You thought you'd left the days of make believe behind by the time you were nine. And yet, years later, here you are making yourself believe you'll be okay so you can make your baby believe the same. Somewhere along the way, we seem to correlate imagination with maturity. But what if it has less to do with growing up and more to do with surviving? What if it's a defense mechanism?
Dear death, I have dropped the rope I have crossed the road I am at the other side Where I see life, As I have always known With struggles although But I won't break. I'll live and thrive Until my body is weak And my soul you seek Till then,
the goal was to survive. but the dream was to live. I was ready to give it my all. I just had to stay alive. then, one day, my whole world came crashing down. first, I lost someone I loved. then, I lost myself. cutting through my grief, the demons in my head suggested I was better off dead. but another voice said "you know that's not true." that's when I remembered. she always told me "the goal is to survive but the dream is to live." I was ready to give up. but if it means I can keep her dream alive, I will live. I will survive.
I feel like throwing up all these thoughts and words I have and much, much more. I feel sick till I pour everything out. The pain of lust and love gnawing at my soul. The world eating at my heart. My eyes full of emotional storms that I don't understand. My brain is telling me to survive it all somehow. Eventually I'll make it out of despair.
We have forgotten who we are really looking for when life doesn't hold on to dreams then live it without love, and people are getting busier to see which place is the most comfortable for themselves, among the boisterous people vying to be someone else.
We have forgotten who actually survives of a life they call a journey without understanding where to go home and they don't realize that everything had gone too long.
We have forgotten who actually fell first when we don't achieve everything we chase of what we didn't have in the first place; dream, hope, love, or even ideals, and we feel we are no longer worthy.
We have forgotten that actually words don't want to escape from the collection of prayers that we have recited over and over, even if it's repeated we always insult and berate ourselves.
We have forgotten, the simplest way to be a happy human.
Indonesia, 23rd December 2021 Arif Aditya Abyan Nugroho