day 5: my veins are filled with ink

i don't remember the first time i tried to talk through these words. i am the first-born child who tried to express how i felt, but my brain stopped me from making any facial movements about all those kind of emotions. they tried to define, yet i hid it all well underneath a poker face. the mask i've put on, the mask that said "i am perfectly fine". 

these papers are the evidence of feelings that got lost in time. they said i was so hard to please, i didn't wear my heart on my sleeve. so they walked away, leaving a trail of comfort i once felt when they're around. i've got friends that knew me well, who stood by me after every storm. but the love i've wanted, the ones that carved scars and memories. 

and if i were a book, i would title it a book of regrets. of decisions i chose, of people i left behind, of places i wish i could be in, of who i could've become. those words i wish i could've said it to you, the words that i'd rather turn it into poems. and i shove them all into boxes, tried to move on with all the broken parts of me. and i've moved on, with the walls up and vitrified heart. with the last part of me within the pages you've read. 

for all the wrongs i've done, 

i am forever sorry. 

and for all the love i've never said it,

i'll forever drunk from inks that bleed in papers.

letters to all, letters to none. 

// and maybe, there will be another ten thousand pages. 

05.05.26; 1.19pm