Tired of Living

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And I am starting to learn that when someone says ‘I want to die’ it doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re holding a gun to their head, ready to jump from a forty story building or swallow the pills they’re hiding under the bed. ‘I want to die’ could be the same as ‘Look at me. I’m in so much pain. I’m failing my classes on purpose. It has been five days since I last took a shower and my breath smells like too much alcohol.’ ‘I want to die’ could be the very definition of ‘I don’t care about anything anymore, and I need someone to help me’ and of course you’d have to help them because they are tired of life or at the very least—send them to someone you know they can trust.

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6:06 pm

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I passed by Camille’s house on the way home to Manila. 

I bought a hotdog sandwich and a minute maid orange juice at 7-Eleven. Then I wrote what I really felt about her in my journal then ripped the page.

She makes me heal.

She makes me love her.

She makes me want to live.

I told her sister not to wake her up and let her know that I passed by to say good morning. I placed the breakfast and the love note on the dining table.

Her father was outside, and he smiled at me for the first time. Like a genuine smile. The smile that you can see in a person’s eyes and he was smiling with his eyes. That didn’t make me smile sadly but deep inside that was a very happy moment for me.

On the way home I wanted to cry because I was both very happy and very sad at the same time. I brought some books with me to read from my cousin’s house, but I didn’t feel like reading them because I didn’t want to be smudged with new feelings. Have you ever felt like that? Like you don’t want to watch a film or listen to a song for a while to protect a moment that’s still dancing with the feeling that you love which is burning in your soul.

I don’t know. I haven’t felt this before. I’m supposed to be in the state of okay for that’s the place people go when they’re feeling both very happy and very sad at the same time.

So what got me sad? I just wanted to go home. I just wanted to go to bed and close my eyes and imagine her with me in bed both cuddled up and warm. Her eyes that make me think of the sun that I’d go blind for staring too long feeling a little bit afraid that she may finally see that I’m really broken. Perhaps unlovable even. Her lips that make me think of all the good there is in this reality for she loves me but I’m not really sure for how long and it scares the shit out of me. I try to think of a word that’s closest to home, and the only thing that I could think of is her name. 

Perhaps I am the reason for my own sadness. And I think she’s the brightest star in my life. I guess that’s why I’m sometimes terrified that when I go back to sleep and make the feel of the bed feel like the grass she and I laid down on that field. I’m afraid to wake up without her by my side. And that the brightest star in my life was just a passing comet.

So if she is just a passing comet and I am simply a fading flower at that field then I wish for her to shine more brilliantly for that’s her—she’s brilliant and so much more than the word beautiful. Sometimes she’s even so much more than what poetry could ever define.