I’ve written hundreds of thousands of words,
created a safe haven for my sanity,
to tell myself that every single memory
doesn’t need an answer to the question of why,
Everyone says that it gets better,
and I do believe that it doesn’t get worse.
but every time you find a place to be happy
we find other things that will captivate our eye
I’m not a kid anymore, I’ve been alive for almost 7300 days now.
and I still haven’t figured out what it is to be truly me,
because turning pages is different than turning a new leaf,
you can’t live anew, you have to go on.
even if you’re sad, or unhappy
you can’t just wish to disappear,
as if you’ve never felt being happy like,
all the almosts and maybes,
because it never gets easy. nothing does,
we tend to panic every time we’re unhappy
and we’re everything that we never wanted to be,
just because we want to be happy
and to pretend that everything is okay,
just to convince ourselves not to break,
is the most painful lie that exists
because paradise is gone, and we’re still here.
If you enjoyed reading this, check out more works by Reuben Abrogar only here at The Ugly Writers.