There is no apology that could muster the mass of debt that has been created by my single fear of losing the cherishable selves I seen in you all, but for the suffering and curiosity turning into what can only be cold theories after heartbreak. I want you to know not a day goes by where this, and you aren’t in my thoughts. My heart bleeds, and my eyes flood in the anguish of losing everything more and more. They say that there’s always light, even in rock bottom, but so far everything seems to be more rock bottom. There is no explanation for this agony, as there are probably as many yeses and alternatives than there are no’s to be feeling this way, so it is easy to shut off the ideal of putting oneself’s feelings as present as they try to make others. What once were hopes and dreams about our futures are now but what-ifs, and promises are now empty. I wonder if you’re safe. I wonder if you’re happy. My only links to you are my pictures and my memories. And the writings in my journal, that I could never bare to take down. With this, I’ve lost the time to entertain my home and see my loved ones as less transparent as I’ve come to see them as. I wish I was a normal child, who interpreted anguish as its passing instead of the destination all humans in their nature are doomed for, even in death. People ask why I’ve been away, and what the result of who I am was for and what I have came to be, and I am left in tears each time I give an answer. Whoever said "It's better to have loved and lost
than to not have loved at all" had no clue. That someone had no idea what it is like to love someone so much and have them ripped from their life. The scars from the cesarean sections are more painful now
than they were when the wounds are fresh. They are a constant reminder of how much I’ve derealized my way out of this life, how much my health is uncommunicative, and how wounds are a constant reminder of what was lost, and the worst part, is that the birds still sing, and the sun still rises, and life doesn’t pause; but we do.
I’m not sure what the reason was for all of this, I don’t think I’ll ever know. But the days I’ve truly lost my loved ones have all been the last days of my life in different variants. My reasons for being were ripped from my embrace, and I’ve made others live in fear because of it. There’s blood on my hands, places I’ve been touched in ways I wish otherwise that still scream help under my clothing. A life and bonds that had so much potential, but everytime they start, they end before it could begin. I don’t know how I’m honorable, brother, but they tell me despite everything that exceeds the surface that my heart has felt enough good to stay here. But I know my damage, more than anyone, and there is massive suffering while living in this vessel. I don’t know if I’ll find my way back this time, I failed as a friend, I failed as a son, I’ve failed as someone who could ever be lovable, and everyday is a day I wish I don’t have to face. The only thing keeping me going is that maybe, just maybe, I’ll be allowed to be in your life once more 15 or so years down the road, that we can see each other when all we have left to offer is just a heart and mind. But until then, I’m a vessel awaiting a funeral. Always have, always will be. I understand if you won’t. I’ve seen the movies, I’ve fought the race of life, and I even played apart of It. I fear that my choices, my words will only truly matter once I died. All my life, I’ve tried to not only prove myself wrong, but others. And I’ve failed. I miss things I’ve missed my chance on for a long time, and I know I’m deserving of worse than nothing, whatever that may be. I miss things I can’t save or reach, and things that could do much better without knowing me. But I’ve tried to stick around anyway, even though things take me away, my body fails me, and when I was called upon to take a larger role for the sake of the greater good. It’s all gone now, but my choice to ignite it is becoming less of mine. I’m sorry I’ve lied, I’m sorry I’ve harmed myself, and went away everytime in order to not inflict it on others. All of this.. was just a way to keep you thinking I’m not as in a horrible condition as I make it out to be, that maybe I could make friends smile in a way other lightful people do. But I’ve failed, and I’ve operated falsehood to make myself amount to that bare minimum. I’m sorry for not being just like them, I’m sorry for not being the ideal one. And I’m sorry I can’t ever let go of them. They were truly friends I’ve lost, and I turned them into my accursed mental. Nature’s first color was gold, and even then, it’s the hardest hue to hold. Believe that despite the art that was made to tell falsehood, you found truth in yourself because of it all. You found what and what not to avoid, and will do better for the next route life takes you on. It’s impossible to tell in the moments of happiness that it’ll become a memory someday, but nothing gold can stay.
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