I see you there. I see you there breathing. I see you there being. I see you with my eyes closed shut and my room all dark. I see you not through sight but through every other sense. I see you passing by untouched. I see you being unmoved. I see you seeing me yet not acknowledging me at all. That’s the thing about the past it grips on to us and refuses to let go. I’ve been running in a loop for too long and I am impatiently waiting for the end of this to come. I am waiting for the day I no longer stare blankly at the wall reliving those treacherous memories. I know that day will come eventually but I need eventually to be right now because I can’t bear one more nightmare, one more false hope. I hope that the choices I am making in the now won’t haunt me like my earlier choices that elevated to mistakes that bruised my mind. I hope I don’t let myself down again. I hope I can gain back my lost strength to carry myself to my desk to open my journal to write down my prolonged voyage with pain. I wish I could get myself to read my false hopes but I know my destined reaction will be yet another breakdown. Even typing words into this keyboard has turned into a burden which hurts me. I hate how one mistake can make every fruitful thing seem so vain, so bland. In the end, we are our mistakes; without them our ambiguous odyssey wouldn't be so ambiguous for hurt only hurts because it is so unexpected. When my "eventually" arrives I will stitch my wounds together and watch them heal then rise to be the me I deserve to be.
Her tears were enough to reignite the flames of my rage, a fragile soul made of roses and daisies in such pain, unable to connect the dots between this man and the dad she knows from worn out photographs her mother keeps in the top drawer of her dresser that is slowly falling apart, she gazes into her father's eyes and it finally clicks that this is her dad, the man in the picture is real, this is the very first time she set her big, brown eyes on her dad, and she breaks down into showers of tear turning her face from pale to scarlet, filling every inch of her body with inexperienced joy. The mothers falling to their knees, eyes clouded with tears in complete denial that this day has finally shined upon them, the days turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into years, and she patiently waits holding on by her faith in God, she sees her son and breaks down, he might be injured and his legs are at the brink of being amputated, but in that moment nothing matters but him, he is h
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