Month: April 2022

22 Diaries. Story six

~ W. Donovan ~ 1 Comment

What people in your life really mean to you?

your family, your friends, your colleagues

Do you even have any friends?

Friends who never let go and never let you feel the cold. Friends whom you feel safe with. Friends whom you feel free with.

content isn’t enough

They talk to you through the clouds, not through the metal that makes them blind.

I cannot recall.

But I exactly remember the day everything ended. I remember how it made me feel.

How can I say a word now? When all you want me to be is a silent machine of your imagination.

You told me once to always say how I’m feeling. My truths are blunt, though.

Sorry should I feel…
or say.

However, I’m not the one whose words float in the air.

Careless. Like the soul that never found its home.

Understanding. It’s what you expect, giving a shake of your hand in exchange.

and that’s all

Everything we’ve had. Everything we’ve built. There’s no room for it anymore. Even on the dusty shelf of the forgotten.

Shall I stay put, even though the words were never said. But the leaves that fell from the trees cannot grow back on them.

Being still in your arms, I should feel love, happiness and safety. But all I feel is nothing.

Splinters of the shallow and mute guard that are still stuck in my skin.

They will remain only splinters.

and that’s all

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story five

~ W. Donovan ~ Leave a comment

What is a home? Where is your home?

You meticulously build your life around things and people that you know well, hoping they will never going to change. Since there was too many unwanted changes in your life. Since you’ve come out from nowhere, you plan to head somewhere. To a place that actually matters.

Eventually, you feel like you belong somewhere, like you’re in the right place. Wanted and appreciated, you know you’re going to be safe. You cosy up with the comfort in your mind, the comfort that they created.

Little do you know whom you surround yourself with. Cold-hearted people with warm smiles and welcoming arms, pretending to be your friends. Always saying the words that you want to hear, but not doing a thing.

Suddenly, you find yourself grasping for a breath when a huge spider jumps on your face and you don’t have a chance to defend yourself. All the arguments that they listen to only selectively. Again, nothing matters anymore.

Abandoned. Always unwanted. Desperately trying to belong somewhere, you blindly meander around the wrong people who know how to use you. Who suck the energy out of you and then throw you in the landfill.

Where once the home was, now there’s a hole stuffed with shredded photos that you used to take. And you realize that the only human you can rely on is yourself. And the things that you can safely surround yourself with are some old furniture and a rabbit.

© W. Donovan