I’m in the middle of the sembreak and I have been doing nothing particularly fun. If reading a novel a day is fun, then I guess at least I’m having one.
Somehow I couldn’t seem to put my life back together and feel better while I’m trying to make it through, you know surviving life. I always thought I have it figured out. Months ago I was walking and knowing I am capable of being anything I always wanted to be or should be, for the matter. But I guess I was wrong, I always am.
Looking back to my life almost 3 years ago, as I scroll through my journal, I thought I never want to stand on that position again. The 16 year old me sound so sad and lonely. Nowadays, I felt her creeping up inside me again, she’s peeking and I’m doing my best not to let her in.
When I look through the list of journals I wrote years back with intermittent intervals in between 3 years. I seemed really hopeless but it was me on that very time. That time seem perfect and I am able to express my emotions. But most of them were the times I was heavyhearted. And I wished I wrote more when I was really ecstatic or just about my out-of-the-blue realizations and spur of the moment happiness.
I honestly thought on writing about those things and I tried but when you’re at it, it would look so unnecessary. Although, just now, I realized that my future self would not mind reading those stuff. At this point, I’d gladly look back on those that I don’t regret of doing and just about pure bliss and happiness. I wished I didn’t overlooked them and let it bypass. I cling to my sorrow longer than my delight.
And just like that, my words began to sway with the wind as it lost in the sky. I wonder when will I see them again.