HOLD MY HAND

by: Preszi

Some things must be buried along in my grave. Forbidden chapters that must not be spoken which I shall bring in the most bottomless pit of the suffering of my slumber. Anything you utter, I will no longer hear. Beseech of your cries; I can no longer wipe.

Don’t tell the world you love me in front of my coffin. Do not weep scraping, trying to mend the wound that never healed. Do not toss the wrong flower with a hint of a spur; shout my name and call it unfair. Your ‘could have been.’ It wouldn’t change anything but would’ve ended differently if you saw things with consideration. Your regret sets you in vain, but it will never bring back the what-ifs you could’ve done.

In my wake, you mourn. At my funeral, you tell me I will be in excruciating torment. I have countlessly told you what I feel; you listened but were never really concerned. You cared, but I was severely misunderstood. You understood but never considered it. And when I had the chance to tell you what I did, you laughed in mockery. I felt disregarded and muzzled by the sky.

With tears on my cheeks, I begged to end the pain, asking for a sign. Was I heard? No one makes time to listen to how demons manipulate things every minute I need someone.

Maybe, people believe just so to find a good reason embedded in the fabric of the linen they sew. To question and condemn when it was the lack of thimble all along. But, I choose when to stop.

Am I weak? No, I am not. But I was tough enough to have endured the storms of the seas. And yes, there are second thoughts about whether to raise a white flag or fight a battle I could no longer win. I have won over thousands of demons, but a mighty warrior always faces an end.

Do not weep for my presence. Do not tell me how much you loved me in my absence. Because when I was here, hoping for a little something, I was acknowledged but never understood.

A second of silence peeps through me…

I didn’t know why until I found myself writing this letter when I was here All along, I was here, patiently waiting to be found. Hoping that someone could gaze me in the eye one day and tell me I wasn’t here —this is how I feel, bruised and dismayed. I knew I needed to do this; the only thing you can find when everything becomes okay.