Page 102 of Someone Exactly Like Me (Wounded Hearts 1)
“I do.”
“If you’re open to it, I’d like to do a burning ceremony with you.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a way of releasing things that no longer serve us. I fully respect if you don’t want to. And if we start and you change your mind at any point, we’ll stop. I’ll help you with what to say.”
I’ve never heard of such a thing. But I trust her, more than I’ve trusted any woman outside of Mamma.
“Okay, I’m willing to try. What do I do?”
“Hold the letter.”
I get it out of my pocket and hold it in my hand.
She reaches out and holds my other hand in both of hers as she faces me, the sun lighting her face.
“I’ll say some things and you repeat them.”
“Okay.” I take a deep breath.
“These words I hold are not my truth.”
I don’t speak. She doesn’t push. She holds my gaze. I breathe.
Swallowing, I push the words out. “These words I hold are not my truth.” I exhale.
“They are a past I held onto as my truth.”
“They are a past I held onto as my truth.”
“I let them hold me captive.”
I breathe. “I let them hold me captive.”
“But they do not serve me.”
“But they do not serve me.”
“I no longer want to be their prisoner.”
I choke down the swelling lump in my throat. “I no longer want to be their prisoner.”
“I no longer want to punish myself with these untruths.”
I suck in a stilted breath as tears burn behind my eyes. I want to run. I squeeze her hand. Her gaze holds loving space for me. She caresses my hand with her thumbs, assuring me there’s no rush for my words.
“I no longer want to…” My swallow is like a dagger dragging down my throat as I force out the next words. “Punish myself with these untruths.”
She waits a moment before continuing.
“I want to open my heart to love, to joy, to possibility, to freedom.”
I breathe. “I want to open my heart.” I swallow. “To love, to joy, to possibility, to freedom.”
“You have your lighter?”
“Yes,” I say, releasing my hand from hers and taking my dad’s lighter out of my jeans pocket. The rough fabric brushes against my skin.
