Those monsters scream at your doorstep during the awakening of storms and although the sun shines once more, some of them enjoyed their stay- they never left.
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This book is primarily consolidated in order to encourage every soul to fight back aga...
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The sun had set. It was just the storm of sullen clouds towering over the cold hues of the night.
Scribble...cross out... crumple...discard.
It still surprises me how numbness could endure this tormenting; of how the pain creeps out like roots— absorbing every drop of comfort left within us.
Scribble...tear... crumple...discard.
On nights like this, can't seem to find my way out between each vowel and consonant. Mistakenly crossing burnt bridges and trespassing on forbidden lanes.
They say, bravery comes with a significant step of courage, but each time I attempt drawing a line, starting with a distinct dot, it inevitably ends up as a period—stop.
When paper cannot even decipher the noises beneath this deafening silence, I always end up stumbling upon mountains of crumpled sheets of hollowness. My ink won't indeed offer itself to bleed for me— not tonight. Hence, I allow my feet to imprint my steps on the sandy shore of escape instead.
In all sincerity, I hate nights like this when my head is both filled up and empty. So many thoughts and questions just kept on rising fast— eventually lowering and emptying myself. There's so much going on in my mind. I don't know when these storms will subside.
Will they even subside?
With the suffocation, I walk around recovering my breath. Trying my best to stay sane and find myself. I tried memorizing each memory lane to be able to know which streets must be avoided—I still wander elsewhere.
Nevertheless, it is still rewarding in such ways that it reminds us that sometimes we lose our sense of direction not because we have abandoned our way, but because of permitting other people to decide for us which path we should take.
I hate nights when all the self-inflicted wounds rekindle. Like engraved names on tombstones, they are buried on our skin—dead but never forgotten. Notwithstanding, it prompts us that memories are kept and not erased, not to inflict pain, but to allow us to reflect and learn from our mistakes.
I hate nights when fear and weakness accompany me to sleep; even my tear-stained pillows can no longer contain my tears. Nevertheless, I appreciate how it invites courage and strength to stand up and get out of my bed just like how the Sun bravely rose after being defeated by darkness or how the rainbow smiled amidst the confusion of rain and the sunshine.
I hate nights when I barely recognize myself. Despite that, it compels me to acknowledge how I am worthy of being saved. Your soul might be temporarily entrapped with chaos, but rest assured, it will be rewarding.
All of our sacrifices,
All of our bruises,
All of our pain,
All of our rain,
All of our regrets,
All of our wounds,
All of our fears,
All of our tears,
They will all be rewarded in God's idyllic time.
It will always be alright to feel lost and exhausted.
Rejoice when you're delighted; cry when you're miserable; be furious when you're furious; be disappointed when you're defeated.
Be honest with yourself.
Confessing about your weakness and still choosing to move forward makes you the bravest of them all.
All of those silent battles will be rewarded—you'll conquer, my Love.
Honesty might hurt you but it saves you from falling in love with lies.
