It feels like from the moment of my birth
I've lived with pain at the center of my life.
The numbness I felt in the coarse of my occasional trips to the mirror- and the countless nights I've held myself to sleep.
It felt as the Aesthesia was finally letting loose- I began to feel the burn in my chest and the tangled thorns on my temples.
I thought I might have get used to it because It was something I needed to live with forever.
It was 12 AM. I walked through the dark streets to the cafe': where I always ran off to when I felt I needed some lonely company. I felt I was following my own shadows.
The walk was long- It was cold, but really long. It was proof that the aesthesia was wearing off.
I ordered a free, tall glass of sugarless- ice coffee-from the 13th coupon I've collected this month. I'd spent most of my time here, after work- and until pass midnight.
I took a seat to the furthest from the music speakers- but they were loud enough to break my peace in my own earphones.
I thought about the night I broke down at work- The night where my friend, who was more like an younger sister to me; held me in her arms, despiting the customers that continued to walk in that night.. I felt the need of that as I sat alone, staring at the dim-hidden-moonlightish- yellow that was lit in the ceilings.
I took a deep breath a held a cigarette between my lips. Took out my lighter and lit it on.
I felt that I've sacrifice enough. Everything I ever needed, everything I ever wanted..As I grew up, my mother taught me to never be greedy and always learn to give others regardless, what they have and don't.
13 years later- I turned 18, and today, my pockets were empty and I owned nothing.
I was never greedy, because I had everything I needed to survive with at that time. I was taught to always give thanks- and I believe I have, but what I didn't have was, enough.
I took a dry sip through the straw, moisturising my throat, feeling every raw trails down my neck and into my stomach like an easy waterfall. I took another sip and buried my cigarette in the ash tray.
This loneliness was familiar-
as if the 8 year old me came alive again.
Black hair that covered her small jaws, and her pale skin that was white as a salt desert; If you looked into her small black eyes- everyone could tell this girl was lost under that fake smile, and was desperate for a hug,
someone to hold her in their arms and wipe the weak tears off the edge of her eyes.
Someone that was qualified to give her something and something more than a friend- Something she was missing,
Not God,
not neighbors,
but family.
