I happen to overthink at midnight; what were the worst things I had said to someone, where were the worst places my feet had been touched, who were the worst people who ever held my hands.
It gave me some sparks of hatred, smokes of pain and boiling sadness consume my lungs.
They never were bad things. They were just results of my bad decisions.
Perhaps I was just so fed up with my painful past that I went out vomiting my toxicity to someone.
Perhaps they were not the worst places, but I was just the one who had not seen the sunrise at my back nor the flowers I crushed wounding through the dale.
Perhaps they were not the worst people who held my hand, but it was just me who had sweaty palms that when I held someone’s hand I ended them up drowning with my immature self.
Maybe the reason why they left was not because of the ambiance of place, but it was me saying bad things that I never meant when I was just learning to be me. To find myself, the better one.
But it was too late — I had never seen the importance of people until I already lost them. Now I ended up losing myself in the process.
©schistus
S