I know it is hard to be with me, to bear the swinging thoughts of my tormenting mind, but do you trust me when I say it’s even harder to be me?
When I see the mirror, I don’t just see a figure. I can see the smiling toothless face of a little kid who often shielded her eyes to escape reality, who didn’t speak much but laughed like a lunatic.
But, this isn’t all I see. I see the me I am today, a big giant mess of uncertainty. Oh yes, I am sure of too many things, what I feel, the ones I need, the big dreams, but I see the mess of how things don’t go anywhere. I also see a silhouette that speaks of my tomorrow and to be true, it scares me.
So much has changed and I can’t change more. I love habits and unlike most people, they don’t leave. I have seen people grow fond of me, the way I could effortlessly laugh, the way I would reach out even when they shut them down, but I have seen the same people leave. Some stay but barely so. The conversations thin down, the warmness dies. Formality creeps in and I often don’t answer the ‘hi’.
I see all of it and it makes me claustrophobic as to how is this mess going to survive.
I have never perhaps told before but dear diary, I want to thank you for sticking by. For absorbing the late night turbulent mind, for soaking the eyes that refuse to turn dry, for holding me tight when I oscillate with the breaking of bones inside, for not judging me even when I can sense too many questioning eyes.
I will lock all beautiful memories with you because if tomorrow, I see the mirror painting the broken shards, I know inside your pages, I will once again find the home where my happiness will always reside.
I miss the times when I just started to write. We were both new, fresh and young. You were happier to be with me, but just like people, I can sense how my pensiveness is making you sigh. One day, I promise I will write of how a diary loved me even when I refused to write.
I know you’ll miss me, the tantrums, the cries, the smiles, the whimsical mind because every time I write a goodbye, people realize that every heart in its own way shines.
May your dark pages illuminate someone’s night. As I type this up I smile because I just know that you will unfurl these pages, feel the warmth of my love, miss me with nostalgia and somehow find a way to unite.
The girl who refused to write.