom comes another chance of enslavement, with trust another chance of betrayal, with naivity another chance of opportunistic gain.