It was never understood, that, why I wanted to run away. I always knew, that, I could disappear in thousands of miles at moment’s notice. I never understood, that, why I needed thee presence and thee absence. The oxymoron in life never played as elegantly as those in words.
I walk into my life, constantly reminded what was left missing. The steady, the stable, and the comfortable; only to find out the unsustainable pattern of crash and burn, the taken, and the withheld. The only love I knew growing up is conditioned, and can be taken away at any second on misbehaving.
I’m the best with my piano is, when, a rush inside me needs to get out, be anger, be resentment. It is when I am the best with music notes. It’s always those, who resemble myself the most, brought me to annoyance. Maybe because I have never really seen myself clearly. Maybe because that was how I felt the entire course of practicing piano since I was five.
Writers kill, the motions with emotions. It is not scary when it happens, it is scary when, can’t face facts typed out on white background. Because, then, it sticks, and becomes real. The hurt, lost, a string of emotions caused by misbehaving become present, in others’ eyes and memories, have already made history. We start to take more responsibility on internet words, yet not those in physical form between human interactions, or lack of. Sometimes we revisit, the trail of memory lane, composed of deviated narration, scrub for the truth, but regressed.
Again, it’s you.
And, it’s me.
I will never forgive anyone who made me feel that way.