Some losses aren’t made for words. They are made for stories. Stories of how trusting people got you hurt even when you were so cautious. We all have moments, weak ones. Where we are desperate to believe in something good despite all the wrong in this world. And by wrongs, I mean everything that you wish could be turned around so you can have a moment of peace. A lazy afternoon without everything falling apart. When the rain feels like a drizzle to balance out the hot weather, and not a storm of winds busting through your lungs trying to tell you you’re losing this battle. This battle. The one I fight with myself every day. To be, or not to be. When not being isn’t a choice anymore, you’re left with nothing but, just, to be. To exist, no matter what. To hope that maybe tomorrow will be better. Maybe tomorrow won’t be as hard as today. Maybe tomorrow I can control my emotional chaos. Maybe tomorrow it will feel lighter. Just maybe.
I dialled the wrong number today. I don’t know why, what, or how. Just, at that moment. I did. Maybe I missed my friend. Maybe I needed a moment of reality to slap me across the face with another, don’t knock on the doors they closed on you. It’s strange how one could promise you love, togetherness and hope, and it turns into an ugly breach of love. Disappointments are no longer just disappointments. They go so much deeper every time. Defeat multiplied.
Some losses aren’t made for words. They are made for stories. Of how you once loved and lost. And now the loss is all you face. How one stagnant end keeps ushering back and forth with one last heartbeat, sighing its final breath.
She Was Sea 