The snares of childhood come springing back like the storms I once tried to weather. I was an open book that recited itself word for word right in front of your eyes. From miles away, I was the so-called delicate flower that fearlessly opened, petal by petal not knowing each one that I shed could be burnt to ashes in an instant. We can say that right now, I’m no more than a weak little girl finding her way back home.
And I remember the thrill of not knowing you shared affection for me, What did I know other than the world never dared holding whispers and gossips from me? That the world bore despise of me. And I grew up to that. Even with the people whom I believe I loved were not saved from this curse. It was a curse that fate made itself and trapped inside my head.
Why did I even choose to be an open book when I am aware that anyone can practically burn every page of me? How brave of me to keep it that way in belief that no one would dare do such a crime. But I am a fool for stepping on gray areas, playing outside the field, in hope that one would sweep me off my feet and deliver me from uncertainty.
All I know are stories. All I know are legends. All I know is that I could be a legend made real. I could be a damsel in distress and a heroine if I wanted to. I am brave and bold enough to slay any creature if I have to. I could do so many things and be in so many places. No one need to dare me to traverse uncharted territory.
As long as I am what I am now, there is no need for fear.
Fearless and weak.
All that because I’m too bent. Too broken. Too scarred. Too wounded. Too tired to care.
And oh, behold, I’m a fool. Laugh at me now, if you will. But as fresh as the wounds I carry, the realization is clear as the morning I learned you left. I keep saving them without even trying. I was brought up to love the world and its scars. And with the scars I have gained during the wars, I learned that there is no use hiding them, not even myself. And certainly, there is no use hiding the fact that I too, need saving. I just don’t always admit it. Luckily, it is that time of the year.