The tattoos I'll get engraving our memories and our pain will cease to exist if I disappear from this world. And one of my worries is how do I preserve our tiny existence?
We're just one of the billions of people, so insignificant we mean nothing. But why is it that my life feels so heavy? So valuable? And everytime I walk this earth, hand in hand with the people who decided to stay— why does everything feels so precious?
That I know in the future, noone will personally know us. Noone will even try to dig what was gone, and yet, I wanted them to know about us.
How you preserved my existence when I'm slowly turning transparent. And I wrote it down, trying to save this moment, this doubt, this worry, inside my treasure chest filled with words. And if people discovered someday that I exist, you existed, what will they think of us?
The desperation of wanting to keep us alive through the things that we'll leave behind is finally hitting me in my backbones now that my birthday is coming. I'm not as ancient as I think I am, but every single day that I wished to die, every single day the vitality of my life is slipping away from my eyes, I can feel that one day one of my organs will fail me. One of my nerves will snap and it'll kill me. And one day I might slip away from my consciousness and might never wake up— or the most painful thing to happen is what if I couldn't write anymore?
And all the things hidden inside me has no way out, I wonder what will happen? Will I finally ruin everything that I am or will I finally ruin everything that ruined me. I don't want to know.
And I don't think I can keep up with the words inside my head any longer.
02:44, goodnight.
YOU ARE READING
Time:Goodnight
PoetryThings I wrote while I'm drowning in emotions and thoughts of someone while slowly falling asleep.
