“i love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul. i love you as the plant that never blooms but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers; thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance, risen from the earth, lies darkly in my body. i love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.”
— pablo neruda (xvii)
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I’ve forgotten how to live.
In the midst of the tears and shallow, empty breaths I have become I have forgotten what it is to live.
I have forgotten how to greet the day with an empty head and a subdued heart,
With a low, deep flow of blood that neither boils nor freezes,
With eyes that will not tremble and weep at the mere promise of tomorrow
Or the day after.
Oh,
I have forgotten how to live,
But I was never taught how to die.
I was not raised with an innate,
Inane,
Fear of a god who created me, loved me, knew me and slipped into my sinner’s soul.
I was not taught who to greet at gates beyond this world,
Beyond my own mind and the human gates of my rib cage.
I was not promised a life after mine,
A world after mine,
Salvation after mine.
Yes,
I have forgotten how to live,
But to never know how to die,
To only have her decide and strangle me on terms not mine,
And to bring me to a home I won’t recognize,
Is a far more painful fate.
My life holds no faith,
But at least this misery and this burned film, a mocking documentary,
Is mine,
Of my own destructive volition.
I have ruined any memory of how to live,
But I was never, never taught how to die.
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The process of healing is not easy. Healing from the things you don't deserve, healing from the things no one ever apologized for is such a difficult thing to do. For months you take care of your health and then on one fine day it gets worse again. You think you are fine now but you are not. It takes long or maybe your whole life to heal from different traumas, relationships or things. You have to detach from other things or people just to heal yourself. It's the fight with one's own self.
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