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The words gushed out.

The violence of their exit shook her.

The pent-up resentment was molten lava.

It was simmering beneath the thin veneer of her well-orchestrated life.

She froze, scared that she had destroyed everything she cared for in her outburst.

As the dust settled, what she saw surprised her.

Her broken soul resurrected like a phoenix from the ashes.

I am scared.

I stand on the edge of the precipice and look down at the foaming, frothing sea.

I want to jump and spread out my wings and soar.

Yet, I am terrified.

What if I crash and burn?

What if I fall on the jutting, jagged rocks that lie below?

What if I stay where I am and wilt and wither?

What if I become a petrified statue of ‘I wish I should have’?

Pain.

I am in such deep agony.

My eyes are dry, dehydrated, and cracking.

The scorching heat of grief has rained down its fiery darts upon them.

I sigh and pull my lips into the semblance of a smile.

All I seem to manage now is a trembling rictus.

My heart has been rent to pieces.

The indifferent waves of grief crush, beat, and batter the fragile shores of my soul, tossing me to and fro.

It came from the bowels of her soul.

It emanated from the recess of her being.

It welled, swelled, and washed over her entire being.

It had been a while since she had indulged in such a burst of rich, bellowing laughter.

Her mirth heaved and rocked everything within her.

She snorted and wiped a cheeky tear that tiptoed at the corner of her eye.

Her heart bloomed and blossomed.

She sighed and breathed deeply.

A content smile lit up her countenance.

She finally felt alive again.

Insignificant.

Invisible.

Infighting.

Thoughts crushing and clashing.

Emotions bashing burning.

Wrenching, wrecking my soul.

Oh! It hurts, lacerates, and breaks me.

Lift my countenance; I cannot.

Lift my spirit, I know not.

Lift my existence, I shy from.

Discarded, disregarded, destroyed, am I?

 

She struggled to stay afloat.

The more she strived, the faster she sank into the quicksand of debt.

She knocked at every door she could find.

But they remained shut, unyielding, indifferent to her plight.

Her heart became sick as hope deferred.

She hung her head and slowly faded away.

She staggered, lost and alone in the desolate landscape of her life.

Fatally wounded by her existence fraught with difficulties, she expired.

 

Life is beautiful.

Living hurts deeply, sometimes.

I fall flat on my face.

I cry out in agony as my soul cracks and splinters.

I cannot mend my broken heart no matter how hard I try.

Oh! Life happens even to the best of us, leaving us disillusioned and depressed.

Luckily, my bosom friend hope comes along and holds me together.

Hope lifts me and helps me stand on my wobbly feet.

I fix my eyes on the next step I take.

Moment by fragile moment is all I can manage to handle.

Hope hugs me and whispers gently, ” well done. You are doing well.”

I keep moving, no matter how insignificant my effort seems.

I will not stop, for therein lies my strength.

They stood by the roadside, seizing the moment.

They squeezed as much warmth, camaraderie, and catching up as they could in the limited time they had.

As they parted ways, they discreetly turned to look at each other.

Their eyes mirrored the longing that pierced their soul.

They missed the world they knew and shared in the past.

A wistful smile lingered on their lips as their eyes locked.

Their shared memories resurfaced and kissed their yearning hearts.

They turned away, pulled by their respective lives’ obligations and daily routines. 

The sweet aroma of their encounter lingered in their soul.

It was an oasis in the desert of busyness in the city.

 

I ran away.

I hid behind my well-put-together appearance.

I buried my head in the sand of denial.

I have now come full circle, back to the same place.

I gaze at my fractured reflection; this is who I am.

I am weaknesses and difficulties.

I am gifts and talents.

I am stuck with myself in this love-hate relationship.

I am a big messy jigsaw puzzle.

I kept stretching and straining my neck.

I stood gawking at the beautiful, neat puzzles that surrounded me.

I burned with envy.

I look outside, and it is a new dawn.

It is a new year.   

The sunrays tentatively touch my brow.

I sit and allow hope to germinate in my soul.      

I reach out for my puzzle.

Piece by piece, step by step. 

Even if it’s only three minutes a day, it is okay.

For it is progress.

I am moving forward.

I am not stopping, no matter how slow the journey is.

I am alive now; it is a precious gift.

I will open up to each day, petal, by petal, until I fully blossom.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             

 

 

I have been quiet for a while now.

Life deeply hurt me again.

The fog of pain that had blinded and numbed my soul is slowly lifting.

I breathe in, I exhale.

I am alive.

So, live I shall, despite my bleeding heart.

For, life is still beautiful.

Here is what I do now; I stay afloat while smelling the roses.

 

 

It’s a new day.

The sky is cloudy, and rain beacons.

I am home alone.

The silence indoors envelopes me with its cozy blanket.

I watch the morning breeze shake the world awake in my backyard.

The cock is crowing, and the birds are chirping. 

My tummy is full to the brim.

My eyelids are droopy.

They have given up the fight against the bobbing, calming waves of sleep that are reluctant to relinquish their hold on me.

 

 

Oh! would you please hold me?

Gather me together, for the fragments of my life are slipping off my fingers.

My splintered heart is bleeding.

