Abandoned Home

When I was sixteen, I was told to talk.
Only, nobody was listening.

When I was seventeen, I was told to look.
Only, everything was dead.

When I was eighteen, I was told to feel.
Only, I couldn’t find peace.

When I was nineteen, I was told only boys leave.
Only, they don’t.

When I turned to twenty, I was told that sadness will pass.
Only, it didn’t.

so over the years, I have been enveloped in loneliness. I have learned to call it home.

You will find no welcome mat, no spare key, no TV sounds and no swing by the porch.  It looks a lot like the hurt look fleeting across a desert's face when it realizes that the word 'barren' for us humans, is actually an insult. But there is a picture of me hanging on the wall – probably picture was snapped before I reached 15 because I’m smiling there……

I used to be really emotional. My highs were high, and my lows could be pretty low. But see, the thing is, I could get really happy over small things, like a bad joke, that could set me off and I'd be laughing for ages. And my lows, they were over little things, like not being able to find a pair of shoes and that making me late, or something silly that I could get over quickly.

But now, I don't feel anything. I don't laugh until it hurts. I don't cry and break down. And believe me, I have a lot of stuff I could cry about. Sometimes, I think about everything that has happened to me, and it doesn't register. I want to laugh, heck, I'd break down crying if I could. But nothing sets me off.

And there are visitors. A lot of them. So if you are going to be one of them and are going to knock on my doors, make sure you plan to stay for a while. Too many have arrived and have misplaced too many things which I'm still trying to find. Things like my sanity, trust and confidence.

And if at all you are leaving, please close the doors gently, avoid slamming them for I'm tired of standing in disbelief; I'm tired of the loud slamming noise because the silence which follows hurts more. I don't know why I'm writing this, maybe just to get it off my chest, I've heard this sort of thing works.

Now, I have turned twenty-one, and I’m told that love stays.
Only, it hasn’t.