I couldn’t breathe.

The world around me was under a thick layer of water, drowning the bubbles of air that managed to escape my throat. My eyes were a river that flooded, the tears that could never escape me have created Niagara falls.

I scream once in agony.

Twice from loss.

And over and over again until my throat is raw as I sprawl myself across the floor. My hands are flying around me in a frenzy, pounding at the floor but I feel nothing.

I close my eyes, squeezing them shut; all trying to forget everything that has ever made me.

But it just made his black curls clearer.

It’s not like I didn’t know, or didn’t feel that I loved him. I neglected it for so long, hoping it would dissipate into the frenzy of emotions I was feeling. But it never did, and I couldn’t handle another broken heart.

This made me scream louder.

My stinging throat felt good as I released large bouts of air, getting up from my sprawled position to grab something, anything of his that would prove he existed.

*a short and unreleased excerpt from The Reason for Everything by me on wattpad*

My pain is my best friend,

She never leaves my side.

Pain follows me home from school,

We have no secrets to hide.

Both her and I share a bed,

For she leaves my heart open wide.

My sweet pain is my only lover.

She brings my resting ashes to the tide.

I’ve lost hope, yet tomorrow I know it will come on it’s own.

I’ll lose it once more in about a day or two, just to find it so the whole cycle can repeat.

Again.

I want to sever the string. Mutilate the yarn into billions of unrecognizable fibers.

But I think I’ve been looking at the wrong cloth.

Maybe it’s the string of pain instead.

Both strings give me life.

Pain and hope are both positive and negative. You can’t become a better person without pain. However, you can’t go on without hope.

And as badly as I want to cut my pain away, I know it will end up cutting me.

So I am my pain.

I am this hope.

I am these strings.

I can cope.

Bring the rain.

Let it fall.

Today, tomorrow,

Pour it all.

Show me thunder.

Make it dark.

Bring the lightning,

Make it spark.

Faster please,

Make me strong.

Clean me off.

I don‘t belong.

I’m on a highway that stretches on.

My memories are the lights that guide me home.

All my fears are the speed signs that restrict me from moving forward.

The traffic is the people who told me I’m not strong enough.

Those stoplights are the obstacles that held me back.

Yet, my passengers are the people I love,

My luggage is my hopes and dreams.

And that’s what makes me defy the rules.

I speed up, weaving in and out between the cars.

I run that red.

It’s my courage that angers them.

They chase me with their lights flashing.

Sirens blaring.

I don’t pull over.

I won’t give up.

Instead, I floor the gas, and drive into my oblivion.

I see my life in lyrics

Cries and pleas from thoughts I’ve had but never spoken.

A soft thrumming of the piano responding to my wonders.

The words are comforting at first, smooth, and flowing with the rhythm.

But the words speed up, and an orchestra joins.

My words become harsh, painful, and dull.

And the music begins to pick up a sense of urgency, turning to a shriek as it grows louder.

Enough to wake a sleep deprived child from a heafty slumber.

It screams loud at me, from every direction.

Whipping in the wind as a pounding noise comes from the base.

The thumps become violent as they grow louder.

And louder.

And louder.

LOUDER.

Until it stops.

Everything, everyone, and the universe screeches to a halt as the song goes silent.

Until the sound of the silence echoes through all the galaxies and worlds in we have never seen.

The silence echoes back to this very spot.

And that’s when the song begins again.

It’s calm like the beginning, but turns into a triumphant horn that blares through all the kingdoms of humanity.

A battle won.

The song screams victory.

And when the lyrics die off, they leave an echo of glory for all to see.

I thought I had lost hope in humanity.

People kept on telling me lies, twisting my trust.

So, I determined that the person who said humans are inherantly selfish, was a selfish person themselves.

That was, until today.

Finally, I found one person that isn‘t selfish, greedy, or mean.

So now I’m happy to be unsure of what I think and believe.

Perhaps, humans weren’t made to be selfish, jealous, and angry.

Maybe we were all made clean and pure, until we started corrupting ourselves.

And what if, the kind and pure people of this earth are what humanity was supposed to be before the horrors of the earth touched our eyes.

All these years I’ve been searching for answers.

Does faith really steer my life?

Who would I be without my demons?

I’ve spent days and nights thinking and searching, looking for a reason of self belonging and understanding.

And I’ve finally found one; it’s litteraly been infront of me.

So yes I sill have these questions, and never in a million years will I get my answers.

But I now know something else.

Now, I’m going to rebuild my life on a new foundation.

I’ll go to the same places, but with these new eyes.

We’re all broken,

And I‘m not a porcelain doll.

Instead of being perfect, shiny, and expensive, they made me out of cotton and cloth.

I have some blemishes, popped stiches, and frayed ends.

Just like you, and just like everyone else.

And I’ve lasted for years.

The cotton they stuffed me with can be pulled apart with ease.

But it’s even easier to put it back inside of me.

I might get cut or ripped open,

But my cloth can get new stiches and patches.

And when I’m injured,

I can get washed after I’ve destroyed my clothing with blood.

So yeah, I might not be the prettiest.

I might not be the best.

And, I might have been torn and mangled several times.

Yet, I am almost the same as I was before.

Because some days, I have new fabric and thread.

So, those porcelain dolls have absolutely nothing on me.

Someday I hope that I won’t fear death.

Like the ability to driving while looking at trees without becoming nauseous.

To be fulfilled, knowing that I left something behind for this world.

To be happy, knowing that I fell in love with my other half.

But in this moment, all I can feel is doubt.

I don’t have any children, and I’ve never been in love.

So it gives me the lingering fear that I’ll die before I‘ve had anything to actually live for.

Yet time will tell, because some day I might have something.

If I’m lucky I would have fallen in love.

I would have done something that the world could be proud of.

And if it so much as slightly resembles the love of 50 years happily married, I know I’de be a lucky woman.

So only then could I die with a happy soul.

Without the fear of death, but rather, with the love of life.