It’s strange how some feelings can’t be described in words at all. I have been trying to catch up with all the emotions and translate them in writing. But can this really be translated? It just sits with me. Quietly. Like it always belonged here. Somehow it’s still hard to put it in words. And it’s even funnier, I call myself a writer?
I really thought I had already left this behind.
I really did.
I told myself I wasn’t carrying it anymore. But some baggage is… weirdly heavier. Not in a way that it is dragging me down. More like a familiar weight you don’t realize you’re still holding until you just can’t flip the next page.
Or maybe it’s all just in my head.
I keep telling myself that too.
Every morning, I made a prmoise to myself to do something different and make a fresh new start. Has it been a month already?
And yet, something in me lingers. I don’t exactly know what.
Just enough to make me stop a little longer and feel it all before moving forward.
It feels like I’m being quietly pushed towards acceptance, even though I’ve never been good at letting my emotions come to the surface easily. I’ve learned to keep them folded neatly inside; layered with little puzzles that no one can really decode.
Still, sitting with them like this oddly annoys me to the core, too. Or maybe writing this piece in the first place wasn’t such a good idea. Whatever it is, something about this moment makes me a little nauseous. Why is it so scary to let emotions come up at all? Do I need to name it always? Fix it? Probably not. I guess letting it out; just this much, is already taking more courage than I’d like to admit.
Anyway, it’s already the 31st of January. Somehow, time did move forward without waiting for my heart to catch up.
Maybe some chapters don’t have an ending at all. Or do they end with spaces for us to fill in – with whatever our heart desires to? Or maybe, for once, just for once, I am tired of filling all those spaces..
I don’t know. All I know is that I’m still here, standing at the edge of something new, pretending I’m not afraid of what’s on the next page.
Or maybe I did accept it, after all.
I hopefully can turn this page when I wake up tomorrow.