Have a safe trip

It’s like I’m knocking with my bare hands against a wall of solid stone.
The road ahead gone, as I walk through narrow tunnels.
I can hear the echo of my footsteps, because it’s so empty, so empty.
Alone I am on this silent road through life.
I’ve had many opportunities to walk right or left,
hoping that on this way, my road will cross with another’s.
Hope is the only thing I have left.

So what should I do? Now that I’m stuck here in front of a dead end.
Is this where I die? Where I decide whether to leave a mark,
or only let the only sign of my living, be the remains of my rotten bones?
Is it now that I pick up a crumbled piece of this mountain,
and carve an art piece into the wall in front of me.
Hoping that the next person who stops here,
will see my silent body, but hear my dreams scream as he reads the letters;

“See I’ve carved a door, which I wished to be right here.
Take this door, and remember to turn right the next time you get to choose.
That would’ve been my choice. At least if you do get through these dark tunnels,
it will be because of me.
Then it would mean that I’m not forgotten, but remembered by one living.”
It’s these small things that means the most. When you neglect your own needs,
and do something for the sake of a stranger.

Because I could’ve turned around, and climbed the set of stairs down again.
Though I remembered that another would stop here as well,
and what if this person didn’t have strength to go all the way back?
My slumped body against the wall… will he carry my remains with him,
fulfill my dreams of leaving this darkness?
Or will he fulfill my dream, of at least giving a little light to someone else’s world.

“Have a safe trip.”

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002

I apologize for everything. I apologize to myself for all the mistakes I’ve done. For always hurting myself, putting myself down… for forgetting so much and getting myself in trouble. I apologize for thinking that I was nothing better than another person, that I was less than anyone else. Because I’m wrong. I’ve been so wrong.

People love me. People think I’m amazing, that I’m worth it. Then I should too do that, and I’ve failed to do that, so I’m sorry. I am beautiful, I am worth it. I can do what I want to do and nothing is impossible to me. That chance won’t just be there in the future, but it’s here in the present. I can grab that chance. I can do it. I love myself for who I am.

 – I should read this every day. 

001

The damp ground, the grey streets and the dark nights are all supposed to be lit up by snow. It’s December, it’s time for celebration, comfort and nice music… and here I am, breaking down. I don’t know if it’s just a feeling I’ve put on myself. As if I create this misery myself and jumps right into the pool of darkness.

There’s an assignment waiting to be made.. and I’m just sitting here doing nothing… There’s two hours before bedtime and I’ll never survive tomorrow… I won’t come through this week without looking down and noticing pieces of my spirit missing. Caught in the stress and horror that this week carried. I feel like a failure. I feel ugly, I need to change something or else I’ll never live through this.

Tears aren’t supposed to be this warm, life isn’t supposed to be this meaningless. As if we just drag ourselves through it. There’s no happiness, there’s only fake dreams and plastic hope that we settle on our doorsteps. But we’ll never leave home. We have a chain linked to our ankles, and it starts from our bedroom to the frame of the front door. I look up at the sky, but see nothing but a poster hanging above me… as if I was caught in one of the Christmas crystal balls, caught in one place with the same sky.

I see wonders and other foreign cities in the television, but I can’t reach them, so they’re just fiction, until I’ll one day step onto the bridge of London, or the streets of Seoul.

But I feel so far away from them right now… I want to just run towards the front door, crash through the glass and jump through it. Fight against the chain holding me as the glass from the front door shatters beneath my shoes. I’ll get bruises, I’ll get scars, but I’ll leave. I’ll fly away from the same boring grounds, I’ll see a whole different sky, whole different faces. I’ll breathe in the air of a foreign land, a dream that I’ve reached… I want to do that so badly… but here I am. Chained, like a prisoner looking through the bars… I can only dream… I’m still locked inside my home for years to come. 365 + 365 days… Maybe less… But when these three days before holiday seems so long… what would 600 more of them feel like? Weighing down my youthful soul that soon grow old and weary… Dissolving in the cold bitter wind.

It feels like taking a blunt knife and begin cutting in my ankle as I try to get through the assignment. It feel forced, as if a man stood steps behind me with a gun pointed to my head, no not my head.. but a friend’s or a family member’s head, so that I have to do it. If he pointed at me, I wouldn’t hesitate… I’ll turn to him and whisper: “Free me.”