It's so fucking hard to be a giver.
We've got our sad days. Looking outside the window and childishly claim that, "the sun looks so pretty today," but everyone knows that you passed by his house. And yes, I guess the sun is pretty, but so what?
When you turn around, and it's people everywhere. But you wish someone would tap your shoulder and be like, "hah! found you!" . You even hear your name being claimed, but it's a mirage. Man, that's how desperate your are! Department stores clinging on to each other, couples making out in the seat, and in the other seats, a baby girl losing her mother. Why are we always losing and moving?
You know, we have our sad days, with the perfect starry night embroidered to frame into some beautiful picture, you would usually figure out, but today. Today, you are busy looking for your people. You want your knees to melt into the warm, stomped ground, and drop your shopping bags into the floor, and shove your face into your palms. You want your dry cheeks to be soaked with all the water, you've been holding since last Monday, when the world screamed at you for being yourself. You want to cry and push people and ask them why everything is so unfair, why karma works for everything and everyone but you. But
But we are fucking givers, and you must send your tears with the wind.There are people looking at you, slightly pitiful, as you shake off any sentiments.
"Hey, where are you guys?"
You expect an apologetic tone, but we expect too much don't we?
And that's how your entire night goes; a struggle, juggling between paths. Should I make their time easier and not let them know? Or be a human for once?
Why does your brain always listen to what's harmful for you? So continue, helping. Walking.
It's okay. I'm just annoyed at myself. Something happened. It's not you.
Why do we fricking do this? It's so toxic.
We can not be vulnerable, and we tell others to be lean on our shoulders on their bad days. What happened to our days? Our days are marked in our calender's, Monday for her.Tuesday for him.Wednesday for Him's her. Very rarely will you see our own days.
Yes we love people, but there's nobody we trust. And that might be the most tragic statement we keep telling ourselves. Expectations low, and smiles high right?
But you go back home, and tell yourself for the last time that this is all a learning experience, you are growing and you are being tested.
But for us, we are so temporary, our anger, and the next morning like someone caressed your forehead as you slept, death's second self sweeps away the bitter. You are the same giver you were yesterday.
It's fucking annoying.
