You want to cuss yourself for failing to be a part of them.

It is never easy to do all the right things, yet being crossed over and watch them move along with their lives like that moving train you failed to catch up with. It doesn’t seem to matter if you get on, or you don’t and it hurts because you want to see them happy, yet when you do, you want to cuss yourself for failing to be a part of them.
There is a friend who had once tried explaining how it tends to work out after you are seemingly abandoned in the midst of nowhere with an explanation you never get around to decipher.
i. you cringe about your brokenness to every living soul that you across and try to make sense in the futility of their painted metaphors.
ii. you do not find peace in the sugary phrases they have to say and succumb into a cocoon of your over indulgent thoughts blaming yourself for everything that you could have done to save the world from crumbling down. and amidst all the blame you take and the blame you don’t, you push yourself deeper into that void, inescapable and empty, not realising your growing detachedness from human emotions.
iii. depression. the phase that pulls you closer with every word that stays inside and reeks of the smoke inside your aching lungs. but it teaches. it gets you closer to the unblemished picture of your forgotten self, with a smile plastered on those burning lips.
iv. you rise. wars and battles are fought inside of your head and for all that you lose, there is little that you find. but you find, nevertheless and with the residue of their burning effigies in your bare and naked hands, you rise only to fall again.
I have always wanted to believe in this theory of different phases. I haven’t because I have been through it all, but for the phase where you rise. It has become a cycle of three that I get pushed into, and each time the wheel rotates, I long for it to stop and start making some sense.
Only it doesn’t.


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