I am conscious. I am conscious about my “self”. I am conscious now of the fact that love does exist…or at least it did exist for me some time ago, will exist and well actually still exists.
I believe love appears in many different forms in one’s life.
I am conscious of the fact that I am a firm believer in ‘forever’ and by that I mean I forever dream of forever in every aspect of my life.
I am conscious about that feeling I had when I looked myself in the mirror and found myself smiling back at myself as if to say “you are free…You are free from me!”
I used to feel pain.
I used to let my mind cut so deep into my heart that the blood turns to green and poisons my whole body.
I felt pain in every single form; physically I was unable to make movements because my body just wouldn’t let me.
It’s like my hands were chained together behind my back and my legs were paralyzed along with my voice.
I couldn’t speak or do anything. But I enjoyed it.
I enjoyed being trapped inside myself because it kept me away from the outside.
It kept me in oblivion to what the weather was like outside of my shell and I felt comfortable with my thoughts. I felt comfortable and at home with pain.
It was MY pain. And nobody else’s, so when they’d ask me what was wrong I felt an urge to shoo them away, to let me grieve at my own pace about everything and nothing at all.
But the pain was never real.
It was something I had learned to fabricate, due to lack of understanding and the need to feel something… at every moment of everyday.
I needed to feel something solid because I felt incomplete and the emptiness was about more than just finding my bliss. There was more to it than this…
Constant struggle between reality and fiction as I found refuge in stories I read about other people’s lives, I fed off of their cries and supplied myself with lies about why I had a reason to cry.
And I guess one could say I did, as the world seemed to grow a bit worse on every other birthday, and I began to feel comfort on rainy days.
The days got bitter, and bitter and bitter…as I realized I was a sitter.
A person that sat and watched as their life passed them by, a person that let things happen to others and only asked why, a person with grief that was constantly unexplainable, a person with regrets, always felt I was incapable.
But then those knots slowly got untangled.
I remember it was a Wednesday night, something kind of like this one, except it was less bright.
No stars in the sky and no rhythm to groove by…it was just my thoughts and I, and that beautiful half-moonlight.
A melody came into mind, as I was trying to rewind back to the times where I was a kid.
And I heard it, I let it take over my spirit and the louder it got, the more I felt everybody else could hear it.
But it was just in my head.
And then there was that voice, telling me,
That I was made for greatness and that I’d see.
One day, it’d be just you and me, smiling at all of our victories.
I could finally hear my “self”, feel my “self” and everything started to make sense.
The days became less tense, and I could hear the birds sing.
It was beautiful. Just so beautiful to finally hear them sing.
And now here I am, hoping to become more than you expect, as I reflect on the journey yet ahead.
I realize, I don’t hate that I love, because it is my very self. I come from love and so I am love. And that’s the only way I want to live, because to me it’s enough.