Ineffable Wishes Of The Heart

February

My heart yearns for solitude,
the kind of peace that encourages me to be alone.
To be alone and not lonely,
that's what I'm seeking for.

But my tender heart,
soft as the pearlescent blue sky,
wishes to be safe.
It wishes to be comforted.

My dear heart is not used to comfort.
It's used to feeling pain and all the gist of it.
The damage, the scar, the wounds.
There has always been this uneasiness in my heart whenever I hear the word 'love.'

What does it mean to love?
What does it mean to be looked at so deeply with utmost adoration?
What does it feel like to be cared for?
What does it feel to laugh and cry with someone?

I wonder.
Underneath the mask I wear,
there's this little girl inside me who wishes to be loved.
There's this little girl who dreams of her Prince Charming,
but is now wishing for nothing.
That little girl's innocent heart had gone through so many ups and down.
She couldn't even talk about it because she's used to keeping her mouth shut.
Eyes open, mouth closed.
She watched as love lingered around her.
She saw how it changed people, how it made people good
and how it destroyed them.
Deadly, ravishing, astonishing, addicting.
She saw love as those things.
Beguiled by its fantasies,
she romanticized everything.
From her favorite books, movies to everything she had, she's always seen things in colors.
But when the zombie used her as an advantage,
she started seeing the world in black and white.
Empty, livid.

In every corner,
she wishes that her world would be filled in colors once more.
Too late, her heart was broken into pieces.
She tried stitching the pieces, but then they crumbled no matter how many times she tried stitching them.

It was a struggle.
To exist when you're barely existing,
it felt as if you were forcing yourself to remain alive when you're dead inside.
I know I usually write about this, but it's different when you get to feel such things in reality.

It's different to write about sadness from experiencing it.
It's different to see yourself, cold and empty.
Looking at the window,
I watched as the days passed by.

As rain started to pour,
my eyes started to tear up.
Every droplet reminded me of the haunted days of November.
The ghost, the beast, the terror.

November.
November.
I tried leaving it behind, letting it go.
But when December came, every moment in November was nothing but heartaches.

In the cold nights of December,
I reminisced of November.
And when January came,
my eyes still felt dreadful.

Now,
February has come.
November felt as if it was only days ago.
February marks the awakening of what used to be the end of the world for me.

February has given me hope.
February slowly helps me heal from November.
I hope February heals every bit of November that has made you feel less of yourself.
May February make you feel that there is love around you, but the best kind of love is seeing yourself happy without depending your happiness on anyone else but yourself.