I
thought I’ve been in this state—messing around like an irresponsible,
angst-driven teen. Everything feels new, yet I know the outcome would all be the same—fucked up days, wasted hours, disgusting realizations, and unhappiness. I’ve never learned my lessons, or at least not yet. I constantly
involve myself or let other people involve themselves with me, only to find out
a carcass of putrid mistakes and regrets afterwards. This morning, I woke up feeling extra
happy. I’ve never felt this kind of joy for months now; maybe because, I haven’t
done what could possibly be the worst font of bliss. Who would have thought
that the worst nights could indeed
bring the best mornings? It is a
bit bloodcurdling to realize that there is no guilt or fear lingering at the
back of my head, despite being in an ugly, unforgivable state. They used to be there—the shame, the chills, the second thoughts—and they used to love biting the better side of my soul. That side
is the shadow that kicks me straight right in my gut to make me puke all the terrible
thoughts and desire that put danger in the empty spaces between my heartbeats.
But now they’re all gone. What is left here is nothing but a hollow flesh poisoned by a surreal concept of happiness.
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