How much do I have to cry,
to erase my past self…?
How many tears does it take
to drown the girl I used to be?
The 'past self' is me—
the broken, the naïve, the aching.
And the 'present self' is me too—
but colder, quieter, carefully rebuilt.
Still, I keep them separated.
Like fire and ash.
Like light and the shadow it casts.
They speak in silence inside me,
arguing in the mirror,
each one begging to be the real one.
I carry memories like scars,
tucked beneath layers of smiles.
Every laugh, a cover.
Every silence, a scream.
How do I move forward
when my own footsteps echo backwards?
How do I forgive
a version of myself
that still breathes in my chest,
still cries through my dreams?
I am both prisoner and guard.
Both the wound and the hand that hides it.
And so I ask again:
How much do I have to cry,
to set her free…
or bury her for good?
YOU ARE READING
illusions
Poesia"This is where I write down my thoughts and ideas about various topics that pique people's curiosity."
