Short stories and poems

A lonely heart.

"You feel so distant from me. Where can I search for Your face and figure so that I may find rest for my soul?"

Bits of my heart crumble away, causing the weight at the pit of my stomach to grow heavier as each day passes by — one day closer till my eyes close forever.

I thought I finally found the people who could pull me out of this dark pit and cover me with their angelic wings from the darkness that lingers behind me, as if it were a mist that refuses to disperse as the sun steadily climbs higher in the sky. Their kindness and love tenderly brushed against my gelid lips, gently pulling them into happy smiles full of sunshine and joy, a complete contrast to the facade I managed to pull before, when the upturned corners of my lips were devoid of anything close to happiness — blank and emotionless.

And though the smiles seemed to reach my eyes, those mahogany pools were never glistening with the certain sparkle that I now treasure.

I actually believed that, for once in my lifetime, I've found friends who will be loyal and love me and be patient with me, but the harder I look, the more blurry the photograph appears.

I won't say that it was all black and white when we spent time together, but it seems that, after some time of not seeing me, they occupy themselves with things that are more interesting, like people who can actually talk and be themselves.

I wonder if they'd still act in the same way if they understood the pains that I suffer from, ones that have always been there, even if they began as a bud but blossomed like a flower into something more, kind of like a rose that appears beautiful and delicate, but hastily wrap your fingers around its stem, and you immediately wrench your hand back, blood trickling down your soft flesh like tears from the pain that seared through your skin upon the tearing of the thorns of the rose's stem into you.

It's not easy at all, and to say what I should and shouldn't do, is tempting and doesn't take much difficulty to speak, but, though the spirit is often very willing, the flesh is often very weak.

I can't climb out of this ditch by myself, and though God is there, I've never really thought of asking Him for help, even though I have prayed several times. A problem like this needs to be solved by tackling the issue that caused it, and that is to interact with others, but how can I do that when people avoid me and smirk behind my back?

I might cover my face with a smile, but my soul silently cowers in the corner and cries, mourning because it's so lonely.

And even my own mind cannot comprehend the state that I'm in.

I could also say the same about my childhood — I wouldn't completely say that it wasn't good, but it was also not the worst, compared to the traumatising events that others have been unfortunate enough to face.

And, if I could find simple words to describe it all, I'd gladly speak them, but nothing comes to mind. That's why I'm afraid of telling people now — my heart is fearful that they will shun me for lying and label me as a seeker of attention.

I could so easily hide away and shut others out from my life, but my issue is that I desire acceptance like a stray cat that never fails to turn up at your back door for attention.

I can't easily run away when I need to face this problem, but I'm just afraid that people won't like me in the next season of my life — the part that I have been most looking forward to for some time, where I want the fruits to ripen and mature, but if the clouds continue to relish in their cruelty and cast darkness over this sunflower, then how can I grow into something beautiful?

Not a single person has the ability to push those milk-dipped wisps out of the way.

It's so obvious, isn't it?

You wouldn't catch a human being reaching their fragile hands towards the sky and ushering away the clouds; only at His command does nature become obedient.

And I wonder what His plan is, to make me a better person, to pull me out of this murky pit that is crawling with biting snakes.

I'd like to imagine that, one day, someone is going to finally see my form, enshrouded in darkness, as I press my back against the walls, knees pulled tightly against my chest as I gaze up at the blue sky above, the reflection within my dark orbs glistening with the twinkle of the sun and the clouds that breeze through the air in a daze.

Maybe it'll be more than one person, but perhaps that's too much to ask, even though my dreams are filled with a person who'll love me unconditionally, as much as I vow to love others.

Is it not too much to ask for someone to be kind and patient?

I once read that, when a person feels anxious, they crave human contact, but why aren't people willing to pull me into an embrace when I look at them with glossy eyes that are at the brink of spilling these unshed tears that have been trapped inside all this time?

Even I have the common sense to know when someone is sad and needs comfort, but it seems that people lose any sort of logic when they see my face.

I asked my brother if he knew the answer to why people don't like me, my heart feeling numb at the prospect of being too ugly for someone to willingly associate themselves with me, and even he couldn't give me a simple and coherent answer — only willing to offer positive advice so I could look forward with a hopeful gleam in my eyes.

But I've learnt the hard way that looking too much into the future that is uncertain hurts, so that's why I try to take it one day at a time, one foot in front of each other as I anticipate with baited breath what is lurking around the corner — it's safer and less painful that way, reminding myself to lower my expectations and walk with shaking legs through the snow.