Somewhere along the Emerald road

Its 3pm and all I can think about are the walls that tightly embrace your comfort zone. Here I am, reminiscing the nights when you allowed me to make my way into the darkest corners of your lair. How you melodically put your guard down, allowing me to glance at your wounds, your scars, and even the marks that you made for the future slits that you would do to numb what’s inside you.

You said you are one of those deranged human beings who are brave enough to hold on to the morsels of hope suspended in the air they breathe. I am breathing the same air, hence, I know its bittersweet smell. I, too, just like you, is spending my life inside the box stained with the disasters I made out of love, out of lust, out of stupidity, out of fear, out of nonchalance. I, too, just like you, discovered catharsis through self-inflicted pain and even in the melodramatic motion of my hand that whines with paper and ink.

We find peace and comfort in the smooth taste of alcohol. We bask into the ephemeral bliss of listening to each other’s despair. We even listen to each other’s breathing. And in the middle of these dances, we know that we are wounded but we are healing. And yes, we are crazy but at least we know how to keep on hoping.