Our… our beliefs, I believe are an extension of our existence. Perhaps life, is not something we ought to discover, rather to live. Perhaps there is very little to discover and very much to create. Discovery, doesn’t it have a science? Doesn’t it have a method? A way?
But… life, people. Oh dear God, people.
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I have spent years of my life studying about the anatomy of us, not only of the body, but rather of the mind, too.
And man, with all the knowledge I have, my heart still seems to get broken; and with all the knowledge that I have, my regrets decrease, yet the wounds, damn man, the wounds within!!!
As a young kid, I remember sitting on the edge of the bed, writing down scribbles of misspelled words and highlighting the tears that fall the pages, “Dear old me, remember! Remember this tear made by those monsters called humans!”
I grew up a bit, a few years, and started writing on the pages with the red that ran within my veins, “Dear old me, remember! Remember this cacography for when you decide to get close again!”
I grew up another few, and started recording the memories I wish to never remember, as I know what is too hard to remember my mind shall not remember, “Dear me, please remember, but remember to have mercy on me, yourself, and those around you. Remember the pain, too.”
Now that I think about it, I think I have slowly, not just adapted to constant pain, but rather, in a way, got addicted to it.
My mindset, perhaps it may be one of survival, but also one that is twisted. As dear, survival is not needed on ceramic roads.
I miss my sister. How she used to hug me… Perhaps too much love, it kills too.
I miss my brother. His hugs… Perhaps forgetting is the way to cross the distance between countries.
I miss people.
Perhaps the reason why missing is something we feel towards ourselves is because we never were, only are and shall be.
Writing this… I am remembering. Dear lord, those memories, when have I lived them?
As I now watch my fingers, oh bones! I can see them.
“Her wrist is very beautiful,” I remember thinking as a child, “but if I have such, sister shall hate me, as she hates sister.”
“Look at how skinny she is,” she exclaimed, “don’t be as such dear, you shall never be wanted by men.”
Constant comments as such!
colors to be favored shall be upon the wished of those above, dear me, do not anger the adults.
“Dear me, but how? when the two sides are at war, dear me, please stand by me!”
Me! How dare you! Sides we shall not take, survival is a must.
one step, two steps, three? no, he has already seen his brother go that way.
“let me sit for a while,” the back of the bed met with my back, “but… we, we talked just two days ago.”
Her eyes almost feel off on the ground, “What’s wrong? Talk to me, I beg of you, we have been friends for two long years.” I cried with the threat of tears, “please? Just the reason.” a letter…
Five years. And yet, it happens again.
I am not sure, are my scars truly unlovable as she said? But what about all the love and understanding I attempt to pour upon?
Why is it that the more careful I am about hurting another, the more hurt I end up being.
Man! I do not mind being hurt, what I mind is ending up hurt.
Man! I do not mind fights and shouting, I mind the void the space they once held becoming.
Man! I do not mind the assassination of my being, rather the plans to leave after!
why do people leave!
why are reasons not a part of the departure!
please?
I am not sure what to make of people.
Asking me to believe in their badness is to believe in hearts, but not their function.
Is to believe in tongues, but not their function.
Is to believe in brains, but not their function.
“Why do you not let people in?”
THEY LEAVE
And so I built a wall, one with a door. But perhaps the keys were all wrong!!!!!
And so I built a wall, one with an entrance. But perhaps an exit was forgotten!!!!!
“how do you expect me to grieve on that is still alive when I am hoping that one who died a decade ago may still be alive?”
Are you? please?
Trust… how many years am I to doubt till I can trust once again?
I started this, to write about the past few months. My experience with being left, how I react and the begging I beg, the million texts I send, the tiny I become.
But oh dear, I am still not sure how to think of it.
Oh dear, I think my past is still haunting me.
-Aimz
