Your Eyes Are So Lively That They Dance Like Humans Underneath The Starry Sky.

day 2

9:19 a. m.

one of these days, you're gonna get used to being the last to walk up those stairs at night and the first to walk down them in the morning. that weird morning haze won't look so unfamiliar to your eyes. that first buzz of electricity won't sound so ominous. you won't need to blast lorde at full volume to drown out the silence. but not today. not so soon.

maybe being strong is all about pretending. i can't think of it otherwise. how else do they hold each other up? how else do i look you in the eye and tell you it'll be alright?

reminder to self: just accept that alarms aren't for you. and maybe... just maybe, crying to lorde isn't such a bad idea.

last month was so hard, so fucking difficult. but now it's over. and i genuinely can't believe i've made it this far. i can't believe i survived through all of this one poem a time. i can't believe it was just the thought of this poem that had to be written at the end of each day that kept me going on so many of these days. that it was these words that kept me alive.

'i've hated the words and i've loved them. and i hope that i have done them right' (the book thief)

i haven't been able to let anyone read all of them. they're too sad. maybe i will, one day. i know i need to. it's only for so long that you can scream on paper, that you can bleed through words. someday, you have to show someone the cracks in the walls so that they can come in. i hope i have the strength to do that. i hope it's not too late when i do that. i think, the most important thing i've learnt this month is that, you have to hope, no matter what. because that is the only thing that keeps you alive when all the light is sucked out of your life and the world feels like it's run out of oxygen. you have to hope.

'sometimes the saddest thing is to hope. sometimes, the only hope is the constant sadness' (yashodhaan burange)

'i would like to step out of my heart

and go walking beneath the enormous sky

i would like to pray'

i have been strangers with my words for a while now. my words, the ones that helped me let go of my pain, helped me breathe. but some things you can't let go of. you can only bury them so deep in that you won't ever have to think about them again.

some days, i think i would be alright if everyone i've ever loved, ever held close to my heart would leave me. i tell myself it wouldn't hurt. that it would be for the best. some days, i forget how my heart feels everything too much, how it can't help but hurt.

i look back at the past few months and i try to detach myself from the pain, the grief. i would go for days and weeks without thinking about it, without shedding a tear. until one day, a random thought, a reminder, a realization. they're gone. and it would hit all over again. a blinding pain that leaves me gasping for breath.

when i was a child, i would pray to god to take my pain away. it didn't make sense for me to have to feel all that. god never did, and i am no longer a child. i haven't prayed in a very long time, it makes me angry.

when grief comes knocking at my door, i turn the volume up and pretend i don't hear. i pretend it's fine until the walls start to crumble around me and grief barges in through the broken door. it holds my face in it's hands, looks into the eyes that refuse to shed it's tears and tells me, "it won't be the end of the world if you feel"

maybe not the world, but it would be my end. for how will i ever stop, once i start?

day 3

2:09 p. m.

oh look, we're back where we started. is this really how long grief lasts? is this really how long the pain at not being able to take away their pain lasts? or maybe this is just... an illusion. nothing more.

'this dream isn't feeling sweet

we're reeling through the midnight streets

and I've never felt more alone

it feels so scary, getting old'

tell me though, what remains when this is over. tell me it isn't just pain.

day 19

9:58 p. m.

this ends for us today, stranger. for i loved you, but i hated this too.

you came back today. you asked if i forgot to laugh while you were away. maybe i did. but i won't tell you. you asked how long it's been since you left and i pretended i hadn't been counting each day, writing out all these days to make their passing a little more bearable. but you're here now. it's going to be okay.

to the stranger reading this, i'm glad you were here. glad i wasn't alone. but here is where we part. for now.

goodbye

all this love would make sense if it wasn't for me

day 18

8:28 a. m.

this happiness slowly creeping in... and you. nostalgia for days long gone. days that could've been. days that should've been. anyway.

day 17

11:11 p. m.

i can almost feel it coming... but not now. not yet. i can't... talk about it. i won't.

but sending out these words feels good. keeping them in between the pages suffocates them. but there's something cathartic about sending them out into the world and knowing they're gonna be invisible. i just hope it's enough.

day 10

10:59 p. m.

my hearts yearns for something it has never had. something it's not even sure exists. it searches and searches. in songs in languages it doesn't yet know and in people's last words. in stories written ages ago. in sunsets and stars long dead. i don't know what it wishes for. perhaps a way out of this world. dear heart, where would you like to go? dear heart, will you be happy there?

day 9

9:43 p. m.