MY THOUGHTS
- Reads 23
- Votes 1
- Parts 3
MatureOngoing<5 mins
Last published Tue, Nov 10, 2015
Dear reader,
Isn't it cruel, trapping yourself in what isn't real? Faking a smile, acting like they were never apart of you, that they didn't hurt you. Because sooner or later you have to face reality. Your heart starts to hurt, your body aching, tears start flowing down, and the memories come back. You're not okay. What they did killed you. Fuck, you're dying from the inside out and no one bothers to even notice. You just want to throw it all always and say "Fuck it! I'm not even worth it. No one gives a fuck about me, all they ever do is leave. Well this time it's my turn. I'm going to be the one who leaves everyone hurt and alone." Because no one understands. It's hard to reply "I'm okay," every time you're asked how you are. It breaks your heat having to lie to those you love, yet it's harder to tell them the truth. But until you face reality you just have to dream a little longer. Though no matter how many times you wait for a miracle, for everything to be fine, and for them to be in your arms again, it wont just fall form the sky. you will be trapped here, in these forgotten pages of a cruel fairly tale, until the day it dies... welcome to my world.
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A few months ago, I bought a mug with gold gilt. On sale. Not a gift either nor because of an occasion to remember by it. Just plain, pretty mug for 15PLN. I drank my coffee from it since. I spat loose tea leaves into it. It never felt particularly significant. An ordinary object. Only when I lost it, I realised its true value. I sat comfortably at my desk one evening. Looking at my phone, I reached to take my song-text notebook. Trivial situation. My clumsy fingers were unable to avoid the mug. They allowed it to topple over, to slip from the desktop. Even though I did not see the split-second occurrence, I felt the pressure of unease. My head painted the trajectory of the fall on its own, the shattering, spillage. The loss. For a millisecond I still had hope, that I would be able to catch the mug, that I would be able to avoid what was about to happen. But I knew I was headed for failure. I don't have any superpowers. I only scalded my fingers. I looked at the mug's new shape for a long while, at the shattered pieces. At the spilling liquid. Our adventure came to an end. Irrevocably. I won't be drinking coffee from it anymore, nor spit tea leaves into it. Well. I shouldn't be sad, it was just a regular mug, just like thousands of others. I grew to like it, it kept me company throughout hundreds of warm drinks. I lost it. I hate this feeling the most. In the moment when I am losing something, I stop in my tracks, I hold my breath. It is always a very intense moment. A short one, but one that gives me the tight unpleasant feeling in my stomach. The feeling of loss is always accompanied by hope. Silly and naïve. Making me believe so strongly, that I can make it. That I will still be able to catch the mug mid-flight. When the feeling is entering the body, crawling into me I realise, how important it was to me. Whether it's Nivan or a stupid mug with gold gilt.
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