Yours, Silence

Everyone strives for what they think they’re bound: pain a pound, love profound, and a life abound. But then, why do I seek to go back? What do I seek when I say I want to be back? Why do I wish to breathe as I did, live as I did, and sadly, attach myself and love as I did?


Every passing day I realise that I lived unhealthily. Breathed superficially and loved inappropriately. Yet, why do those imperfections in my way of life still seem like a destination to be reached or a platform to be climbed again? Why I can’t I seek to go for a normal, new or otherwise, which everyone seems to be okay with? Why do I like to think that I was okay before if I’m not now? Why do I keep asking questions?


I do not have my Celisen, metaphorical or not. In both her forms, I had two feet - a solid resting which kept me tall enough to keep my nose above the water. Now that resting has been snatched from my beneath and until now I was flailing in the water.


And now my energy is ebbing away, and I can breathe the water. Lend me a hand, silence, for finally, I might be yours.

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