we are all just trying to survive. and i know, you used to recite unknown metaphors and you want to know who will mourn for your soul; you want to know who will be looking upon your body when your soul go somewhere you don’t know. you are under your death every time you grasp your unhealed scars and ask who you are without purpose. who you are without the sadness you used to feel like home and you could never let go for you don’t know who you are without it anymore. bad things will roll over around you, it will swallow you whole and you’ll be afraid to let go; you’ll be afraid to meet your fears and live more behind the surface. you will hate the way you’re in the middle of sunlight and rains by the thought of becoming an unexpected storm.
we are all just trying to come out alive. and so, mourn over the things that hurt you and burn the traces of them. pick up your battles and carry them well even with your emptiness; even only with the shallow reasons you have in your hands. learn to cry over your your own grave and you’ll know who you are without your existence. your remnants shall be remembered by the carve of your name and you should be celebrating your own unrest. with all the pale bodies and lost chances you gave your heart to, may you learn to caress it again with the purity of your palms and believe you could still be anywhere else. with all the stars’ loneliness, may you find the way again. and even with all the stories you’ve hid under your failed yellow shirt, with all the hearts that ache and edges you’ve created, may you still believe that we live in between of every silence, so we could die somewhere nice again. and may you find all the reasons worth dying for. may you live and die—
with all the reasons you never found here alive.
— 00:58 l. sin, forget mondays
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