Pain. Isn't it ironically tragic how sometimes an emotional pain can hurt way more than a physical pain ?
Pain. It's like a poison, it goes through your veins, but it doesn't kill you. No, it gives you a new death everyday, a slow one, you wake up with a hole in your heart and the poison leaves his unbidden marks which cannot be seen. The hole keeps growing, the pain does not seem leaving. Suddenly you find yourself drowning. It has a vice like grip on you, which keeps increasing day by day. But the problem with pain, you see is that it doesn't have any painkiller. Pain comes like waves on the seashore, a never ending day of isolation, regrets and despair. A tale of a broken heart and trust.
It keeps coming back and forth, reminding you that your life is a joke and you are a mere puppet to the cruelty of Pain. The rage inside of you will grow with the years, the screams that you will muffle under your breath, will haunt you, they will keep reverberating and one day will come you will be tired, so tired, that your sobs will echo.
You'll whimper out of pain, you won't have to keep a hand on your mouth, to keep them quiet. You will break everything in tiny pieces, mirroring the state of your broken heart. You will be alone dealing with the gamut of emotions, hovering you like your own shadow.
I ask you who I am to you ? An opportunity ? A toy ?
Why do you keep coming back to me ?
Perfection. Quite f*cked up if you ask me.
He could write a novel about it. After all, he had been dragged into its premises. He had stumbled like a child, he had fallen on his face quite a few time, got his knees ripped yet he came back every time to have his heart bare open. One last dagger.
In moments like these, he could only see her. A beautiful illusion.
People say that there are two kinds of pain. One, which hurts you and the other one, which makes of you a better human. He believes there is another kind of pain, such a pain it shakes the foundation, itself of humanity. It changes us in such a way that once being confonted to ourselves in front of a mirror, we are not able to depict the truth from the lie. A perfect facade of treachery, a make-up, it's like adding colors to a dull and cloudy sky. Unfortunatly, the sky stays as it is. Sometimes he wondered how it would have been, to be weak, a fragile one. How it would have been if someone witnessed his downfall in his own world of darkness
He wished she was here to engulf him in her embrace, she would sooth his pain if not lessened it. She would let him pour his heart out. There would be no judgements, no prejudices.
She would be there to hold on to him, her grip would never slackened. She would gently stroke his hair and for once he will not be ashamed of crying but relieved. She would whisper kind words, which would make him feel safer. He would fall asleep in her arms, like a baby, his heartbeats, mingling with hers, becoming his favorite lullaby.
