Nov 20
This room is somehow mine.
Though, i don't feel like where i belong.
This room, is empty. Just a single bed that doesn't remind me of anything.
I wish memory works as easy as opening up files from old computer. Most of the time, it doesn't.
It doesn't work when i needed them. But, it will probably work, it will probably work when we are about to shut our brain down.
This room, is so isolated. Things that are actually there, dispersed. Slowly vanished into thin air and left me with my own thoughts.
Things that are actually there, weren't even there at all. Not even the air i breathe. I slowly choked, by the so-called void. Because all the things that are supposed to be there, are not there at all. But in the next morning, they are there. Especially, the baggage i've been carrying around that sometimes drive me nuts. They were all there, right next to the photos i wish i never threw away.
This room, is red. The blanket is red. This soft blanket that somehow won't recall any memories. Old sweater hanging in between new ones. Even a thing called memento doesn't work. It won't work, because memory never works that way.
Memory never works. You keep putting your favourite pair of socks in the place you sure you will notice and you will remember, you did put it there.
Yes, You did put it there so you don't have to waste your time finding it, you did put it there so you just wear it whenever you want or whenever you need to, you did put it there so you don't have to lose them, you did put it there because it's the 8th times you lost your favourite socks this month. Deep down, you are convinced, you did put it there. You did, because you pretty sure you'll need it.
But look at you now, marching around the room, barefoot, cluttering things out from its place, searching, thinking, remembering, contemplating, "Where the **** did i put it?!", Feel stupid, sometimes crying, trying so hard to stay sane, angry, subconsciously banging your head into the wall for no reason, keeping yourself away from sharp things because they might hurt you, reading old poems out loud so you don't have to read it twice, burying your face into the pillow, screaming, wiping out tears, falling asleep and waking up.
Realising that you will never find it.
Accepting that you lost it for good.
Though, i don't feel like where i belong.
This room, is empty. Just a single bed that doesn't remind me of anything.
I wish memory works as easy as opening up files from old computer. Most of the time, it doesn't.
It doesn't work when i needed them. But, it will probably work, it will probably work when we are about to shut our brain down.
This room, is so isolated. Things that are actually there, dispersed. Slowly vanished into thin air and left me with my own thoughts.
Things that are actually there, weren't even there at all. Not even the air i breathe. I slowly choked, by the so-called void. Because all the things that are supposed to be there, are not there at all. But in the next morning, they are there. Especially, the baggage i've been carrying around that sometimes drive me nuts. They were all there, right next to the photos i wish i never threw away.
This room, is red. The blanket is red. This soft blanket that somehow won't recall any memories. Old sweater hanging in between new ones. Even a thing called memento doesn't work. It won't work, because memory never works that way.
Memory never works. You keep putting your favourite pair of socks in the place you sure you will notice and you will remember, you did put it there.
Yes, You did put it there so you don't have to waste your time finding it, you did put it there so you just wear it whenever you want or whenever you need to, you did put it there so you don't have to lose them, you did put it there because it's the 8th times you lost your favourite socks this month. Deep down, you are convinced, you did put it there. You did, because you pretty sure you'll need it.
But look at you now, marching around the room, barefoot, cluttering things out from its place, searching, thinking, remembering, contemplating, "Where the **** did i put it?!", Feel stupid, sometimes crying, trying so hard to stay sane, angry, subconsciously banging your head into the wall for no reason, keeping yourself away from sharp things because they might hurt you, reading old poems out loud so you don't have to read it twice, burying your face into the pillow, screaming, wiping out tears, falling asleep and waking up.
Realising that you will never find it.
Accepting that you lost it for good.
It's never about socks, isn't it?
