Life is like a book we write everyday, let me write mine..
The blue sky that always made me smile suddenly turned gray. I was about to cry. The harder I try to hold back these tears, the eager they come falling down my cheeks, like the myriad drops of rain unwilling to wait in touching the ground. All that I have ever feared for came rushing back to me as I sit on my own wallowed in pain. It was only then I knew that time has snatched pieces of my soul. The opportunity of loving me more was long gone before I felt lost in trying to find a way back to bliss, which I could not even remember how it was like to be in such state. I never had a good laugh ever since that moment I lost me.
Today, I will be writing a part of me that not even a soul knew about, a part of me that longed to be embraced even for my slightest imperfection.
Inside I was falling apart. I just could not find the most rational way of picking up all my shattered pieces and become whole again. There have been numerous times that not only my heart but my soul was left broken, some, I vaguely remember. If not, probably, it was best that they were forgotten and never looked back at. In doing so, I’d be able to snap away from life’s cruelest scheme of which seemed meant to happen over and over again. None of these hurts and all the pain it came with were healed over time. Even though all these redundant memoirs have abandoned my mind, its wrath remained and my sentiments were imprisoned.
They say that life’s cruel twists and turns make someone nurture strength. It did not do the same for me. Hurt was like the wind that carelessly brushed my hair. Numb as I can be, I deprived myself of freedom from being oppressed by my own emotions that seemed like a yielding field of pity waiting for sorrow to be reaped from it.
Looking back at everything that I have gone through, none of it made me stronger, I could not even taste a bit of its meaning. To face life’s rage meant to hide from it, at least for me was a subtle way of coping. The only refuge I knew was a place within my own thoughts where I alone silently sit far away from ache. Nobody knew that everyday was another day of struggle in pursuing something that I did not know. I have been trying to remember the first time I was in truthful bliss. Life seemed breezier as a child. It was easy being happy, you’d find it even in the littlest things life can bring, each moment was surreal.
Everything has to come to an end, be it good or bad. Good things, they say, do not really last, do they? What’s left is the hope that these good things pass us by again and when they do, be grateful they did, even for a while.
It has always been comforting to have your thoughts rhapsodize through writing when you feel lost amidst uncertainties and just could not find a way out. Anxious to reach a state of numbness and get away from it all, sorrow just finds me. Utterly painful though but in time I know, I’ll clearly see a path towards something worth waiting for.
