Musings of the boy next door

Heart needs first-aid

I look at these pictures and I cry.

Crying no longer feels like a weakness to me. Crying is now just another way of speaking. Another way of introspection.

Great intentions could be wrongly expressed. Struggling with detachment. Hurt you and that inadvertently left me hurt too.

Constant prayers up to the creator for peaceful resolutions. Praying for calm to replace the storm. Still, my heart feels the quakes. Sleepless nights but I don’t want to be awake. Thinking physical pain will outweigh the emotional trauma, so I inflict some more on me. The wounds heal but the heart stays bloodied.

Only if we could speak. Only if this casket could be opened. A short dialogue, forgiveness, and closure will do the trick. But the casket stays closed. In death, it still hurts. The one who seems alive is also dead within.

No goodbyes, no wave, just tears. A flood of tears that still can’t wash the pain. Watch me join you under.

Watch me.

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