Marooned

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While talking to a friend last night, I came to realise something. Something so insignificantly significant: An explanation for this emptiness and loneliness I’ve felt for so long.

I remember reading about Jalaluddin Rumi, and the emptiness he felt, longing for a companion even though he was surrounded by all forms of people who loved him. Upon meeting Shams, the unbearable darkness in his heart was chased away for indeed Shams was a light, his other half, his beloved and his companion . Or in other words as Cristina Yang and Meredith Grey says in Grey’s anatomy – i don’t have “my person”.

Your person is someone who would stick by you, even when it rains hell fire. The person that you know would be there for you. The person who you’re allowed to be selfish with because they’d understand and you’d be the same for them. It’s the person you would call to help you hide the body if you ever committed a murder, and they would help you hide the body no questions asked.

It’s the person who you would love and who loves you to the point that you would go against your moral compass for them. It’s the one person who has seen the worst of you, all your darkness and still decided to stick with you regardless of whatever it maybe. I’m not talking about a significant other, your person can be your parent, sibling or even best friend.

You might wonder where my friends and best friends are. My first best friend has her husband and he is her person, my second best friend has her girlfriend and she is her person. The friend I was talking to is his best friend’s person.

People who’ve come close barely experience a drizzle of this hell fire and ultimately run away though I really can’t blame them either, sometimes people who love me stayed close by, but far enough not to get caught up in it.

It is human to seek such companionship however, all the flares I have sent up to the sky hoping to to be rescued has so far gone unanswered and i am still marooned on this island completely and utterly alone.

 

Reflection I – Twenty four

Bruised, battered

I stood tall

Finally shattered

I took the fall

finding the pieces

that had scattered

Cut myself in the shards

That mostly mattered

At times I held myself together

with just tape and glue

Enduring doesn’t mean stronger

as if you’d have a clue

I have come to realise

at the age of twenty four

No matter how much you take

they’ll give you more

I thought I hit rock bottom

but it’s a bottom less pit

Falling, drowning, breaking

with every hit

Pieces getting smaller

as they shattered

making it harder

to find the ones that scattered

Endure, endure 

endure I must

how do I put myself together

when I’ve become nothing but dust?

[September 2nd 2017, Twenty fourth birthday]