#write on

from deep within, extending,

I am reminded of the emptiness I feel.

My darkest days are embracing

this heart as it remembers the warmth

of your voice.

How do I continue living through

this emptiness as my soul retains a memory:

Your comfort haunts my loneliness.

Too many years, seems like forever,

Since I've heard your voice, seen your face

Felt your confidence and strength.

I strive every day to be better.

I wish you could see me now, how far

I've come, and grown.

Please keep me in your prayers,

from somewhere where you're at peace.

No more suffering, no pain.

January reminds me we're all mortal.

Frozen earth conceals the hollow I feel.

I never liked drinking Orange juice at first.

But, everyone from my family would drink it, so I would too.

Slowly, I garnered a taste for it.

The Orange juice was the same to me, but, the way my family and I, all collectively drank it was…what made me like it.

Slowly, my family had started to forget about me,

This might sound sudden, but it was true.

My sister would serve everyone the juice, but not me.

She would call me to the dining table but never hand me a glass, never offer a sip.

She would call the maids, the butlers, hand them glasses, talk to them but…I would simply sit at the table.

My hands empty and fidgeting.

It made my heart throb sometimes, I never understood why. My heart would jolt, there were feelings that I didn’t know brimming up to my throat, choking me.

Sometimes, I clutched my heart tight, wishing it would stabilise, I wanted to reach inside and rip it out, to soothe it down.

Some days I would sleep off until noon, to avoid being called down for breakfast.

And sleep felt like an embrace, it would shut away everything I couldn’t name.

But, given how often they were forgetting me, was alarming. It was quite desolate.

They would sometimes call me down, but sometimes I would lie asleep for the whole day and no one would come by.

Sometimes I would go down on my own, make myself a glass and sit with them, but it never felt the same. It felt fabricated.

So I would often starve myself, as that way, at least it felt less fabricated.

And the world was already too fabricated, why contribute to it more, so I felt it’d be better to sit with this sadness in my empty fidgeting palms. At least the empty palms are real.

May I tell you something?

From the depth of my soul to the pit inside me, I felt like...I just wasn’t me.

Maybe that is why they’ve forgotten me. I am simply not me.

You might not believe me.

But what else could explain this?

Don't believe me, I don't really care whether you do or not.

But, okay, maybe I care slightly.

But, if you're not believing me, you’re implying that I’m a liar, and I hate being called a liar.

I am anything but a liar.

Well, it doesn’t matter, maybe it matters a little.

Of course, you could also simply not believe me and also think that I’m not a liar.

A place of indifference, a limbo in thoughts per se?

Well, it doesn’t matter.

It doesn’t matter.

But, one day, I went to my sister, just to confirm if I am me, and she laughed at my face.

She laughed with her eyes open, her eyes twitching. I was shaken up. She hadn’t said anything, she just laughed.

I couldn't forget how her eyes looked at mine.

But, from the next day, she would call me down.

She would smile and laugh and bring me Orange juice.

My whole family would sit with me, and we would talk and smile again, like the times when this body belonged to the vague remnant of the kid I was.

The Orange juice was albeit a bit bitter, but, everyone was right there. It was almost the same.

Sometimes the warmth felt suffocating. But, it was warmth, right?

Sometimes the warmth made me puke, but my sister would insist and, and I couldn’t refute.

I would puke more, lately, I had been puking blood. But, maybe it was my heart, finally calm?

The warmth from the Orange juice reaches my heart when my hands cannot, it doesn’t rip it out, it doesn’t soothe it, but it aches, maybe this ache is the warmth that I craved for?

Maybe this is what it feels to have a heart soothed.

My sister calls me again, the glass of orange juice awaits.

My empty palms are covered with blood.

As I stand to leave, my legs trip.

The white marble floor beneath me stains with crimson, but my reflection, is not mine.

Yet, the weak sunken eyes that gaze back at me, they look so desperate, so scared, they crave warmth, they crave a glass of orange juice.

So I wake up and I reach out,

Tumbling down the stairs

Crimson on every step

I reach out

For the glass