17 Last Times

⤹31❁ Broken Silence

𝓓𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓬𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓵𝓪𝓼𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻.
𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰.

𝓬𝓸𝓸𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓲
𝓟0𝓽𝓪𝓽𝓸0𝓸0𝓸0𝓸𝓸0𝓸0𝓸
xfreya09
𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓼𝓾𝓼𝓼𝔂𝓱𝓸𝓮
𝓐𝓴𝓸𝓼𝓾𝓪𝔀𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓷𝔂

_________

The weekend arrived quickly. The weekend I was so terrified of because I couldn't break through my writing block. But I did at last, and now I'm even more terrified because my poem is ready, which means, I'll have to get up on the stage and recite it all out loud.

I grab a glass off the table and gulp down some water. I'm so nervous.

"Hey." Nathan strokes my hair. "You'll be fine." His eyes are as warm as his words.

I shake my head. "I'm not so sure about this. I feel like I'm going to puke."

"I don't know what you wrote about, but there hasn't been a single time I didn't like your poem. I'm sure it's great."

"Great not great, I don't know if I want to do it anymore. Not in front of all these people." I cast a surreptitious look towards the crowd.

Nathan cups my face into his hands and places a soft kiss on my forehead. "It's your choice. If you don't feel like doing it, then don't."

I let out a hot breath and nod in appreciation.

Nathan carries on. "Why are you so nervous all of a sudden? You've done this before."

I think back to the beginning of our first year at university — the time when I was carefree and felt no fear.

"Things have changed," I mutter. "When I first started writing, I was doing it for myself. I never had to . . . address anyone. I just let people relate."

A single wrinkle appears on Nathan's forehead. "And you don't think they'll be able to relate now?"

My voice turns flat. "I truly hope they can't."

Before Nathan gets to respond, the lights in the locale become dim and the emcee runs up on stage. As he picks up the mic, it makes a short, hollow sound, as if someone popped the p.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" He greets with a megawatt smile plastered to his face. "Welcome to another poetry night, here, at The Liminal!" He lets the clapping of the crowd die down. "Please make yourselves comfortable and turn on your hearing aids because we're about to feed you some great, great words!"

The guests start laughing, and so do we, regaled by this unexpected piece of introduction.

The emcee continues, "Now let's cut to the chase. Let the night of poetry begin!" He shoots another wide smile and disappears from the stage.

We wait.

Ten seconds. Nothing.

One minute. Still nothing.

As the second minute starts to elapse and the murmurs of the crowd become louder — an indication of the mutual confusion — something within me breaks and I decide to get off the chair.

"You're going first?" Nathan asks, surprised.

"Seems like everyone else is scared to start off." I shrug my shoulders, feigning indifference, but what I'm really feeling is a lot of fear and nausea spinning round and round in my stomach.

"Break a leg," Nathan says, and I smile timidly.

By the time I reach the stage, everyone starts clapping and whistling in appreciation to my bravery. It somewhat eases my worry.

I grab the microphone and sit onto a stool. "Hi," I mutter awkwardly. "It's been a while since I did this." I drag in a shaky breath. "Mainly because writing used to be easy for me, but that's because my problems used to be easy, too." As soon as I say it, my heart lurches into my throat. "But then. . . I lost my parents. . ." I clench my teeth to stop myself from crying. I can see in Nathan's eyes the sudden understanding to the reason why I wished people wouldn't be able to relate to my poem.

"And when they died, there was nothing I could say to make it better, which means, there was nothing I could write either." I cast an uncertain glance around the silent audience. "But there is one thing I want to say now. One thing I should have said a long time ago, and it is this poem."

I take a deep breath and finally begin.

I'm sorry Momma
For the streaks of lavender
For the dishes that soaked for too long
For the TV that screamed so loud
And for the fact that I screamed with it

I'm sorry Momma
For doubting your words
For putting on those bunny ears instead of using my own to listen
I'm sorry Momma
For hating those flowers
For thinking that you had another

And to you Papa
I'm sorry for being so stubborn
For making you stand up in my defence
For causing arguments
Which now I know
Were an awful result of my obstinacy

I'm sorry Papa
That your little girl didn't know what to do
Just like the day you sat me on my glittery bicycle and took off the stabilisers
I guess you and Mum
Were my training wheels
Because I didn't get far without you
Did I?

So to the both of you
I'm sorry that you were sorry
And I didn't listen
But now

I do

Once the finishing words are out of my mouth, I put the mic back in its place and with hot tears streaming down my face, I run off the stage and dart towards the table me and Nathan have reserved. The applause is loud and exhilarating, but I ignore all of the noise. Instead, I throw myself into Nathan's embrace, sobbing violently.

He hugs me hard and kisses the top of my head. "You did great, baby. Your parents would be so proud of you."

I look up at him, catching him off guard with the smile that spreads across my face. He must've expected a sorrow expression. "I know they would, because I am proud of myself. Because I did it, Nathan." I look into his warm eyes. "I finally broke the silence."

__________

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I've been waiting for so long to share Davina's poem with you!