I grew up a
lot this year, in a lot of ways. I got my passport renewed, I learnt how to
spell Kerala, and I started singing again, this time for myself. I stopped
putting my life in a box, or at least trying to. I saw death, up and close. And
I mourned, every single day. I still do. I saw death and I tried learning how
to mourn. I’m still trying to. I learnt how to grieve and I grieved. I grieved
so much that it doesn’t even hurt as much now. I wrote, and I wrote so much that it almost
hurt to. I cried a lot more and I learnt that it’s okay to.
I started sketching again. I sketched my metaphors and called them poetry. I made poetry out of people and called it love. I painted yellow buses and I realised that it wasn’t them that I was missing, but the lack of them.
I started sketching again. I sketched my metaphors and called them poetry. I made poetry out of people and called it love. I painted yellow buses and I realised that it wasn’t them that I was missing, but the lack of them.
I started
learning how to forgive myself, for something I thought I’d never be able to. I
wrote a letter with every bit of my heart and tore it into pieces, before
throwing it away.
I made peace
with my loss and learnt that it will haunt me, only if I keep the doors open. I
shut more doors than ever, and watched a lot less sunsets. I started counting
days and waiting for all of it to end.
I started to
be more and learnt how to be okay with being more. I became too much and not
enough, almost but not there.
And I’m here
now. So I might stay, just a little longer.
31/12
//notes to
2018
emmess
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