My silence, my world

All I said was that I missed working with a class of children, sweating out under the hot sun amidst their bantering, excitement, carefree voices.

I told 4 persons that.

1 told me there was nothing to be missed cos she definitely didn't miss it, since she's still doing exactly that.
1 told me that deep down, we always long for something and yet dread it too.
1 told me I was mad and should go knock myself out.
1 told me nothing with the non-existent reply.

I just wanted to have the right to miss something. Miss a choice I gave up, or didn't make, or couldn't make.

Do not have any more expectations of me. I can't live up to them, don't want to live up to them anymore. I share none and everything with myself. Because sharing with other people always make me feel more misunderstood.

I hate being misunderstood.

Very, very deep

I try to write. Not very often. But whenever I could not not write.

I try not to write. All the time. But not when I feel I could not not write.

I stopped seeking to be understood. I seek to masquerade. Even more. Even more because what's inside is getting more fragmented.

Don't try to know me. It irritates the hell out of me. Because you don't have the right to ever say you know me just because you tried. I will never give in to that. You've lost too many years. Years you can't catch up even if in more to come.

Denial. Very, very deep. State of.

The way I live life.

All choked up

There are, still, times when I ask myself, if I had held it out a lil longer, and didn't ask you to think about what was happening, didn't ask you to talk to me, tell me your thoughts, would the weekends now be any different?

There are, still, times when I think about what eventually happened, actually happened, and I either let the regret and the pain roll down my cheeks or I try to shut the thoughts away by squeezing my eyes shut, and blasting music.

There are, also, times I woke up knowing that you came into my dreams. But, the dream faded away too fast before I could capture it again. And I would have this vague memory of you, and this tinge of sadness that I couldn't capture any details of the dream. And I would think of you.

Think of how much I do not know you now. Think of if indeed, we had parted on a common understanding or regrettable misunderstanding. Think of if there was any misunderstanding at all between us, would we ever get to resolve it. Think of if there was any friendship left at all between us.

They tell me it's ok not to be ok. You told me the same thing too. But, would they be able to handle me if I do not, at least, appear to be ok? What if I still feel like crying everytime I remember it's over? I never wanted to forget. I just don't want to remember.

Yet, there are, still, times when I do.