There are days when I remember this incident
the incident that made me stop trusting my own instinct
and start finding a way to make sure I'm happy.
This incident,
a letter
with the sheer mask of a love letter was
really actually a hate letter not directed towards me
but to the sender,
I find that every time I remember the incident
I remember the sheer terror and silent screams that
protruded my body,
I remember the buckets of tears I cried that night,
and I remember the space and time,
I remember how happy I was right before I opened that letter
and how it faded all too quickly.

I can't handle myself now a days but
this incident finds me at these moments and grasps me,
I remember it, always returning to tears and
I come to the conclusion that I don't share a lot about myself
and I remembered just today thinking
" I talk about myself a lot don't I?"
Well I don't, not really.
No one really knows how I felt in that moment except God himself,
not even now, the moment is too shrill to describe,
because it absolutely broke me.