After Twilight

Dearest Em,

Walking down a dark alley at night once in a while I mistake a rope for a snake which snaps me back to my girlhood, although I know if I scream like I did before, I'll find no hand on my shoulder. The streets sometimes are ghastly and the people walking past me, once known, are now strangers in the extreme; feel as obsolete friends. I hope they're living their happily ever-afters. All bridges between us are burnt and I don't find no ways to reach out as there are none. Some losses are permanent, just like the fallen leaves which no autumn can paint auburn again. Life flows streamlined for now, yet the waves of turbulence always return. To me reality screams like thunder, I'm scared of everything around. There are times the turmoil leaves me caught in an avalanche with no ways to navigate through. There are times I regret the power of reading my own mind. I wonder if there exists a way to unread the books, undream my daydreams and unwrite the fairytales I wrote at nine. Or if there's a way to turn back the pages and alter the script a bit, insert and dismiss certain characters and episodes. There's not even a possible sequel to it which can manipulate reality. If only monsters existed under the bed in the dark and not in truth in broad daylight; if only fireflies showed you the way when you're lost in the woods. The pastel pink sweater granny once knit for me was somehow warmer than the ones I have now, and somehow the winters seem colder than the erstwhile ones. The world isn't just in front of our eyes and it seems to grow bigger and bigger, while mirages do exist beyond deserts to deceive the bare minimum vision we possess. The roads were kinder once but now you can't walk bare feet anywhere. I feel homesick at home. I'm growing fonder of being snowed under to aid in shutting down my own thoughts, to barricade the anxiety from coming back and let me feel tired enough to go back to sleep. When the childhood me sobbed by the night for a broken toy, she never knew that one day she'll run out of tears and there will be no outlet for her sorrow. All she has left is laughter as roses while she walks on the thorns. And I never knew that not only cakes and candies are sugar coated but words too, that not only swords and knives kill but words too. Now I do, and there's no reason to convince myself otherwise, when my bandages are soaked red in blood. I wonder if there is any wisdom that comes without cost. Certainly, the knowledge of the truth is hard to find and harder to accept. Not even mirrors reflect reality inevitably, if only the light could penetrate deeper! The face of the soul is always a face in darkness. If only the chronicle of the present time sparkling in blonde shades on the surface of the ocean at the sunset horizon could retain the amber of it's glow; you know after twilight, there's always dark.

With love,

Yourself