My eyes are weary because of sleepless nights.

Sweet slumber has eluded me as I wait for you, dear hope.

Longing for you in vain has made my soul sick.

Yet, I will keep on hoping that you will lift me out of the ashes of my despair as you did in the past.

 

Life seems to have gone back to normal.

But what is normal?

Everything is moving forward.

Yet, I feel like I am being pulled and pushed in confusing, contradicting directions.

I am in a whirlwind.

I am losing my footing.

What do I do?

I am at a loss.

So, I go through the motions.

I carry out my daily tasks to the best of my ability.

There are moments I am overwhelmed by the daily routine.

I then wear a rictus of a smile and do the much I can.

I stare at my flimsy and seemingly irrelevant achievements.

Yet, that is all I am capable of as for now.

 

I have been away for a while now.

I am back.

I am trying not to fall apart.

Life happened.

Living broke me.

The existence I knew shattered before my very eyes.

 

I lay wounded, bleeding.

I have nursed my wounds.

I wobble, bending my knees in a bid to regain balance.

I am back on my feet again, barely standing.

I am slowly healing.

Life, as I knew it, has evaporated into nothingness.

 

I struggle to find normalcy.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot attain it.

It is like grasping after smoke and walking on sinking sand.

The more I try, the deeper I sink.

A friend threw me a rope of wisdom.

It is a lifeline that has helped me inch out of this quicksand of terror, suffocating pain, and despair.

 

He told me to hold on.

To keep moving forward.

A step, an inch, or a millimeter at a time is enough.

That is what I am doing now.

It is not perfect.

But at least I am starting to breathe again.

 

My tears fall inwards.

I have swallowed my pain.

I am numb to all feelings, good or bad.

It sneaked on me.

I didn’t realize what was happening, until the sleepless nights pounced on me. 

Insomnia shrouded me with its heavy, stifling mantle.

Ulcers ambushed me, clobbered me senseless and lacerated my hapless stomach.

Then it finally dawned on me.

I hadn’t swallowed my pain. 

It had eaten me alive.

Pain stared back at me, waiting avariciously for my foot to slip, licking its greedy lips, wanting more.

 

 

This thought keeps embracing me whenever I think of you.

You were not buried in the dirt; you were planted in the ground.

It is true.

For you see, since the day of your funeral, the recollection of you has filled our hearts and conversations.

I perceive the majestic tree of memories that stands tall at the place you once occupied.

The generous, confident branches of encouragement, empathy, and wisdom spread far and wide. The birds of hope come and make their nesting abode in your welcoming, hospitable bough.

 

 

I swallow my tears.

I smile with dead eyes.

I am broken and hurt.

I don’t know what to do or how to do it.

My heart is so heavy and excruciatingly painful.

I want to cry, but my eyes are dry clogged wells.

Yet, I mourn and wail in my heart.

The smile on my face is but a pathetic camouflage.

Oh, what do I do now?

I fear sinking into the quagmire of depression.

The strong pull of the treacherous cliff is hard for me to resist. 

The deceitful numbness and light-headedness of sleep and meal deprivation, push me into the jagged rocks of despair.

I need to keep my head grounded and latch onto hope, or else, all is lost.

 

 

I hear your voice, but I can’t reach you.

I see your smile, but I can’t touch you.

I am frustrated, angry, and hurt.

I want you back.

I want you here.

I want you near.

But alas, you are now locked in the land of my memories.

You seem close, yet you are so far away.

I feel you beside me.

My empty arms wail pitifully, for they can no longer hold you.

Oh! How I miss you, dear brother.

 

 

I have been away, hidden in my cave.

I have been gathering the pieces of my broken life and wounded soul.

It is still a work in progress; my heart bleeds, my mind reels from the shock.

I lost my brother; he is one year older than me.

It seems so surreal.

I feel like I will wake up and find out that it was all a nightmare.

I am wide awake right now, yet nothing has changed; the void remains.

I called mum to find out how she was doing, and out of sheer habit, I asked her to call my brother; I wanted to talk to him.

A heavy, pregnant silence stood between us.

She sighed painfully and jolted me back to the reality I so wanted to escape.

“I understand; it will take time for the wound to heal. Allow yourself to grieve your brother. It is okay to fall apart when you mourn,” she said, her voice shaking with the tears I couldn’t see.

After small talk, she bade me goodbye and hung the phone.

I crumpled down on the floor and allowed the pent-up pain to break free.

It has been an hour now. 

I am tired and sleepy.

My eyes are dry, red, and puffy.

I have a terrible headache.

I lay myself to sleep now, to numb this throbbing ache in my heart.

Tomorrow I will see how it goes.

All I can manage is the present moment.

So, I go back into my cave and hide from the world as I nurse my shattered soul.

 

 

You did what you had resolved to do.

My advice and the amicable exchange we had was just for the show.

I felt betrayed, but now that my anger has dissipated, I see things differently.

I now realize that I had no reason to be mad.

For, who am I to dictate to you how to run your life?

I am still struggling with my existence.

I am dealing with my grey areas while trying to rid myself of my white lies. 

The task at hand is daunting, and I have a yellow belly.