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what am i, if not a mosaic of every person that i have ever loved?
it began with my mother's nose and my father's eyes, and it ends with the music playing in my ear; the one that first came from a lent earphone and a fragile little, 'this one's my favorite'. the playlist it belongs in is no longer mine, and listening to it all on my own feels like the violation of an unnamed rule.
it's when the one second of bravery passes that i turn into a coward again and wonder if i'm nothing but a medley of someone else's emotions. the reminder that most of these people are gone but i still keep pieces of them preserved within the fissures of my heart—the very same ones that they left—is what makes me ask the question. again. over and over. slower and faster.
am i not allowed to... be someone?
i ask myself the same question every time i remember that the food that i like was someone else's favorite before they made me try it, and the latte i drink every week is a failed attempt at matching the one i had from the first time someone dragged me inside the café they referred to as their comfort space. the way i write is a patchwork of all the books i'm reading that same month, and the said books happen to be recommendations that i didn't take into consideration soon enough.
can i not have one little segment of my own? was i made solely to live between the gaps of other people's words? do i have to breathe in the vacuum amidst their worlds?
i push on with all of these questions and they echo around the planes of my mind, only to come back and remind me that i am nothing but a reflection of all of the borrowed spirits i keep hidden in the crevices of my being.
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*to fall in love with
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
delirium
Poesiawhen the darkness outside my window turns gloomier than the one inside me, the words embedded in my chest sparkle like jewels. || poetry collection. ©️2019 by auro m.
