Yesterday 🖤

April 10- Shadows of the past

Every day feels like a battle against the shadows that threaten to engulf me. Memories of my past and the weight of my own struggles weigh heavy on my heart. As I go about my daily routine, I find myself grappling with uncertainty and grief, haunted by the loss of my mother and the twists of fate that have shaped my life.

"I miss you, Mom," I whisper to the silence of my empty room, the ache in my chest palpable.

A knock at the door interrupts my reverie, and I find myself startled out of my thoughts. "Who could that be?" I wonder aloud, making my way to the door.

Opening the door, I find Mrs. Johnson, the kindly elderly neighbor from across the hall, standing there with concern etched on her wrinkled face. "Sarah, dear, how are you today?" she asks, her voice gentle.

Forcing a smile, I reply, "I'm doing alright, Mrs. Johnson. Thank you for asking."

But inside, my mind is a whirlwind of doubt and despair. Okay? Am I really okay? How can I be when I feel like I'm drowning in a sea of sadness, suffocating under the weight of my own thoughts?

As Mrs. Johnson's words wash over me, I can't help but wonder if she can see through my facade. Does she know that behind this smile lies a world of pain? Can she hear the silent screams echoing in the depths of my mind?

"Sorry, what were you saying?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I was just saying, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here for you, dear," she repeats, her voice reassuring.

Talk to someone? How can I possibly explain the chaos inside my head? The emptiness that consumes me, the overwhelming sadness that never seems to go away?

"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson," I say, my words heavy with unspoken truth.

As she walks away, I'm left alone with my thoughts. The weight of my struggles feels heavier than ever, dragging me further into the darkness. But in Mrs. Johnson's words, I find a flicker of hope—a tiny beacon in the vast expanse of despair that surrounds me.

After Mrs. Johnson leaves, I retrieve my notebook from a nearby table. It's become my sanctuary, a place where I can pour out my emotions and find solace in the midst of my struggles. With trembling hands, I open it and begin to write, letting the ink flow freely as I release the turmoil that churns within me.

I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay. I'm not okay.

The words echo in my mind, a relentless chant that refuses to be silenced. Each repetition is like a hammer blow to my fragile heart, shattering what little remains of my resolve.

It's like a broken record stuck on repeat, playing the same sad tune over and over again.

Broken. Broken. Broken. Broken

That's how I feel. Like someone smashed me into a million pieces and left me scattered on the floor.

Lost. Lost. Lost. Lost.

I'm wandering in the dark, trying to find my way back home, but everything looks   I  can't remember which way to go.

Alone. Alone. Alone. Alone.

It's like there's this big empty hole inside me, and no matter how hard I try, I can't fill it up.

But even in the middle of all this mess, there's a tiny glimmer of hope. A little voice in the back of my head that says maybe things will get better, maybe I won't feel like this forever.

So I keep writing, pouring out all the hurt and sadness until there's nothing left. And maybe, just maybe, I'll find a little bit of peace in the middle of all this chaos.

As I lie on my pillow soaked with tears, the echoes of my shattered thoughts still ringing in my ears, I find myself grasping for a memory, a lifeline to cling to in the darkness.

With trembling lips, I start to sing, softly murmuring the words of the lullaby my mother used to hum to me, filling the room with its haunting melody.

"I might not always be there to hold you tight," I whisper, my voice barely audible, "but I'll be in the raindrops that kiss your face goodnight."

Tears blur my vision as I continue to sing, the words wrapping around me like a warm embrace. In that moment, it feels as if my mother is right here with me, her presence a comforting presence for my broken spirit.

And as the final notes of the lullaby fade into the night, I feel a sense of peace wash over me, like the gentle patter of rain against the windowpane. With a heavy sigh, I close my eyes and allow sleep to claim me, knowing that even in the darkness, love still exists.