an early morning wind falls down in a shower
of leaves that break like thin brandy snaps in
contact with your freshly combed hair. you’re
flashing a modest smile to that nice lady you
always see at the supermarket rush – except,
somehow, she returns your warm smile as if
she’s just seen a ghost – doesn’t matter, it is a
big, big day today and you need to be prepped.
you’re manning your own ship, and nobody
can stop you from sailing.
after what seemed like hours on the road of
god-awfully slow drivers – why not go walk?
you reach ten minutes late to your meeting
where your boss is an hour early, of course.
but instead of the awaited earful though,
you get – fatherly disappointment – why? now
you’re seventeen again, unable to get into the
university of your (father’s) dreams, your life,
now smithereens, and the only way you have
known to deal – you let out your snarliest
scream. you’re manning your own ship in
deep waters, you don’t need a lesson in the
high airs of condescension.
a big, big, big day – you remind yourself just
as you’re about to leave the horrid place. it
always seems fascinating how beautiful the
desk looks only when you’re about to leave.
but leaving early isn’t early enough for the
manual reservation at the restaurant she’d
rather be caught dead in. if only – had i – left
minutes early here, not wasted those precious
whole five pretending to like the dainty little
receptionist’s dull little sermons – what was
i hoping to get out of it, anyway? i would’ve
gotten this and more. you’re pretty sure you’re
manning your own ship, but now, feels like
someone else is on steering.
as you walk back to potential disappointment
– another fight, even – you become aware of the
sudden disappearance of your internal organs.
not as if someone with a machete smashed
at them until what’s left is a scraggly pulp – no,
as if they never existed. you look back at the
seemingly normal day of upset. nothing out of
the blue – except – and in a flash, there comes
the machete. right over the head, right under
your knees. the wind in your lungs is knocked
rushing out of your body as memories of the
morning pour themselves back like a recap in
your eyes. you’re manning a ship all alone, but
you’re left without a compass.
the year winds back as if on autoplay – all the
careful decisions you made, you watch them
fade away – and you let yourself be reminded
of the way things were before. you needed a
support, and like that very morning’s leaves
she fell for you, without asking, like the same
morning leaves she broke as soon as it touched
you. now you know, you’re manning a sinking
ship, nobody could stop you from falling – &
that’s when the final realisation on you dawns:
the marks humans leave are too often scars.
“the five stages of grief.”
[Day 24 of NaPoWriMo]
“the marks humans leave are too often scars.” – John Green, The Fault in our Stars
The 5 Stages of Grief:
1. Denial and isolation;