he was drowning himself not with water but with complicated things- too immense to be contained, too intricate to comprehend. behold, this is a sentimental yearning of a boy who made a home out of his burdens.
he was in the midst of a faded yellow walls. the night was young so as his consciousness. he was narrowly caged with scattered memories, silence, doubts, weariness, existential angst and old familiar sorrows.
he opened his eyes and there was sadness. it was no dream nor fantasy, unfortunately, it was the reality. his sadness was intensified by the consciousness that he was alone in his misfortunes.
little by little, there were attempts of running, of leaving, and of fighting but it was pointless so he made a home out of it.
there were moments spent for grieving of unknown loss, there were nights spent for thinking of empty thoughts, there were mornings spent for breathing of dying breaths,
there were times spent for being nothing, for being no one, for being nobody.
one day, he came out in his room and tried filling in his mind with happiness, with laughters and joy, with smiles and bliss but ended up being confused, sadder and lost.
he walked back and shut his self in his room. there was silence and felt that familiar feeling of drowning again. suddenly, there were soft whispers saying "welcome home" and said to himself "strange as it may seems, but perhaps this is home."
©blazeious
B