"When you don't know what to feel, you can't just pass on that responsibility to someone else. Other people won't feel for you."

Have you ever felt like you're underwater? Like, every morning, when you wake up, it's so hard to fill your lungs with air; all you hear is unclear noise; when you try to speak, the same unclear noise comes out; and when you move - or at least try to - you feel so heavy and just, limited?
My dear,
              You used to be my hero. I used to stain myself with all your dirt. When I felt trapped underwater, you - here comes the cliche - saved me, somehow. You didn't lift me up from my pool of misery or anything, but you gave me the courage to drain that said pool, so I could breathe again. You gave me bravery to save myself. You made me believe that I was strong.

              So when I got out, I (quite inevitably) (and, quite unknowingly) tied so many knots to you. Whenever a part of me was beginning to fall off, I tied it to you so it would stand up again. You kept me standing up when all of me wanted to crumble and fall.

              One morning, I woke up and everything started to hurt; I tied so many parts of me to you that when you tugged even for just a bit, it hurt - I felt like a flower having all my petals picked off. I wanted to escape from you; getting my strength from you began to hurt, and instead of making me feel strong, you made me feel frail and pained. 

            I panicked. I wanted to untie all the knots I attached to you. I pulled on them to try to get them off. They frayed. I think I did, too.                     
I ran to find someone who could replace you. I came to the nearest one and whispered, "I'm just so desperate on being clean of my previous hero so can I stain myself with you instead and I'm sorry if in the next few weeks you'll be a victim of creepy second person run-on sentences it's just that I'll be using you as a tool for my 'self-purge' or whatever I'm trying to do." 
The funny thing is, everytime I try to knot ties to him just to drown my old, frayed knots to you, you continue to haunt me and you always remind me that frayed knots are always the hardest to untangle.

The stains of your dirt on me will be forever.
But dirt, when treated carefully, grows flowers. 
And now I'm a beautiful forest.

Thank you.

1 comment:

  1. This is beautiful. :,)
    - June