Dear lonely isle,
Sometimes we need to know when to let go.
This is me, without tear stains on my cheeks, and without the swollen puffy eyes.
This is me, without my mask, and without a smile.
These days, I find the more it hurts the wider I smile, and the louder I laugh.
You take the pain and put it into a box, then you put the box at the corner of your heart.
It numbs the feeling somewhat. Maybe one day when I do this I really won't feel anything anymore.
Then you cry because its the only thing you can do, and because you wished you could do something more.
Then you pull the covers over your head and sleep it off. Because someone said not to worry about things that you couldn't help.
Waking up is like trying to find your teeth in the dark after having them punched out the night before. You stumble for awhile as you try to figure out who you are, what are you doing, and why the hell can't you open your eyes properly.
When you've gotten down questions one and two, you find the answer for number three.
And while you're still in the interim state of not fully understanding anything, something in your subconscious picks up the box of pain in the corner of your heart and hides it somewhere out of sight.
Some days are too important to leave to the spoilt child running the operation tower.
And against all reason and logic, the day goes well. And you appreciate it that the big guy up there still seems to care.
Perhaps you do get time off for good behaviour.
But not today.
Sometimes we need to know when to let go.
But I usually find out too late.
It's not today. Maybe tomorrow.
love, Joyce.
Sometimes we need to know when to let go.
This is me, without tear stains on my cheeks, and without the swollen puffy eyes.
This is me, without my mask, and without a smile.
These days, I find the more it hurts the wider I smile, and the louder I laugh.
You take the pain and put it into a box, then you put the box at the corner of your heart.
It numbs the feeling somewhat. Maybe one day when I do this I really won't feel anything anymore.
Then you cry because its the only thing you can do, and because you wished you could do something more.
Then you pull the covers over your head and sleep it off. Because someone said not to worry about things that you couldn't help.
Waking up is like trying to find your teeth in the dark after having them punched out the night before. You stumble for awhile as you try to figure out who you are, what are you doing, and why the hell can't you open your eyes properly.
When you've gotten down questions one and two, you find the answer for number three.
And while you're still in the interim state of not fully understanding anything, something in your subconscious picks up the box of pain in the corner of your heart and hides it somewhere out of sight.
Some days are too important to leave to the spoilt child running the operation tower.
And against all reason and logic, the day goes well. And you appreciate it that the big guy up there still seems to care.
Perhaps you do get time off for good behaviour.
But not today.
Sometimes we need to know when to let go.
But I usually find out too late.
It's not today. Maybe tomorrow.
love, Joyce.
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