22 Diaries. Story nineteen

Perhaps, it’s because they don’t know
they’re afraid
of a foreign face
marble pale.

Perhaps, it’s because they know
they could never allow
for it to take everything
like a thief.

How can I say a word, now if I know that my speech will reveal every single flaw. Exposed.

I’ll be stood there with all the eyes on me. Judging, what the hell am I worth if not a coin.

Certainly, not something to be accepted easily nor obvious enough to be rejected.

What on earth are you still doing here. If you can’t go back without turning back. What on earth?

Perhaps, it wasn’t worth it
if your own mother didn’t care.
Perhaps, I was the one who didn’t care
if I left so effortlessly.

Shall I ever find the answer in the mouths of pleasers.

They will never understand.

They will never accept the truth for what it is.

Just don’t reveal your name and keep your mouth shut, for they will always look at you differently.

Don’t even try.

It’ll get you nowhere.

22 Diaries. Story eighteen

I don’t know why I thought it was temporary.

I don’t know why I thought I would go back there at some point. I guess, it still feels unrealistic. I guess, I’ve never accepted it.

All I wanted was to be there. All I wanted was to be next to you. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And not seeing your face for so long, it feels like something is stealing pieces of my soul, until there’s nothing left.

You know, you still travel with me everywhere I go. And like a lunatic I’ve been talking to myself with your voice, hoping one day you’re going to say the exact same words.

I opened my mouth and wanted to
say words I would never say to anyone.

I opened my arms and wanted to
give the warmth I would never give to anyone.

I wanted to talk to you about so many things, yet my lips went sealed once I saw the clasped hands on your lap. In that moment I felt like you didn’t treat me like your friend.

In that moment I realized that you weren’t my friend.

I realized that I didn’t have friends.

I was alone.

22 Diaries. Story seventeen

I’m disinterested.
I’m bored.
I’m sad.

I was forced to take a step back. That left me hanging, that left me lost. I thought this chapter was behind me, and yet again, I find myself standing here. On a pile of stained sheets, showing me the faces of my past.

I feel trapped. But the worst part is that I cannot see a way out. I’m in a limbo.

I’m trapped
in my past
in my misery
in my thoughts

Life’s like a labyrinth where all I can see are blank walls with no signs.

My goals are so clear and simple in my head. It’s the world and its humans that make them impossible to achieve.

That makes me realize that my goals are unrealistic, and all what I am is just a daydreamer.

Just drop it and live the life you’ve got, you silly girl. It’s never going to work.

22 Diaries. Story sixteen

Dr Ellman once said that only we can make sense of our lives.

So, if I cannot find sense
then the life doesn’t make sense
right?

Looking for the point is like looking for the feeling that, perhaps, has never been in you.

You try to grab their physical edges, while they tiresomely blur away within your memories. Within dreams that used to be alive.

Your life, mixed with illusion and high expectations, crashed like a simple machine that you entrusted your life to.

your dreams escaped
your flesh exposed
now you’re lost and sad

22 Diaries. Story fifteen

I’ve been through a traumatic event. Yet again.

When she stared at me. With recognition. Where the chemical signals refuse to comply. There’s only nonsense. I’m hallucinating.

I burst into tears. Feeling the skeleton arms around my neck. I chocked on the past. Wondering if it was her at all. Wondering if it wasn’t her fault at all.

How did it happen. Why did it hit me so hard, when I’d found myself cold-hearted before. Perhaps, a spark jumped on my skin. Evoked the yearning in one’s heart.

Standing next to her half of my life. It soaked me to the bone. Having it in me, I never escaped. No matter how far I’d run away.

Soaked in her blood. Always with her. I’ll always be her.

22 Diaries. Story fourteen

Dear You

I never thanked you for the note that you left on my desk the other day. I’m still not sure if the words were meaningful or meaningless. Are they a pearl or a piece of glass found on the bottom of an ocean?

