In My World.

I stood despairingly in front of the broken lumber on the floor. I’m not moving. I can’t make any tinge of movement. I am holding nothing with any connection with my broken lumber on my broken floor on my broken house. I stood still.

Lifting my head was not a very easy task for me to try. Everything was a grave for me—my soul, my mind, my heart, my body—everything is heavy. But moving was the only thing I can do to make myself busy. I rolled my eyes mapping the area’s vicinity. I moved my head unison with my deep breathing to the direction where my eyes caught something interesting in. But I did saw nothing. I just did saw nothing.

It was cold that moment. Not the temperature itself but the coldness of feeling alone that has been haunting me since. I gripped. I felt the rough texture of my broken pen wrapped absurdly in my wounded and shaking hand. It was sad. Really sad. Everything is gone. Everybody is gone. Or maybe they are not actually been here with me.

I’m all alone.

Trying to cope up with the gates of confusion I am imprisoned. Trying to find peace when I’m confused. Trying to find hope when I’m hopeless. Trying to imitate the smile I had been wearing on my face a long time ago. Everything is a trial. Just to make myself busy and progressive. But nothing is worth doing. All was just another way to dig me a deeper hole on my sentiments. I can’t do right. Maybe that is why nobody is around to help me grip a little more right at this very moment.

I’m all alone. Indeed.

Even if I try to avoid musing over the past everything I thought about is a part of it. It’s just hard to compare the past from now. Because everything is clearly obvious.

Back there, the sun was always at its comfortable heat while lighting the whole place. Back there, several people can be seen outside my house giving gifts and sharing love with each other. Of course with me also. Back there, every morning and every night is a bash, a celebration. Back there, I can hear all the sounds that everybody had made. But now, all was fogged by silence. Back there, I can feel the love that was unconditionally given. The hate that has been thrown the moment that it was realized. Everything is at peace. Back there, no one is allowed to critic me, to hate me, to lie to me, to fight me, to stab me back. But now, I just realized that it was all impossible. That it was all a dream-like would never be real even if I tried my best to be a better and nice person to the world’s countenance. Because, even if it’s sad to accept, the world itself was made that way. Back there, the wind whispers waving echoes of lullaby that sweetens people’s hearts. Unlike now, it howls the presence of disgrace and balefulness. Back there, the place was almost paradise with long fencing flowers along the barriers of it. The clouds are always high, drifting up high forming dreams and wishes. Yet they are dark and they look dirty cottons hung all over the sky now. Back there, the sky was cerulean bright.

It’s not my first time to be this disappointed on every thought I thought about. My world was half stolen by Hades as it looks. I can’t believe I’m leaving every dream that others have been dreaming about. What was it at the first place?

In my world, I never wore cover ups, never wore mask, and never ever tried to. I’m bright and happy and adventurous. Every edge in my world was thoroughly searched. I walk, I run, I jump and fly. And if somebody will make me slither, I dance. Dance until I make them to dare too. I never lied long. I’m always wide awake. I’m on progress. I’m light but not because I’m empty. I’m flying not drifting. Suspended on the wings of my silver dreams. I’m poised like a stunning lady but I think as a playful child in positivism and self recovery. I’m clever enough to protect my self from harmful attempts. I’m not envious and boastful. I care for emotions. I care for people without any conditions offered. I’m happy, not conceited, loving and most of all—satisfied.

But.

(There are buts always.)

I realized that all of them were just a thought rolling inside my head over and over again.
Not the truth, not the reality.

The truth now is that I’m different person from the one that I thought so. My world was made of envious doors and windows. Painted with dull colors of fear. Designed with curtains of mask and cover ups. Planted with trees of growing hate. Fenced with barbwires of sticking egotism. Roofed with unreachable mind that was always close to words and advices. Walled with rebelling emotions. Set at the negative side of facts. Arranged as a pile of rambled chapters of a story.

What will happen to me now? Everybody left me behind. And for those who did not, I know they starting to distance themselves from me. Even if they don’t tell me I’m not an innocent numb person not to feel that. I’m helpless. My mind was always closed to self believing and improvement. But I can’t change that fact NOT NOW that all I have in mind was that I can’t do, I can’t say anything acceptable for those people around me. Everything was just a contradiction. Everything they say was just another way for me to criticize myself more. Do I deserve criticism? Do I deserve to be pushed down through just to realize my potential? Is that it? Do I deserve that treatment? Are there any considerations that I need more affection than they know?

Now, it is more painful and hard to stand myself up. I was put into pressure that smothers me every time I caught on loosing grip. I don’t know which way to go—I’m lost—which way to shout for help—there’s no one at my side anymore—which way to pull the ropes of courage—I’ve got nothing anymore—and to whom I trust myself to—is there anyone?

With this pen I’m holding, help me draw my world. My world that has been there all along in my mind.