on that february afternoon..

Seated on the same bed for the last seven years,
I have had the same view every single day.
Across from me, a window I barely open,
As I prefer staring at my ceiling more.
Everything feels stagnant,
Like time has frozen-
As if I’m gonna be stuck here forever.
Unbeknownst to me,
A long time has already passed,
But myself-
I’m behind.
I’m still living in my room
And the past it carries.
I don’t know how to get out of it,
And I don’t seem to want to get out of it.
I’ll miss my room,
I’ve thought about this before-
I’ll miss it when I don’t live here anymore.
I realized I have never put up a clock on my wall;
I can’t tell when it’s time to stop,
And it’s not like I wanna know either.
Specks of dust on top of my cabinet, table, and headboard-
Not enough to bury the past completely.
Why do I hold on to things I can never go back to?
I’ve grown attached to the warmth of my pillows and blankets
I’ve had ever since I was a baby.
The tears I’ve soaked my pillows on-
I always seem to never let them go easily.
Like how I stacked up my collection of perfumes through the years,
And remember the exact scent that takes me back to the year I despise most-
The stench which reeks of misery.
I’ll always take it with me wherever I go.
I still have familiar faces I meet in my dreams;
I still see my friends I miss,
My classmates and teachers I left behind.
To this day, they catch up and haunt me.
Nightmares accompany me now,
And I’ll always let it be-
Because familiarity is comfy.
I’ve created a fortress enough to keep some people out,
But too suffocating to keep people in.
My heart can only do so much-
Clinging on to a past
That opens up a large wound from before.
I’m still hoping I’d get to take a step out,
Without looking back at it anymore.
I’ll always carry the bricks of my history
And end up building the same so-called home.
However, a part of me would always still miss it,
Remember it,
Hate it…
But until I put up a clock,
I’ll know when it’s time to shut the door,
Unlike before.

[@justanoob4840]

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