I miss looking at the sky.
Taking pictures of it every morning at 6 am, and another at 6 pm.
I don't know why I stopped.
But I know when it did.
A grey cloud hovered over my head at the age of 14. I was so young, but I already gave up on everything.
You realised it, and you tried.
You noticed how my smile became fake, yet you did nothing. You knew I kept a knife in my drawer, under all of the drawings that I ripped off from my wall. Still, you did nothing.
You let me be and my cloud grew bigger and bigger until it engulfed my dreams. You were scared of me. You should've embraced me, not push me away.
The little voice in my head told me that I am strong. I told myself every day: 'Just one more day. One more day'.
And I made it to 22.
Just because I have a grey cloud over my head, doesn't mean I couldn't pick up an umbrella.
Grab a fan to blow it away.
Use my hand to fan it away.
Turning left but actually turning right to confuse the heck out of it.
No one is ever alone and no one is weak.
You just need to look up at the sky.
The cloud will go away.
If it doesn't, there's always tomorrow.
YOU ARE READING
Hope
General FictionFor this chapter of our lives, no matter how dark, chaotic or confusing it might all seem with the sheer tense and panic from COVID-19. This month's theme requires you to channel all those hidden, outspoken or scattered emotions, drawing them all ou...
