Tuesday, August 23, 2011

I don’t like waking up, for everytime I open my eyes, the thought that there are more days that I have to wake up alone — feeling empty as always — pierces through my skin like white-hot pins and needles. It makes me realize that I miss those days when I would eagerly wake up because I want to talk to you; or that I would rush myself to the bathroom, ignoring my breakfast because I need go to a place with you. And of course, those sleepless nights we spent together. I thought repetition will dull the shock out of it, but I guess I was wrong. Every time I wake up, it poignantly crawls on me that those days are gone now, and that there is nothing left but memories, a blanket and a couple of pillows I soaked in tears every night.

Waking up is just so fatal.

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