i told myself i already get over with it but some days are telling me, i didn’t.
there are days that i wouldn’t want the idea of my poems talking about it again or i’ll just choose to give it dose of metaphors—hide it in every lines just to tell how i made it this far but we didn’t, and i would not feel anything. there are days that i would just watch the memories to knock again at the back of my mind and i’ll let it open the stitches, watch how it bleeds and who can say the pains can make someone feel nothing too? there are days that i would just find myself counting how many times i tried to either get back to myself or someone to my embrace, or how many nights i spent sleepless carving how this hollow inside my chest bore forgotten names that i even find my name on it sometimes, and by realizing it, i would just stare nowhere and still, will feel nothing. there are days that i don’t consider days for everything just seems hidden under, perhaps it’s the reason why i didn‘t hurt for a while but i swear, somewhere out there, i can hear myself reciting how i failed to keep someone, including myself, and how i let my bare hands to let go people i didn’t have in the first place—i’m choosing not to hear it and i tell myself it’s progress.
there are days that sunny days didn’t excite me at all, that every sunrise is just like a sundown, and i mistook it as beautiful thing because sundown won’t remind me of goodbyes anymore. there are days that i would trace the scars, naming it as just a mere memory that has been erased by time and that telling myself it’s already buried under my poems and no one would ever be interested to read something made out of wound so it won’t matter anymore too. there are days that i would love the rainy days just because i’m certain that i would just only hear how the rain falls and i won’t hear how every heart breaks anymore. there are days that i’m loving how i look at myself and see nothing but me, and feel nothing but none, and i called it changes. there are days that i will listen every sad songs and i will find myself not singing a long, that i will watch how my world breaks down and i will try to re-create it piece by piece by feeling nothing at all. there are days that i’m loving the day by not letting any tears fall because i called that progress—as long as i’m breathing, as long as i’m alive even though every time that i will look to my eyes, it’ll tell me otherwise.
there are days like that but there are also days like this, when i would feel different again than i thought i already was. it is when every unhealed stitches that i thought before as healed would trace my skin again, grasping every piece in me, making my poetry alive by telling me past stories: how i left myself at sundown, how i fool myself every time, how we didn’t make it this far. there are days like this that will be the day one again. it is when i would keep telling myself i’m done and i already had enough but i also know and i am certain—
i will have a good cry tonight.
— 02:42 l. sin, sad days like this
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
»» photo (without the words in it) taken from Pinterest
