the waiting game

What brought me here?

I still don’t know.

For a time, i told myself that I should refrain from writing anything that concerns my emotions. Talk about being private.

But then, I can’t understand myself.

I feel like being with a friend to feel better, but I also feel like being alone.  I’m trying to focus on my work but I can’t. And everytime I try to read anything law-related, I would be dyslexic. Sometimes, I would imagine happy thoughts but I would snap myself back to reality because I’m scared to imagine the contrary.

I feel like crying for no reason at all.

I feel so lost.

I feel abandoned.

I feel uncertain.

I feel like an idiot.

I feel like punching anyone who would give me any reason to.

I feel like kissing any guy who would make a first impression.

But then again, it’s a crazy idea.

I feel like hiding.

I feel like singing any song that I can relate to.

I feel like watching movies 24×7.

I feel like slapping any bitch who deserves it.

But most of the time, I feel like falling down on my knees and surrendering

everthing to our GOOD LORD.

silence does it, too

I was told several times before that words can kill. They could cut like a knife- the one with crooked or pointed edges. They could crash a heart ten million times until the soul becomes a glint of mist, almost inexistent.

They could not be taken away. When they are released, they become parts of the whole. They are embedded right into the conscience of the proponent, and stuck into the deepest core of the recipient.

I am accepting the foregoing ideas without any reservation. In my existence, I have proven that they are real. Or at least, they were to me. I got involved in situations where I was the one who uttered irretrievable words. My tongue cursed. And I made amends. There were times when I voluntarily denied my indiscretions. But still, I have been guilt-stricken. (So many people fail to recognize that when you hurt someone, you are hurt, too).

I became a recipient. I’ve met people who have been careless with their words. Some people would say, “You are hurt because it’s the truth.” Crap. Truth hurts. But falsities undeniably hurt, too! I would concoct a big lie if I would say that I’m not affected when people say false things about me. Maybe it isn’t “hurting” per se. But it brings disappointments or maybe a pinch in the heart.

Recently though, I realized that I hurt some people with my silence. And I’d been BADLY & REPEATEDLY hurt with damn and crappy incidents of silence. (Whoa! Just to describe. J Not from the heart).

But there was this concrete episode of silence that bugged me for a time. I’ve wondered for so long if that person was mad at me, or maybe scared, or maybe evasive. I’ve wondered far too long why that person was so silent to the point of almost considering me a piece of thin air when we would see each other. And it hurt me. It struck my heart. There were no words. Not one. No explanations.

True enough, silence does it, too.

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