I left my heart to die again. I met another face that looks at me with scorn and regret. This year should be the twentieth fragment of my life of which I have repeatedly wish to end. I sit on a chair of which my mother built for what seems to be for my sake. What once was a fear now turned into a begged wish, I beg my dear aunt up the clouds to take her with me. The eldest, a burden. I have encountered stories of which life was being decided on, some and among being that worthy of tears embedding the idea of I do have the right time cry.
I fell in love again, I was loved, only for an amount that satisfied them. It ended without me. I could keep begging, yet would only reflect the truth that I imply no significance, why listen, why think of what I may say. I am reminded once more that
"It does not have to be me"
It does not have to be me that their hand should hold till the last of their breath. It does not have to be me that will stain a smile. It does not have to be me to say words several can say better than I. It does not have to be me that should sit at the corner. It does not have to be me that tells you that you are special to me. It does not have to be me that looks at your eyes and offer you the world as a promise. You do not want it to be me that will live life alongside the remnants of pain and joy.
What did I do so wrong, to be so unwanted. The world gives me every reason that I am. I was not chosen to live, but compelled to be sustained by a belief. If so did that belief was never in mind, then my life would amount less than that of the sands slipping through what once was the fingers I would measure for what looks like to be my name. I would be seen more if I was blind, I would be heard more if I was mute, and I would be felt more if I was numb. I would be loved if I was less. Would I be loved now if I was any less than who I am or who I was?
It does not have to be me, to write those words that had your heart upon vasts. It did not need to be me, to show you a world better than what you have seen. It did not need to be me, to let you know you had every right to what you felt. I had begged to remain, as there would be no better place than to be your companion between us and the world. You seek for realistic ventures, when in fact we could create our version of realism. Maybe if I was lesser than a dog, I would be loved. Love need not be feared, but why does it hate me so much.
