Telltales of a Runaway

“You set a bird to fly on its own. But even an owl misses its home.”  

I really didn’t want to go. But I know I had to. So I walked my way out of the building, my body screamed of pain brought by too much fatigue, my eyes hurt with blindness that I can barely put to words, my head ached and spined in endless circles brought by sleepless nights and sleepless days. And my heart, yes my heart, it bled in perpetual silence, a silence that breaks the stillness of my being like the pitter-pattering of raindrops in the midst of this cold solitary night.

“You set a bird to fly on its own. But even an owl misses its home.”   

 I walked along the crowded streets of Teresa, drenched by the pouring rain, ever-frightened by the presence of unfamiliar people around me. I was not used to the feeling of walking alone. I used to walk along these streets with someone. His company provided me a sense of belongingness before, a feeling of safety, of home. But now I walk these streets alone, like a pathetic scavenger in search of a lost treasure. His absence now fills the empty corners of my heart and sinks the memories down into the depths of yesterdays I can never take back. Why do people leave?

“You set a bird to fly on its own. But even an owl misses its home.”   

 Someone asked me to go back. Someone asked me to stay. Someone asked me to believe that things will be just fine. I’d like to think that it is that simple. But I know that I can never fool myself. I’m sick and tired of all the things that set me in pain, the things that happened when I never wished for them to be. I’m sick and tired of going and leaving. I’m sick and tired of waiting for days to pass by, counting each one of them like stars in the evening sky. But even the stars are fading in pitch black. I’m sick and tired of hanging both my palms in front of someone, waiting for whatever there is to come, for whatever there is that they will give. 

I’m sick and tired of sleeping in unfamiliar places with unfamiliar people, trapped inside the deafening noise of a room that I have never known. I’m sick and tired of waking up to the sound of hushed voices and hushed words, of restrained outcries from my breaking heart, of silence that reminds me that I am never home. I’m sick and tired of constantly putting up a mask, a fake smile, a facade. I’m sick and tired of pretending to be perfectly alright when all the time, I know that I am not.

“You set a bird to fly on its own. But even an owl misses its home.”   

I’d like to give myself a chance, a chance of becoming a better person by turning my heart upside down everytime someone comes to me and asks if I’m alright. I’d like to handle things with honest maturity by flashing a gleaming smile and tell them I am okay. I’d like to wish not break apart, not to scream, not to cry. I’d  like to wish that I am stronger, tougher, even if it is only under a shadow of my illusions. I’d like to create my own utopia, a place where I can sleep soundly and in peace, a place where I can have peace and be satisfied, a place where happiness exists and waits for me to watch the unwrapping of a better day. But they’re imaginary, unreal, elusive. They exist only in memories.

“You set a bird to fly on its own. But even an owl misses its home.”   

I miss the old days, the better days when life wasn’t this too difficult. I miss the sound of their voices, the squawks and squeals that mark the onset of another morning. I miss the smell of the kitchen, of Dad’s home-made breakfast and how I rushed to get the lion’s share. I miss the laughter that Mom and I both shared in the heat of a summer afternoon. I miss how we tell stories about everything under the sun and how we made fun of ourselves by turning everything into a stupid joke. I miss shopping with her, how we go around our favorite shops in search for a perfect pair of stilletos, mini-dresses and bags, how we laugh at people inside the dressing room for no reason at all, how we stare at ourselves in front of the mirror and talk about a million things in the world all at the same time. I miss her insanity and how we drop ourselves and our shopping bags at the end of a long day, exhausted but satisfied. I miss her. I miss home.

You set a bird to fly on its own. But even an owl misses its home.”   

What’s left for me to tell? I have been writing for hours now and I am completely aware that my pockets are screaming with fury. I’d hope to find a good person with a good heart tomorrow, someone who can fill what I need, even for a momentary point in time, someone who can lend his heart and soul so I shall never go in hunger, someone who can save me and keep me safe from this harsh and cruel world.

You set a bird to fly on its own. But even an owl misses its home.”   

 The words now come crashing like the downpour of the heavy rain. I wish for the rain to stop all at once, if only to save my heart from too much pain. I wish for it to silence the agony of my ever-relentless soul and clutch the emotions for it to die on its own. I wish for time to stop, even for a moment, so that I could have time to think about my decisions and never regret them. I wish to hush the deafening sound of my breaking heart and lie to myself that everything will be just fine. I wish to hide the pain behind every inch of perfection and fool myself that I can make it through this tragedy. I wish to make-believe and play the part of a princess, waiting to be rescued by her Prince Charming from the pitfalls of pain and suffering. But happy endings do not exist in real life. I wish to tell myself that tomorrow the sun will shine brighter, for me and for a new day. But of course, my heart knows better.

The words now come crashing like the downpour of the heavy rain. It repeat itself, like a forgotten melody, lost at the back of my head. I should sing with it and savor the sound of its symphony. I should dance at its slow, pacific rhythm and listen to its deep melancholy. Maybe that will save me from the pain. Maybe that is all that’s left for me to do.

You set a bird to fly on its own. But even an owl misses its home.”   

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