often times before, you’ll find yourself alone, lost in places where your skin would bath in sunlight exposing all the harm you did to yourself or the ones that their touches left you. you’ll trace all the flashing moments through the scratches that you keep on hiding behind your clothes and you’ll let your skin grow of dried flowers and you’ll offer it to your mouth that speaks dying words, may it because of your stolen breath or because of your weakened heartbeats. often times before, you’re getting lost into somewhere’s loop, you take step of burying all the courage and the kindness pages over pages—but you keep on dancing along the world’s full stops, finding signage and all the good things that the clouds keep on talking about. you get through into stages and into layers of breaking, of hopelessness, of dying and living once again, and you told yourself that maybe through it—healing can take place.
still, often times before, you’re always coming back to the places you left and always finding yourself to the same forest of thoughts you’ve been to. you’re always finding chances to caress your breaking heart and feel its fading beats and you keep on burying your breath by digging up past painful memories. you’re always shedding tears over the same history that your eyes have seen before, you keep on running backwards, perhaps the reason why you get tired. but just like anything else, you learnt how to burn down forest and crash the same clouds you can find laying on your back; you learnt to learn from the flames and from the scars it caused you and you ages with its words.
but some things never changed: you try. you try. you try. you go somewhere—
and you laugh like you’ve never been so lonely.
— 14:48 l. sin, what my history looks like
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»» photo (without the words in it) taken from Summer Sommer
