Slowly Drifted


Lately, I’d been continuously feeling sorry for myself.  I feel bad for becoming so fed up and persistently being sorry for everything.

Growing up, I thought love was about lifetime responsibility and commitment… at least that’s what I’d been told about.  I’ve let my happiness attached so much on somebody else’s approval that I ended up being a hollow body myself.  Every decision I made is a reflection of ownership but for them, owning me was not enough. It was never enough.

I had no idea how much pain I had inside me. No clue at all. I feel stress and emotionally harassed. I never learned when to speak up; somehow I’ve mastered the art of sobbing so quietly until my lungs give up and my vision started to cut out. Though I have shared some of my deepest wounds and secrets with a couple of friends of mine, I realized that the healing was not going to come from anyone saying they are sorry. The pain, it’s just there every day, it keeps on coming at me so often that it has become one of me already.  Sucks huh?

I know. Believe me, I know.



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