Absorbed

Epilogue - Circles.

Insanity.

All of us had it in ourselves. So did she. She was running. She didn't know where. She knew that running wouldn't get her to Eric as it magically did in all other movies and books. And she knew that running wouldn't suddenly make her bump into Eric out of proportion. She knew very well that she didn't live in a fairytale that she used to dream of. But she ran. Breath gasping, skin paling, hands on her knees, loosing her sanity. It wasn't a matter of want. But a matter of need. She didn't wish anything. She didn't want anything. Right now, she needed running.

However, it was rather awkward. How people stared at a dishaveled woman running for her sanity. How she ran at the start of this story and how she eventually was still running.

Or maybe was this the same thing?

Yes, it was. This was her running for her sanity. Yes, it was her running. All this time, she was. Did you not understand the first part of her story? But maybe you do now. How she ended up running in the first place. It seemed horrendous. Rather smoothly killing you alive. So why wasn't she dying? Why wasn't she breaking down? Why was she so strong?

Sometimes, all of us look for answers. Because answers are something that is rather significant in all our lives. But. Sometimes it's not the answers that we're looking for. It's what we really want to hear.

It was merely a maze. An illusion. An enjoyable one. The answers. Or whatever we see that as. And so she ran. With all her might. The courage that she had. It felt incredible but also scary. How something so beautiful can be equally dangerous and risky. How something yet so tempting can cause something that you never knew that you could feel. How something is sent for you for merely a purpose. A purpose you won't understand then.

It hurts, doesn't it? Everytime we think about it.

Sometimes, it's not about just letting go what you love. It's about risking yourself to get hurt in order to make others happy. Make the ones you love happy. But are you really happy?

Honestly, no.

No one was happy.

All of us needed our own saviour. It could have been in any form. A person. A talent. An outburst. A paper. Laughing. Smiling. Walking forward. Breathing. Writing.

And some of us needed someone to save us from ourselves. Our minds. Our own demons scattered in the depths of places we don't even want to imagine. Perhaps, it was what she was looking for.

The depth within.

She blamed it on everyone. What she felt. She was dependant on people to save her from her ownself. Then she realised that after months of staring at the stain of tear in her ragged pink dress.

It was herself.

The way she dealt with her own pain. The way she reacted. The way she had an outburst. The way she fell on the platform helplessly. The way she made herself unable to breathe. The way she had a panic attack. The way she loved him. And the way she refused something she couldn't live without. And the way she regretted it.

But we forget.

The way she was strong enough to take a heartbreak. The way she didn't consider to commit suicide. The way she walked forward no matter the pain. The way she incredibly told him what she felt. The way she was strong enough to let go. The way she relentlessly loved. The way she thought she would smile again. The way she hoped for something. And the way she waited.

"Dear!" An old, cracked voice exlaimed.

She panted heavily, her breathing rather ragged in all the anxiety. She was breathing from her mouth, whilst she gasped for air. As if she was drowning. As if she was worth to survive. She didn't know how to answer. She didn't bother to think so. Her look of devastation rather puzzled the old woman. But the old woman never gave any sign of sympathy  to her. She was glad. Extremely.