𝒰𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝐿𝑜𝒸𝓀 & 𝒦𝑒𝓎

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This piece is a learning one. I have to accept that the topic wasn't for me and it doesn't sound as good as I wanted, but sometimes it's like that. We have good an inspiring days and bad days when creativity really said "bye".

Special thanks to Jadis who helped me once again! 🤗

✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

In a life of constant ups and downs, in a world where nothing is right nor wrong, a simple human like me can't live undisturbed. I believe everything happens for a reason. The world is full of oxymorons and metaphors. We do things that are wrongfully right and rightfully wrong.

Why things happen in the way they do? Where are we heading? Where did we start? I am damaging myself because it is the only thing I am capable of doing.

Life is just a gathering of endless despair and shuttered hearts after all, so why compete with the inevitable or deny the truth. We live to die, and everyone is dying to live a significant life.

How can you live if you don't feel human? I am just a shadow, just the shell of what I used to be. My face didn't change but I am not me. I don't think I like this "me" anymore.

The scream that I hear are real or just in my head? Who cares anyway. Once the ugliest rattles follow you for long enough, they become the greatest symphonies.

I was always alone. I never needed anyone to be near me and to take care of me. I had been both my own sickness and medicine. I was just a spiky lonely cactus in a barren land, surrounded by dry sand and emptiness.

I didn't need water. I was surviving by myself. Even though everyone had wings and I had chains. Even though when everyone that hold my hand got cut from all the thorns. I didn't need them. I was miserable, but I couldn't show that. I didn't need them to see that.

Who would have guessed that a wrinkly face, an old "plant" would revive the younger one. I never understood why my grandmother decided to be there for me.

I know she didn't fully understand me, my mind was too complex for her fragile and kind heart. For her, slowly and painfully killing yourself was incomprehensible. A plain and linear mind, nothing more and nothing less.

Her spirit was young and flourishing, while mine was wilting. She tried so incredibly hard to bring me on the good path, I couldn't let her see that the chaos was so deeply rooted so I struggled to fight back the monstrous thoughts and let her be happy and satisfied.

I never realized how lonely I was before I actually had company. It was so strange. I was always alone and I thought I was fine. I didn't have , but I had myself and it was enough, until an old lady showed me that life is more than and endless despair. I am so grateful that I had someone like her around me.

The period when our lives were tangent was the only moment when my thorns became flowers, beautiful, lifeful and vivid flowers. The land around me flooded with hope, which was for a while the sap running through my veins.

I feel so guilty. I should have died of old age, not her. The world has enough wilted flowers, it needs refreshing one, like she was. But actually, can someone like my grandmother genuinely die?

I refuse to believe that, she changed into something majestic and forever-young, a rainbow of faith spread across the desert sky. We had an odd connection and attraction. My life wouldn't have had the new perspectives without my old lady.