I’m generally doing okay in the state where I’m in right now but sometimes at night I miss the feeling of tears falling down my cheeks. It’s weird but at the end of some days I find myself longing for the me from months ago, anxious and crying effortlessly because of a lot of things, or the lack of some. Is it just me or does pain really grow into you that you’d go looking for it at times when your life seems boring?
Daily Prompt’s Laughter.
P.S. I wrote this October of 2017, I don’t know what got into me. Anw, it would be nice to hear your thoughts about it!
I have a thing for rain
All the stories of pain
Shadows concealing your grief
A mysterious fury the soul
I have a thing for wind
All the mistakes of thirst
Secrecy trailing desire
A provocative tryst the skin
Time will lead you back
to old conversations
to forced messages
to sweet words
Vaguely asking questions:
has the heart healed
is the love still there
did the pain go away
are feelings just dormant?
I hope in your mind the answers land.
After all the pain
we inflicted in ourselves
though some are assumed
we are still both passengers
in the idea of us.
P.S. I had a hard time with the last line of this tanka poem so I wanna share some alternate versions (where I get the title) you might like:
seemingly stuck here on Earth.
who seem stuck with each other.
Read it again and tell me what you like more!
It has become unusually harder for me to create bittersweet stories which evoke a bit of melancholia ever since pain stopped knocking on my heart.
I am questioning myself if I could still feel something, anything—anger, bitterness, frustration, shame, love, sadness—towards some certain people in my life and how important that emotion is in our relationship, but I’m afraid at times I feel empty because there is nothing to feel.
I oppose being empty, my mind resists engaging at the very thought of it, my heart stubbornly refuses to believe it is real, that it could happen, especially to me.
I who have joined the bandwagon of cold people claiming they have empty hearts when they are really just lonely. I who turned sadness into art whenever tears reach the tip of my tongue, or even when tears haven’t come. I who became overly familiarized with pain that I recognize it in other people’s eyes and understand it with my heart. I who thinks of welcoming pain again in my life, just so I could divert my attention in feeling nothing when there could be everything, or even just a thing.
The rain used to make my ink bleed with pain, now I’m asking pain to make my ink bleed when it rains.
About a month ago, the heart finally decided to team up with the brain in moving on.
Both organs are getting tired of fighting each other—the heart wants to wait but the brain knows there’s nothing to wait—and it weakens the soul. The brain posted a challenge to the heart: be as pathetic as you can be for a month but let go after that. The heart agreed, but with that came the most of most pain it ever felt, which the brain thought was necessary in moving forward.
And the brain was right. It was only halfway through the month when the heart felt lighter after all those times of hoping. Yes, it felt the most of most pain, but that taught the heart what the brain has long understood, that there’s no chance and waiting will never be done.
The heart sighed and muttered: I’ve wasted my time. But the brain disagreed, “No, you didn’t. All hearts traverse different paths to healing. What matters now is you found your way. And we turned your sadness into art, which is the best thing that came out of your loneliness.”
Both organs have closed the gap between the idea of freedom and actually being free. The heart need not finish the rest of the month and the brain need not look out for the heart. They are enjoying each other’s company and it strengthens the soul, everyone is happy.
But the human to which they belong could only be free for the time being, until the heart and brain fights again.
Discover Challenge: Mind the Gap
and i know for sure
when you say, my love,
you don’t think of me
but of the man you have
so i’ll wait for rain
to flood my senses
and drain my heart
to be free from pain
Daily Post’s Waiting.
Before you left, you gave me a notebook and a pen.
You advised that I start writing about you
until the ink gets tired of bleeding your name
and the pages get hurt from the cries of pain.
the ink will be gone,
the pages will be burnt,
and you will be forgotten.
But, guess what?
I never used them.
Not because I don’t have to.
But because I don’t want to.
Daily Post’s I Can’t Stay Mad at You.