// pic illustration from pinterest ᰔᩚ
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Could you be proud of me for still being alive?
Too many ways I took that could have possibly made me lose all of myself. I could have stopped breathing at any moment back in those darkest days if God had not interfered and forced me to steady my grip on His beloved mother earth.
Could you be proud of me for choosing to stay?
"Be gone," my mind had said to me. Not once, but too many times; my tiny fingers were not even able to count it anymore. And yet, I could have done what she said and just run away, far away. I could have simply left everything I loved behind. I could have started a new life somewhere, perhaps in a rural place, and finally been in peace. Dare not turn my head to give one last look at them that once I called "home" as if that could change my decision, and just stay. Surprisingly, I did; I had chosen to stay.
Be proud of me.
Do not be ashamed of me.
I let myself rot in this bed with the maddening thoughts surrounding my head.
Could you ask me how I am doing?
I would love to hear that coming from your mouth. Although there is no answer that I could give you to that particular question because I, myself, have no single clue how to answer it. But, please ask me anyway.
And, be proud of me.
-end.
YOU ARE READING
Oneirataxia
Historia Corta𝐎𝐧𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐚 (𝒏.) 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒖𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒔𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒚 ----------------------- This book is an anthology of short stories, monologues, poems, and poetries I have written...