I would have been blessed that I’d met you, if only I accepted your help. Otherwise it’s pointless, like breathing under the water. What if you were my salvation and I just passed you by, walked away without looking back?

I never reached out to you, even though I knew I should have. Even though you were the one who offered the advice. You were so nice to me, and I feel so bad for not doing anything, for not saying a word.

It’s killing me because I know I will never be able to ask for help. I wished and I prayed for you to ask again. But it never happened. My phone was unbearably silent only to die only a week later.

Perhaps, I was afraid to say all the words aloud because that would mean that they were true, and all I wanted was to walk in the haze of illusion to make everything less hurtful. To delude myself.

You must know, though, that I wrote a hundred letters to you, all in my head, they never made their way through the line of my eyelashes. Now is too late for the universe collapsed, burying me under the castle that never had any foundations.

I’m so sorry. Not even know why. You probably didn’t care

anyway.

22 Diaries. Story thirteen

So, the other day I watched a youtube video called ‘I don’t want to be here anymore’. When I saw it, it hit me like a wave of cold water. Because those words are the exact words I’ve been telling myself lately.

My life changed so suddenly, so quickly. What I’ve got left now are only memories. Memories of delusions I’d been fed with or, perhaps, delusions I created out of the words I’d heard. Delusions I wanted to believe in.

‘Unexpected visitors’ knocked on my door. I was reluctant to let them in, though. So tightly wrapped up in the luxury and easy life, given to me on a golden tray. But that life is not there anymore, and what I’ve got left are pieces of a broken shell strewn on my bedroom floor that I walk on everyday, letting my feet bleed.

No. I do not care anymore.

You can tell me whatever you want.

No. I do not listen anymore.

22 Diaries. Story eleven

How did I find myself there? Why?

That’s the questions I keep asking myself.

At first I thought it was a great place to grow and learn new things. It wasn’t.

Then I thought it was about you, because I’ve never experienced a connection like this before. But you turned out to be a liar.

Then why?

I believe that things happen for a reason, hence the questions I keep asking myself over and over again. Why?

This story was supposed to be addressed to you, but I don’t feel like I can trust you anymore. So, there it is as follows:

I know I’ve been here before, in this place. All the people and all the events. I’ve met them, I’ve seen them. The feeling is so strong that I almost cannot deny that this is the right thing, no matter how wrong it may seem.

You once told me that everything is written in the stars, that She plays every part in our lives, that everything gets Her way. I remember that it came with such a relieve, because it meant that we don’t have to worry about anything…

Perhaps, the thing I thought I was wasn’t true. Perhaps, I believed in the image of me that people created. Hearing everyday how good and unique I was, I believed I was good and unique. Perhaps, what I am is the thing I am right now. Nothing more.

All the things I learnt were just useless things easy to learn. Life itself wasn’t written in the book, though. That’s why I didn’t know how to learn it. That’s why I don’t know how to live a life that doesn’t go beyond the cover of the book. The real life.

And this is what makes a lot of sense.

22 Diaries. Story ten

Once I said to someone that I felt drained, out of energy, mentally tired. They asked: ‘Why won’t you do something for yourself?’

I assume he wanted to suggest I buy something to myself or travel somewhere or go out for a dinner. The thing is, I do a lot for myself. I buy myself flowers, I take baths with bubbles, I eat chocolate, I travel a lot and I buy pretty things.

As a half orphan I feel the sense of abandonment under my skin. I learnt that you can never rely on other people. It doesn’t matter what they say and how many promises they make. They can never love you as much as you can love yourself. So, yeah, believe me I know how to take care of myself. Physically… at least.

I do not believe that material possessions can heal your crying soul. Wonder why I’m so tired? Because I was dismissed. Because my skills apparently meant nothing. Because I wasn’t good enough. That is what pains me more. You do not have to love me, but you have to need me as a professional. Without it I feel useless.

The forgotten dreams lie heavily on me, crashing my inner self of belonging, where towers collapse releasing demons, which chase me every day.

And this is where it begins…