The silence is deafening and speaks at haunting volumes. Heavy eyelids and hollow eyes lie above my false pretense smile and saunter. Always told myself to speak from my heart, what’s the worse that could happen? This time, my lips, my heart, an iron curtain. Numbly losing myself or just lack of care? Knowing what I truly deserve, yet, somehow always settling for less, rather than reaching for more. My heart sings for someone peculiar, but he longs for another. A series of events that stem time and time again — never enough or far too much. Depression lures me into its never-ending void during the weekend, spits me out to my facetious and anxious “self” by Monday morning. Someone real, with an imitated behavior, ignoring the weight that’s been seeping on shoulders, slowly crushing, crashing, and ultimately burning. Repetitively inquiring for help, rather cryptically as I shouldn’t, people surround me stupefied then drift. I lost myself long ago and my walls have been my company since. Heartless, not entirely, but always expecting the worse for that is all that has come.

Although pessimistic, my optimism radiates. Worth the wait, indeed, swept off my feet, compromising, and minor arguments. Eager for long nights and lazy days, star gazing, adventures both good and bad, staying up late learning about each other, our goals and dreams. Our firsts of many, the one day I can’t wait for. Yearning to fast-forward this shit-show life of drunks, druggies, and low-lives, and find my purpose once and for all. Someone that’s been looking for me, and every one of my imperfections, all along. Not meant to be alone, but not meant to be taken for granted nor an accessory.

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