the river

She's a mess.  

If you look for her, really look for her, you probably won't find her, because she's hiding in a dark corner of her bedroom sobbing her eyes out.  Her attempts at reaching out have become more and more feeble, and although you see her every day, you never really see her.  Her smiling, bubbly self is only a wall that she puts up in an attempt to keep you out.  You see, the problem is, although you may want to help her if you knew how much she is hurting, she doesn't want your help.  It was you, after all, who is partly responsible for her tears.  Your callous disregard for her friendship sent her behind her wall and has her weeping as we speak.  It boils down to a lack of trust between you and her.  Because you could never trust her, she will never trust you.  

Or at least that is what she would like you to think.  

Really, quite honestly, one real conversation would send her wall tumbling down.  One reminder that she is loved would take away the pain of a thousand cold days.  

And she, also, is not without blame.  She allowed pain to become anger and that anger to build the wall behind which she now hides.  She has allowed you to be the enemy when there is nothing further from the truth.  

She is her own worst enemy.

There is, after all, a river.  

They say river has mysterious qualities.  It heals with but one swim.  If she'd but take a step into that river, all the brokenness and pain would be washed away.  But to get to the river's edge, she has to step out of her room, out of the shadows.  She needs help to make it to the river.  She cannot go alone, for she knows not the way.  Her pain has left her ashamed, and the crowds outside her room wait to taunt her brokenness.

She needs you to take her hand and lead her to the water.