Words spill the way blood gushes from a wound, and I scatter them in places I'll forget about, and maybe I'll find them again one day, the way one finds the grave of a long-lost friend, finally at peace with my past.
But to be fair, when am I not at peace with my past?
My forgetfulness is as much a curse as a blessing, and if it's my coping mechanism, I thank it for carrying me through these years.
I loathe romanticizing loss, but I also understand that's how most people, including myself, deal with grief.
I feel the pressure building inside of me, the weight pushing me down, and I find myself almost impatient for the breaking point.
But am I not already broken? Have I not allowed circumstance to wear me down, let the wrong one in when I'm at my most vulnerable?
Just because I will heal does not mean it didn't hurt, that it doesn't hurt. Of course it does, it hurts like hell to be broken. And I'm still in pieces.
People are often cruelest in their ignorance, but in the extreme care I take to be considerate, I jeopardize my own happiness, and I'm well aware of that. But who am I kidding to pretend to be selfless? I'm just chicken, fucked up in my own way, which is not even that unique.
There is a space, an in-between detached from our separate realities, that I once tentatively hoped to grow into something more, that I miss but cannot describe nor replace.
I write and I write and I write, and my mind moves in circles and my thoughts draw patterns I myself cannot recognize.
The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is through, but I've been pressing forward and forward and there is no momentum, just a growing, gnawing weight that eats away my sanity.
Am I going insane? I feel like I'm standing on the precipice, my mood swings terrifying gusts of wind threatening to push me over. But what is over there? I'm too chicken to find out.
I write in metaphors because that's my way of romanticizing reality, which isn't that special at all.
My words feel ambiguous, their logic frayed, but I suppose that's precisely what's going on in my mind: confused pain.
I know so long as I keep moving, I'll exit the labyrinth eventually, and I persevere and persevere and persevere but godfuckingdamnit, this shit is hard.
