I am at the edge of the cliff again. It would always be like this, I am sure.
First, the road will be filled with so many obstacles it seemed impossible to walk through them. And I would bleed, and power through despite so many losses, not to mention cuts and bruises.
Then I'll get close. So close that I could taste it on the tip of my tongue, makes me so anxious and nervous over something so trivial to others but so important to me.
After that, I'll finally get it. And I would be so happy for a mere minute.
And then, I would lose it. I would lose it again to the point that it seemed like the clock skipped its ticks just to spite me. Honestly, it felt like I lost everything yesterday. It's like a collection of words stacked up on endless pages of misery. Others might call it a book. Some would call it memories. Recollections. Flashbacks.
It really felt like yesterday when I was thrown forward by the unrelenting force of life. And you know what? I faked all of my pain. I wanted to just rest. It stings, yes, but it doesn't bother me. But I need to unwind.
I just know it, you know. The fear when you are at the edge of a cliff.
A little bit more and I will jump.
I don't have any more patience left in me. All I have is numbness. All I got is pain. And all I could do is endure.
I have been trying so hard to avoid myself from pitying myself so much. But at this point, when I am battling death, I think I deserve it. I think I deserve to cut myself some slack and feel sorry for myself.
Do you know how rare it is for someone to have an accident with their bike only after merely riding it for 1000 kilometers?
I laughed a lot that day. I thought it was a sick joke. Turned out it was much worse than that.
It was a sick reality.
And it never fails to make me nauseous every time I am reminded by it.