I love mornings like this when I wake up and realize that the air still smells like last night's rain. It's one of the things that calm me; one of the few things that say sit back, things are under control.
I'd like to think that I know what I'm doing, but really, I don't. One moment, I hate a certain person, and the next, I feel like I'm crazy for even thinking I could hate them. My aunt is in the kitchen, telling us to cook our food, which is not a bad thing, never, except she doesn't seem to know the difference between speaking and yelling. She always does that, and I hate it. She washes the dishes and puts them on the rack, and every single time, it's a noisy affair. It's not a big deal, but when it's something you hear everyday, you either stop caring or you start caring too much. Sometimes, I just don't care. I let her be however noisy she wants to be. Most times, I take a deep breath and ask myself, what the eff is her problem now? Cause it never seems to stop. It's like she hates the world, and I don't know why. It makes me hate the world, too.
I like staying in my head. It's easier to deal with myself than face the truth, but it's scary. Sometimes, I build up so many fantasies in my mind that they start being my reality, and the real reality starts being too hard for me to take. I don't even know what I'm talking about. Maybe I'm just a dreamer, trying to create a new world because I can't fix the one I'm in.
I'm falling too deep into this pit of unexplainable sadness, and I'm falling fast. I'm scared that one day, I'd lose myself and I wouldn't care at all.
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Who would have thought we’d end up like this? It’s strange how small things tend to cause the biggest differences. How one falling stone can turn into one huge boulder blocking one’s path, making it impossible to cross from one side to another. I never thought this would happen, but today you’re there on the sunny side of life, and I can’t even say for sure if I cross your mind every once in a while. And I am here, in a place where I can still hear your promises echo through the walls. Suffocated with memories of us. Trapped.
“Whatever happens,” you said, “you’ll have this to remember me by.”
Slowly, I felt the pen’s round tip dance along the inside of my palm, each graceful curve and sharp turn blooming into something more – little snippets of scenes that strongly define our story, like the way your eyes crinkled when I first saw you smile, or how you held my hand gently and spun me around. It’s ironic how it did not last a whole day, but I can still feel the word carved in the palm of my hand, and hear your voice reading it out loud: REMEMBER.
I don’t know why I’m so hung up on you. I never liked you that much, to begin with. So what has losing you done to me? Why do I care so much now that I’m even putting myself through a lot of unnecessary pain just for the sake of getting you to look at me and see someone you can’t take your eyes off of? Do you even see me now? Sometimes, I can feel you staring, but I’m so scared of breaking the connection that I force myself not to turn around and smile. It really hurts, though.