a talk alone

 

 

What’s difficult is being honest with oneself
In the years to come, I hope to have an honest experience with myself when I would not worry about getting others hurt because of me.
Where does it all come from?
Perhaps I am a person who’s bad at enjoying her youth since I worry too much about making others feel left out or cry.
My life is busy looking after these things that others find menial.
Do my scars, bruises and memories reflect on these too?
I guess you could say that.
Things that make me sad and out of sorts are the same things that make me sharp and excited. Would it make me happy, too?
Well, if you put it that way. Yes.
When people say “You’re a lot better than me. Because you are good at this or that then, for sure you can____.’ I know it’s easy for you.”
These words can sometimes be filled or can merely be gradient to me. I am happy because I can feel that sense of good affirmation about myself from the point of view of others. But it makes me sad at the same time knowing that these words come from another person’s inferiority and pain.
How hard it must be for them although I am only speaking for the minority and feeling from the people who matter to me.
For them to deliver such words, how hard it must be not to paint their anxiety and pain.
When they are like this, it’s hard to reach that point of honest concession as to how we both truly feel towards each other.
However, I really love to hear these words “ I’m on your side.” “I’m listening.” “Let’s try it again.” These words reflect home for me even though I know that other people feel differently about these things.
I feel like I’m being honest to myself and I can trust others sympathetic words towards me as well. Since humans are always allowed to grow, others tend to put these things to silence, forgetting and letting it go as in a waste water.
Don’t I sound even more worried?
There’s tightness I feel inside my breast, it’s heavy but I can’t seem to put it down.
Perhaps people can fathom its depth but as to what degree this cold, dark and heavy feeling is affecting me, no one knows.
I must have explained myself all too many times, hints would have been too obvious by now, but I guess, humans have it easy dismissing someone’s words of confession as something little or easy to understand. Thus, help doesn’t come at all. In the end, the effort to succeed fails and no longer can it be overridden.

Do I want it? Do I enjoy it? Not the least bit, my friend.

Letting go of one’s hand is not the most painful. Not believing in someone isn’t either. It’s when we are together for so long but you haven’t noticed the slightest signs I’ve given you. It’s when you shut me in before I could even spread my sheets. It’s when you’re comfortable even though I feel miserable, then, you ask ”What’s wrong?” but turns your back before I could even lift a finger.”

And I always wonder while looking at your back and fully spread shoulders, how far have we come to turn this way as humans?

Would you say I looked fine yesterday? Would you say I was happy writing words in my notebook that day? Would you say I thought we were o.k? Would you say I wish I knew this would happen? Would you say I can’t forgive myself for being so untrustworthy? Would you say you weren’t at fault because I never told you or showed you?

What’s the point of all the fuss now?

Even you have already given up on the thought of doing something. Let’s be honest.
But it’s never your fault. It’s all because of me. It’s because I should be when I should have been.

But what can be changed now?
If only I cease to exist.

Everything would still be normal. Memories would still come out clean and intact as if hearing a tiny voice from afar thinking it was just the wind blowing gently. Not someone or any one.

Death.

Is it so flashy? To die because it’s better that way? Is it so great?

I wish I could die to know the answer then come back unscathed to tell you of my amazing experience.
Would that be fair enough?