betweenmargins

Life is never easy. We all face major struggles in our lives. But sometimes, it’s not the big problems but the small ones that really wear a person down. Major problems are visible, obvious, and have clear solutions but little heartbreaks are very hard to heal.

They don’t look like real problems; they don’t cause major wounds. They seem like a simple cut, but they hurt every time you touch them.

Two years ago, my closest friend and I parted ways at her request. She had found new friends and a boyfriend, whereas she was my only friend. I felt so alone after that. I’m still mourning her loss. I have new friends now, but I miss her so much. No one is like her. She was the kind of friend I would have wanted to have for the rest of my life. I haven’t been able to get used to her absence.

Losing your best friend is a very normal situation. People come in and out of our lives, after all, don’t they? We can always make new friends. That’s why this isn’t a big deal; it’s just an ordinary heartbreak. But for the person affected, it’s often not easy to get over.

My father says, “I want to feel at peace when I come home,” but he himself is the cause of my unrest. My father is only happy when his own happiness is ensured, not when something doesn’t go his way. It’s very important to him that everything goes exactly as he wants it to, not what we think or feel. If our wishes would make him unhappy, he won’t accept them. He does whatever he wants at the expense of our peace of mind and by dragging us into unhappiness. What’s more, he dresses it up so well that we don’t even realize how we’re being manipulated. That’s why my respect and trust in my father are dwindling day by day. I deeply regret not leaving this house while I had a chance. I wish I were far from home, crying because I missed my father; I wish I hadn’t covered the stranger sleeping in the next room and cried because I missed my old father so much. I wish I hadn’t had to apologize to my childhood photos; I wish I could have held onto my love for my father. I can’t. As the days go by, I’m running out of steam and can’t find my old energy. I can’t take it anymore; I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. But I’m so tired. I’m so tired of giving up on all my desires and all my hopes just because they didn’t suit my father.

I was growing a flower inside me for him, so it would adorn his path when he came. I never let it lack water or sunlight. It turns out that while I was waiting, that flower inside me slowly withered. I hadn’t noticed. While I was waiting for him to love me, I failed to give love to my own flower. Some flowers die not from lack of water, but from lack of love. I killed my own flower with a lack of love. That flower is still there; it hasn’t disappeared. It’s still there, but it no longer resembles the lilies that would have adorned his path. Just withered petals. His arrival will now bring me fall, not spring. That’s why I don’t want him to come. Loving him no longer makes flowers bloom inside me. It only reminds me of my withered flowers.