18. Just a piece
Here’s what
It’s those tears that run down your cheeks in the middle of the day, as you sit down having lunch. Because all of a sudden, you feel the world is dark—you feel the like world is caving you in.
It’s those tears that run down after you get home from a long day—that you don’t even cry because you’re exhausted anymore, but you cry because.
It’s those tears that can’t come out as you walk home, listening to the birds singing.
It’s those nights where you wish you could just skip to when you have to rush out in the morning and leave.
It’s those unanswered messages that you have piled up in your notification—that you don’t reply, intentionally, because you’re sick and tired of talks that will soon lead to nothing.
It’s those moments when you read those quotes that you have up on your wall saying, “It will be okay” as you cry in your pajamas on Saturday mornings.
It’s those noon where you just sit in the cafeteria with at least hundreds of people and still feeling so hollow and alone.
It’s those foods that reminds you of home. How it doesn’t taste the same as it should—as if it lacks a cup of love and a tablespoon of ‘home.’
It’s those thoughts that keep haunting you as you cook or as you take a shower, that everyone is just, tired of you. That you’re no one’s friend that they come to at the end of the day, telling how their day went and ask you how yours went.
It's not being able to completely express how you feel in a language that doesn't own you.
It's not being able to completely express how you feel in a language that doesn't own you.
It’s writin g writing
It’s somehow thinking whether other people are thinking of your writings as pathetic, crybaby, attention-seeking.
But it’s also not giving their thoughts no crap because when you’re done trying, when you’ve given up with being depressed and that your lifeline no longer goes up and down, you’re done putting your words up for people to read. You're done telling how you were here, writing to let the world know how it was before it went down—before it ended and before the you, has stopped writing.
And here’s just another thought about being depressed: it’s not that you're not trying, it's just that, it's constantly at the back of your mind and no one gives a crap because it's not physical pain. Sometimes it whispers you to remind of itself, but other times, it screams, yells and mock at you as you try to live your life.
