He feels me stirring in my sleep and instinctively holds me tighter. I turn the water on and he is awake. With his eyes half-closed he takes my hands, a gesture to convey his participation. And there we both sat, in the dark, him staring at me while I stared at nothing.
When flesh is born, it is sin as soon as it enters this world. Blessed with freewill, we are bound to make one wrong decision and tell one lie too many, scream rebellion at a parent in a holy hour or steal a wicked glance into the immoral.
A propaganda that burnt bridges from the future, an upheaval that resounded through ma’s heart, an indulgence too difficult to turn the other cheek.
And I want to say that trudging through this mud has been a great experience and that I’ve come out stronger and all that crap. But I’m broken on the inside, worry eating me alive and anxiety gnawing on my veins.
I sleep at 5am. Three hours later I’m rubbing my eyes and pulling on my hair. My nose starts to itch and I couldn’t help but wish I had something I could hurl across the room. I want to scream and scream and scream and scream till I could not scream any more and feel any less. Remnants of my life is spinning around me but I wish they would just fall to the ground and shatter my burdens.
My hands are twitching. I want nothing more than to chuck my laptop out the window and take pleasure in watching it smash merrily. But I cannot afford that luxury. I would just have to post this and rationally take my hands off the keypad after I turn on another 213 song.