Last Month Was So Hard, So Fucking Difficult. But Now It's Over. And I Genuinely Can't Believe I've Made
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)
More Posts from Every-perfect-summer and Others
home really is the strangest of all places. you only ever seem to have one as a child. older, and you wish to run away. the first place you wish to run away from, no matter how much you proclaim to love it. it is only when you do leave, when you need a home thr most, that it ceases to be home anymore. it is only when you yearn for it more than anything you have ever yearned for, that you cannot recognize it anymore. you wish for home, but home doesn't feel like home anymore. you wish for your mother's arms, but she is not the mother you grew up with. or maybe she is and you simply do not recognize her anymore. when you go back, you run away again. and again, and again, and again. running away and away and away. towards home. wherever it may be.
day 9
9:43 p. m.
day 14
11:11 p. m.
the words escape me tonight. stranger reading this, won't you forgive me tonight? i have no words for you. but do you even listen? do you even read?
i feel like radio... except radio had someone listening to them. radio had frances and february and thousands listening to them. who do i have? does my voice even exist?
24 september
3 years and i forget your voice and i forget the date and i forget what it was like to be fed by your hand and why do i only have one picture to remember what you looked like? maybe i'm an awful person and i don't deserve this grief but i remember the house and i remember how you smelled and i remember what your hand felt like on mine. and i'm sorry i forgot.
as a kid, i used to read the maps
whenever i used to be upset
i would open up any map
and simply stare at it for hours on end
absorbing the world
thinking of all the places i've never been
of all the places i'll never be to
nowadays, i read theories about the universe
how it started
how it might end
time travel and black holes
relativity of time and the songs of the universe
did you know, two black holes,
before colliding
create sounds waves in the very fabric of the universe
imagine being so sad and beautiful and terrible
the multiverse theory is still my favorite
to imagine worlds where i simply don't exist
never did, to begin with
i wonder if someone in that other universe
ever feels like they are missing someone they've never met
someone who doesn't even exist
i hope not
so maybe what i really wish to say
is that right from the start
the world has always been
my only escape from the demons inside my head
i know it feels like your pain is out there in the world for all to see but it's not. it's so deep inside your heart even you can't feel it. and even if it wasn't... even if it was out there for all to see... what would be so terrible about that?
it gets difficult to breath again. everyone is so far away. and i'm afraid. afraid that even if i do find the words to ask for help somehow, they won't hear me. afraid that even if i do start screaming, they won't know it's me. everyone is so far away and a part of me tells me it's for the best but gods, do i wish someone would hold me while my heart breaks.
idek these days. are these happy? or are these sad? ig these are the middle days... the normal days that normal people have, when they follow their schedules and do normal people things. but like, who even are these nornal people? who here does not have something hurting them at any given point in time? who here does not get days and weeks and months when they just... can't. i can't believe that exists at all. but maybe it does, who am i to judge. maybe i would like to be there someday. someday...
day 16
10:40 p. m.
songs from a time forgotten. my poems in a language you'll never understand. our fingers never touch. there was a promise once. of a day meant to be spent together. a promise to never let go. maybe you gave it to someone else. maybe you always knew i was going to break it.
(and yes, i do remember another promise. to myself. to never spend any more of my words on you. i try. but maybe that's how i keep all my promises)
what do i do with all this untouched grief. it grows stale in my mouth.
what do i do with all this unpromised love. no one told me how to hold it without bruising.
