They say it is a phase,
but what if I say I’ve felt like this since I can remember?
If I say that, how can you say I will get out of it one day?
Because I know I will not,
maybe.
Do I even want to?
Would I still be what I am now if I lose that part of me?
The brokenness, I mean.
But it’s what I have always been.
Enouément
I have arrived in the future,
on the 60th floor I can see the floating lights far away,
they just float there as if like a neighborhood in the clouds,
but it is just probably a mountain,
with little quiet houses on it,
light squares open to ordinary humans having dinner, with people they belong with.
I hope they are.
You can see the entire city stretched out, sparkling, from up here.
But am I even here?
I am still there,
lost on an unvisited street after fleeing from where I have been,
on the way,
but not necessarily on the way to something, or someone, or even someplace.
What am I doing?
What just am I looking for?
I should just rather disappear from existence.
No, I don’t even want to die.
Because, that would mean I’d still be there
when my sister will be haunted every day,
and my mother will cry incessantly,
and my father will go quieter.
But, I don’t want to be there at all.
I don’t want them to wonder what went wrong.
Thoughts
of me,
things
of me,
memories,
just want all of them to be gone.
That tree just stands there,
not too tall, not too short, kind of like a skinny tree.
Its leaves just flowing, playing at flying, in the wind.
Under the graceful breeze, under the ray of peeking sun, under the roaring thunder,
just being there,
so enough,
so content.
Peaceful, I think.
Wish I were that tree.
You are wrong,
I am never going to just “phase-out”
cause, I landed here incomplete,
and I’ll always be looking,
but never finding,
cause it’s not here.
Never been.
