REASSEMBLING
Even breathing hurts. We talked about the beautiful weather but not the storms inside; we talked about everything except what was on our mind. Now, here I am rebuilding myself block by block. It is as tough as it sounds, building something while knowing it will never look the same. It's suffocating, this smokey room filled with sand. A part of me just wants to answer that call of yours, either begging to understand or yelling why I am unable to. But it will make my remaking even harder than it already is and I finally feel the strength to prioritize myself.
My hands trembled when I picked up the block named ‘memories’, almost shattering all the courage I gathered to build myself again. But I didn't stop and slid that block in the very bottom as I would in my heart. All I could hear now was the murmurs of you yelling at me, all those pitiless words echoing in my head. You didn't know your words were bullets to me, shooting straight to my heart, puncturing it piece by piece until it finally was unable to live. It's not like I didn't try, gave you space and freedom, pushed myself harder until I couldn't. I wasn’t even sure what we were fighting about but somehow I was the root of all your problems. The sand of the block slid through my fingertips and I started building my life again. It's hard to let go, you know, when you try to fix something you never broke - and it's even harder when you don’t have the courage or idea to build it back again. But I am improving, reconnecting with my old friends and making new ones. I am starting to feel alive again.
“Was I easy to forget or I never meant anything to you?” you asked.
It took every ounce of my strength to just stand up for myself and leave. I kept going, but this time for myself. My hands are rough from slowly collecting what was left in my life, but I can’t stop now, I’ve come too far. I kept reminding myself to take it as a turning point in my life, which has way more opportunities. When I look at my new self, it is a painting of a fresh start and all the good memories. It has cracks but it's still beautiful. I’m almost there. But some days, all I could think about was how perfect my old self was, no cracks or lumps. Glancing back at us, when we used to stargaze, I never knew the stars we gazed at were light years apart. I tried talking about our problems, my biggest mistake. We ended up having many more which could only come to an end with our separation. I’m too exhausted from all of it. I never thought being happy would be such a challenge for me.
I wipe my sweat off and start to pick another block. I know the life I am building is not strong enough, but still I keep going. I massaged my swollen and bruised back with motivation. Life told me my worth depends on what I do; that people around me will only stay if I am the best at what I pursue. Power of recovery is strong, I said to myself, putting the block at its spot. It feels powerful when you hold all the power of building your life, your own way, the endless possibilities of how you construct makes the process more interesting and less hurtful.
I can always meet someone new, I told myself. Remembering how perfect our hands looked together, but it hurted even more to remember how you left me with the storm alone. I need to stop thinking about you, because it leaves my wound fresher than ever. I am still in the process of healing, but I am getting stronger everyday. I will cement my new self with new courage, power and strength and make it a better version of myself. But there is always an empty spot that I can't seem to find a block for: maybe it's the trust that I lost. But maybe, in the future, if I could trust myself ever again, I would fill in that block.
