I still can’t believe the levels of absolute sorrow you built for me, slowly pushing me into insanity. You absolutely crushed me, destroyed every broken piece of me until you were satisfied enough to walk away. I was too soft between your rough fingers, begging you to hold me gentle, you ignored all of my pleads. I begged and groveled at your feet for forgiveness for mistakes that I now realize I was never at fault for. All I desired was acceptance but you made sure to give me nothing but denial.
If the moon and the stars
Disappeared for a night
I’d find peace in the sun
That shines bright in your eyes
A night full of cries and tired eyes
As the moon decidedly falls
The sun will rise and you will find
A new day within the same walls
It wasn’t until I could see the moon rise that I decided to make my way outside to the wooden swing that gently swayed in the wind. After navigating through the dark, I sat down and felt the soft breeze that leaked through the forest behind me gently touch the parts of me that were uncovered. I tried everything I could to organize my thoughts, slow my breathing, and find some sort of peace in the chaos that wrecked my mind. Unfortunately, this type of madness stems from the depths of wounds even I wasn’t aware existed.
I pick up my mug with both hands, slowly sipping from the lip and letting the steam gently grace the tip of my nose. Hot tea soothes the back of my throat as I place the mug back down on the nightstand next to me. I can’t seem to remember the last time I was able to sleep soundly without the help of chamomile and melatonin. What a privelage it was to come home from class or work, jump into a cotton abyss and soon after fall victim to my own weariness. Now I’m caught in my monotonous nightly routine: dinner, shower, tea, sleep aid, bed, stare at the ceiling for a couple hours, hopefully get more than 4 hours of sleep.
Come to think of it, before this nightmare of a routine began, what was even crossing my mind during those short moments before sleep? In most cases I’m going to assume it was a controversy between which outfit I was going to wear the next day, or possibly who the next bachelor was on my quest to find love. A common and habitually failing adventure of mine, let me add. Gone are the days of blissful romantics and picking out my outfit the night before, that’s for sure.