Confessions To A Paper

Nights are for tears to fall. When I quietly sit and think because 'think' is all I can do. In this life, there has not been even a single night to fall back on and reset to default version, so where and indeed to whom should I run to? Looking back, I do not remember childhood games nor fairy tales, neither the love in its truest, rarest form. What I do clearly, brightly, as if it were the present, do remember are the struggles of always, always, filling in shoes for others, fulfilling the expectations for the ones I love, and trying to survive in an alien world. I may have smiled a lot, but I do not remember even one single instance where I genuinely laughed my heart out in the spur of the moment to hold my stomach and roll on the floor. 

Every person who has decided to enter my life has left me more troubled and strayed than before. A piece of me so clearly dies inside daily that I can feel my own presence diminishing into nothing, slowly and steadily, reaching the destination where it is meant to be. Every human here stands for themself, every person thinks of their own needs, their own beliefs, their own rights but none has ever thought of what I must feel. People ruin you for others and more so over for yourself. They leave me in the middle of the night to pen down my confessions to a paper and commit to nothing but excruciating grief. 

Whenever I have revealed the truthful version of me to those around me, they get distant. They prefer what they have known, the regular, the normal, the oh so perfect people, and in their pursuit to find this normalcy, they leave me in a realm of mirrors to show me my own face. Every time I look into this, I find two strange, red, eyes staring back at me with a puzzled look, “who are you?” And indeed, who am I? After giving away myself to every person I have ever encountered weather in the form of soulmate, love, sibling, daughter, or family, I mold myself into the images which they have of me. In this conquest, I have forgotten to carve myself into the person that I want myself to be. 

They say I have got away with words, a way which makes the pain look beautiful, well, how else do I describe it when it’s the only thing which I have known ever since I breathed my first. Like a shadow, it has remained true, never left my side, and that is what reflects through the red ink on dusty paper, a masterpiece of pain.

I do not trust anyone because life has taught me in its own twisted evil ways the perils of attaching hopes or dreams to someone else. Every damn time, I promise myself that no more, not now, not ever, I will be the rebellion to myself and my thoughts and yet, somehow, I wound back to where I had begun. Convincing others of your worth, begging them to let you be a part of their life, going to extremes just to be on their good side. 

Well, now, yet again, I say no. With stingy eyes and puffy cheeks, with rains and thunders, I yet again kill another part of me. It is an assurance to know that one day, just maybe in this lifetime, I will finally have a new me, the one who doesn’t watch rains fall down like tears in eyes, but relaxes and enjoys the rainbows to follow. As I try to unlearn a lifestyle and let go of what is considered as the norm. I struggle to find a path I can call my own. For now, I know for a fact that when I sit alone on windows at night, with tears rolling down my eyes, the only person who can make me stop is me. Only I can be my own savior, my own knight in a shining armor, my friend, my companion, my partner, and literally my forever. Slowly as I am engulfed in the flames of these thoughts, the heart feels the burn, tears vaporize, and yet again, the lullaby of my pain puts me to sleep.