A letter of apology to self.
I know sorry won't settle things. It won't make you any better but I don't know what else to start with.
I'm sorry for a set of things that you had to undergo; for the sleepless nights you spent pacing up and down in the room, anxiety soaring high with the smoke curling up in the air.
I'm sorry for poisoning your mind with the unnumbered lies, lies that nearly shattered your soul to pieces. You nearly gave up on yourself and I stood as a mute spectator, witnessing your wreckage with helpless eyes.
I know you didn't deserve this. You didn't deserve any of the clawmarks directly aimed at your annihilation. I'm sorry you had to deal with this world, a world that has forgotten to love.
When the muddled thoughts were sidewinding inside your body, questioning your own sanity, you turned frozen, beholding yourself in the looking-glass kept in the parlour. And I kept observing you slowly crawling into the unknown, from where one can never return.
Last time you wore him with softness in your heart,
you mistook him to be a permanent skin. You were wrong. He went away, shedding you in the drab desert. You were left behind as a broken canvas, with a painting that had already lost its beauty.
If there's one thing I'm not apologetic about, it's that you are still standing despite the bruises, the wounds that had dared to tear you apart. You swam across; rummaged out of the garbage. You did it somehow.
You might toss and turn with no comfort around but then,
you remember how you made it here. I'm no more apologetic here.
The broken painting knows how to display its beauty to the world; how to celebrate the new day; how to not break and shatter; how to not give more importance to the undeserving. -from me, your inevitable.