speak.

“thank you, sorry.”

if it wasn’t for their help and presence you probably wouldn’t have been able to do this and life would never be the same. After so many trips and experiences, you still don’t learn the mechanics of being independent and revert back to a sheltered child groomed and grown in a glass greenhouse, You apologize but apologies mean nothing and fall empty on disappointed hearts that are used to hearing these words from my mouth, actions don’t correspond and in the end, you’re still spoilt and over-reliant after all.  Eventually people will leave and you will be left alone, so who are you going to depend on when that time comes? Stop being a burden when the rest already has theirs to carry, you were the one who promised to share their load yet you lean on their shoulders and refuse to budge. Who’s a hypocrite now?

“i’m uncomfortable with change.”

Farewells and goodbyes are common yet form the soul of the voice that speaks to you, tells you that life is just a cycle and nothing really matters; what everything and everyone once meant to you crumbles to the ground. You’re impractical, you hate accepting reality as it is even if it’s the cold hard truth, slapped right in your face over and over again, time after time. One day, your will grow old and looks will not matter because in the end we decompose to uncover the raw muscle that beats – and eventually stops – in the left ribcage, the size of your fist that hits the side of the wall to silence the voice in your head. afraid to break down the wall that separates you from the world, afraid to shed off your skin before your last breath, afraid to be more vulnerable than a newly born baby that cries with its first breath.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

You are unable to connect, your hands are far too short to reach out, into someone else’s heart, because your signal is weak and who are you to ask someone to show me their heart when yours is locked up, caged securely in a safe box? The chase after receding waves is pointless and your feet are not fast enough to cross the distance, you are left biting the dust in someone else’s past. The words are jumbled up and letters are lost in your windpipe, nothing good comes out and your fingers are forced to continue, continue hammering on the keyboard that is tired of the many awkward pauses. Sometimes nobody gets it and neither do you, but still the voices speak and it echoes, reverberates until your head hurts from the endless retorts and snickering you never asked for.

you are no longer sure how to find the better person you speak of in your new year’s resolution, but in the first place you never had a plan.

(the voice laughs at you, at your foolishness and the tears fall like the curtain at the end of a theatre play.)

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