Month: September 2015

Clearing your room may not necessarily be a bad thing – you recover all sorts of surprises you never thought you’d see again. 

I found your letter tucked at the bottommost corner of my shelf and as much as I hate to deny, I opened it and reread all the stupid memories we shared. It was everything we had, over-dramatized by your usage of flowery words that I now know don’t mean a thing. It was the best effort you could summon, to print a 2 page long note when I would have written a book for you. Your letter never tallied to how you were in real life, as though language itself could lie from reality. I thought I was the stupid one, but now I know it is you.

It doesn’t matter how it began but I’m thankful that it all came to an end.  It doesn’t matter all the words you once said but what you did behind my back. It doesn’t matter all the “sacrifices” you attempted to make because you only did it when you could afford to. You couldn’t open the door when I was right beside you because you said you weren’t allowed to. 

It doesn’t matter how much access I had to your life because you only talked to me when you felt like it. Even though I was moved by the little secrets you shared with me I now feel backstabbed because ultimately you didn’t trust me.

I am stupid because I was so foolishly sincere to someone who didn’t understand sincerity.

But you are stupider than me because you gave someone sincere a reason not to be.

If you believe that people who care will never stop caring then you are wrong. I once cared so much that I hurt myself to sleep but in the end all you did was stick the knife deeper into me.

I am a very sensitive person. It’s not the first time I’ve been hurt by someone’s careless words nor felt inferior and unimportant beside someone else. I’ve had my fair share of life’s happiness and sadness as well as the feeling of being dirt trashy and absolutely downright lousy. I try hard but sometimes it doesn’t work and I still don’t get what I want. It’s like how when you were young and thought you were invincible and then you’re eventually forced to realize that there are certain lines that you simply cannot cross. 

I guess we’re all more or less fundamentally the same. We all have 2 eyes, one nose and one mouth, right? But why are we so vastly different? Why does she have so many comments even when she knows she’s doomed to die? And why do I appear so nonchalant when I actually cannot stop caring? Does she know that every word she speaks is a lie to her dignity? Can she hear her heart screaming for help above the noise she makes in an attempt to cover herself up? 
Is your laughter genuine? Then why does it always seem like you’re sticking a knife inside you to laugh in public? Do you really think she smiles because she means it? Why can’t you see the helplessness in her smile? 

Are we all blind? The lines on her skin and the hidden blade stuck within her chest.

Can I kiss it away? Can I remove the daggers you stabbed into yourself? 

It’s not your fault. It’s really not your fault.

But at least I’m lucky to have you.

Admidst a whirlpool of mess at least, my soul found you.

And everything will be okay with you.

It’s been slightly more than a week now since the thunderstorm, the weather forecast is less rainy but at the very most it’s still partly cloudy. Every day, there is still a little drizzle but at least there is no longer pouring showers.

At least, the doors that slammed shut are ajar again. To my pleasure, the landlord hasn’t left.

I don’t know how I first stumbled my way to this door, but I know it is hard to locate and even harder to open.

So if you’re reading this, I will attempt knocking at the door again.

I will gather all the pieces of glass and delicately piece them back again.

Imperfection is the pinnacle of perfection in your eyes.

The reformed pieces shall be stronger than its perfectly unbroken counterpart.