I want to tell myself
that my sad story had ended,
that now I can write a better one,
where I won’t be suffering again.
But I have known myself more than anyone.
In the waters that choked me,
even when it hurt,
even when I was about to loose myself
the only thing on my mind
my only sadness was for the love I never found.
And there lies my failure,
there lies the source of my misfortune.
That even after everything ends,
after I have cried my last tears,
nothing would change.
I would walk into every new day
and I would only see the broken yesterday.
I would end up in front of doors
that have never opened for me.
If all I can do
is to write up my pain
that will fill itself every morning again.
And hide the evidence of my weakness
that burn with longing for the fading ink,
the ink that longs to see
those eyes from whom they were meant to hide.
Then I am just moving my feelings
from one dark cage to another.
They continue to grasp for air,
even if the hands that choke them have changed.
I sing them a song
in the voice that may soothe their hearts
but fills me with feelings
which are very similar to words
like choke, suffocation and breathlessness.
Though you might not think twice about it,
I know what I have done.
I have walked into the prison that my life was.
But I love myself for taking that step
into the memory of darkness
that cannot actually hurt me.
It is just remains of the hurt that was.
But here I also find remains of ‘me’ that was.
And I am happy, for I know
rarely do people get chance
to become what they were, even for a minute.