The dusty bedroom that you’re now in while air still smells of faint Hugo Energise cologne. The room is filled old canvas paintings you painted, journals you once wrote in, photographs of you with your dead best friends and sketches you once drew. You pick up a wooden photo frame. There lies a picture taken of you laughing along with your now-dead best friends. Taken with an old Leica analog camera, you could see paint on the clothes and faces. It was a candid shot and you were all laughing.
You wonder why you stopped ; taking photographs, drawing and writing. You’ve always been that kind of person who walks around with a certain kind of sadness in you. You don’t tell anyone but your best friend about how broken you are. You’re loved and cared for but there’s still a kind of sadness within you. You’re afraid of telling anyone, scared that they’ll judge you. You just bundle it up and build endless concrete walls around yourself.You’re afraid of trusting people. You’re scared of relationships. The fear of getting hurt and being in pain stops you. You’re always told you’re not enough even when you’ve given all you’ve got. You’re tired ; emotionally, mentally and physically. You go for long runs just to clear your head.
The people that understand you is either too far away or dead. You came to a point in life that you just give up telling people what’s wrong because you’ve learned that no one actually cares. There’s always a silent prayer in you that you say over and over again just to stop yourself from breaking down. This was supposed to be your year but it started off being hell. It seems that the hurt and pain is never ending. Maybe along the way, you lost yourself and you just don’t know how to find yourself anymore. You tell people that ‘it’s okay’ when it really isn’t.
So you close your eyes and take a deep breath. Silently you told yourself that eventually, everything will be okay.