The Random Proses stored away.

THE FLOOR

THE FLOOR
There was a sort of cordial ardor that enraptured me when I was limp on the cold floor. It was seemingly the only thing left to hold me when I was nothing.

Like how poison can be thinned into a medicine, the coldness became a fierce source of comfort in the right amounts.

But I can hear disdain and the animosity of those unwilling to grasp my perception. Where I am wrong, where they are right because I do not go with the common folk and with the ordinary.

I pondered the harm in this difference I had, was it that agonizing for others? Was it that terrifying?

Now, my thirst for normalcy can be deemed odd as well. It looked like I had nothing ideal to follow anymore as each step I do is wrong even with the guidance of loving hands.

Sooner or later, the ones that served as my determined shepherd will wisp away with the wind and the crowd, leaving me as they give up once and for all on my "unsolvable" case.

When I dreamed, I was being led on properly again. Then, they leave my reverie in nothing but desolation. As those who cared turned into the very things they swore to protect me from.

But I understood if I tried going back and looking towards this melancholy I feel, I'd be drowning in a sort of lukewarm sorrow that was left to be the only remaining thing that built my character and who I was.

This floor is all I have now, the only thing left that I have that I can cling onto for safety. I can't count my body and mind as after all these years, nothing ever really felt like it belonged to me, not even this floor I seem to love.

I must've mentioned that this floor was nice and warm. But it was merely cold and unfeeling for me. As the truth is that it was just nothing but a hollowing coldness free to lay down on, free to be pushed down into, and free to stand once more on.

It does not look like I can stand once again yet. Because there will always be someone or something willing to silence me to avoid my existence.

At this point, they should've staked me to the cold ground if this was their plan all along.

But even with me admitting this, I still have a dedication chasing for dreams out of my reach just like any other human. It's so distant yet so bright, it's so far but so alluring. These are what dreams are, right?

I guess it could be different as well in someone else's mind. Even so, it looks like they won't allow me dreams now.

I don't need them; I have this floor and the blankness of my mind to stay. I'm fulfilled.

But, that's not actually real to me, isn't it? Even if I love this floor, even if it's all I have left. I can't help but be greedy for a bit more rather than this.

It's filling, yet it's not.

But I sit down on the floor again, I'm unseen once more. Like a flower you can't find, but you can smell a poignant fragrance in the air this flower emits.

Only the wind got praised, not the invisible flower working away its blooming petals to emerge that soft scent.

Such was not ideal, yet what was I allowed to do? Was I truly allowed to call out the wind with anger? With hatred and betrayal?

All I blame was this flower, this flower for emitting that fragrant scent. But it still kept on even so, because it still loved the idea of being recognized at least once.

In forgetfulness, I lay down again. Unchanging as this simple life defines me as a whole. But the flower stays fragrant, my flower is still there striving on the cold floor stepped on regularly. Bearing naught but a single smile as I accept this life once more.

It's all I have, even if I wish for more. It'll be all I have forevermore.

So, no matter what. This floor will stay as I will.

I've been pushed around. Even so, I continue. If this remaining happiness is an abnormality and the odd one out of the crowd's standards then, I'd gladly go that path away from them.

When the storm clears, I wish to rise from the ground I was staked down into and dream. Dream so high, I could fly with even the most hurt wings.

From the start, I doubted my ability to fly. But I have wings just like anyone else, just like everyone else.

I only forgot how to spread them but now, my flower grows into bunches, though still unnoticeable it sparks a hope inside me that no matter how broken down my wings are, I'll still spread them, spread them and finally look down and up at everything.

Just like how those petals will continue to propagate in harshness.

If you let me, I'll soar up high. Like a bird in the night sky trying to reach the unreachable stars. Only gazing up with a childish fondness for the lights that seemed so bright at that time.

This night, this night will visit me again. So, it's alright to keep living on.

I'll be seen, I'll be rewarded. Everything the wind stole from me will be mine at last.

I'm sure I could smile now with no problem or judgment.

I'm sure I could go back to a time of joy.

I'm sure it'll be revealed, this ever-beautiful flower. Which at first, only killed the camellias in me.

I'm sure now that instead of that, its stem will guide me elsewhere and beyond.

At last, this is the normalcy I oddly sought out for.