if i could just find someone— who loves saving as much as i love it.
i am always longing for answer why i’d love to crumple myself in pieces every 12 midnight of the day, drowned myself in my most hated blankets and forgotten post-it notes at the top of my bed; why i always finding myself loving how my hand trembles, how my heart skips a beat for a short second—oh, it hurts—and how my head throbbed from raging thoughts that i sometimes see as cliche as my tears. i am wondering why i am like that at night but then still look alright when the day breaks, and i am still finding sincere stares from people. i am hurt—really, really hurt the night before—but the night hugs remind me to still wrap myself with soft smiles and sunrise.
i am longing for answer why i’d love to replay the moment i had a heartbreak; a breakdown on last week of January and how it keeps me wondering where did i go wrong that night i lose it all: smiles, courage, passion, and laughter. but still, all the blues fade when i face people to witness every braveness and miracle that this world has to offer, and how i write every hopeful words to keep the sanity and perhaps, to save them from losing their drive. i am longing for answer but no, i really know why. that night—i’ve been there so many times—i am so doubtful, so uncertain, and scared about what will happen if i let myself slip away into my own-made ocean in my room. but i am still choosing to save my bare feet from totally falling to my so-called-death knowing that i still need to stand still to offer my hand, to utter hopes, to continue writing for the people i wanted to feel that they are not alone. and maybe, even though i am still quite unsure, i am loving it because i’m hoping to find someone who will do the same way. maybe someday or on the night i will choose to let myself slip away.
but then, another question disturbed me again that night: why people seem not to see? ah. maybe, they are busy. busy finding the right colours to wear, right taste for their afternoon coffees, and right mask to put on every time. but, i’m still loving how i act as sunrise. free from bruises and scars. even if in fact, i know that i’m that darkness in lonely nights. i used to believe people are just busy. until i found the right words: people can’t do the same way, not because they are too dumb with their own tears nor because they are too busy mending their wounds, it is maybe, just because we have different heartbeats. i’m now learning to swallow the answer i found. i formed a new habit. it is telling myself every night while my bare feet slipping away that it’s probably because—
it’s impossible to find someone who has a heart like yours.
— 20:42 l. sin, hearts beat in different ways
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photo (without the words in it) taken from Lauren Withrow
