Has anyone ever written anything for you? in And here we go.

I opened the closet and found the box again. Waves of emotions crash against my eyes, my heart, my existence just washing away like coarse loose beach sand. I’m a statue that never really disappears under water but never quite free of the waves and eternal feeling of sinking deeper into the ocean.

The apron, made out of smooth-pressed jeans, leather straps and metal buttons, the funny food shaped pens I collected so carefully. The onyx pieces I got from Turkey, miniature glass animals from Thailand, oceanic animals plushies from Singapore and so much more.
The familiar songs start to play in my head and I feel I’m falling, falling down into a warm light cloud that engulfs me and makes me want to forget all the years I knew you.

There are only three possibilities at this point.

1 – You’re dead. Which still doesn’t give me closure, just a false sense of self-assurance until I know for sure.
2 – You’re living miserably and refusing to contact me because you’ve built up your fort again and refuse to let anyone in. took years the first time for you to let me in.
3 – You’re alive, well and happy and have buried me in the past.

None of this gives me joy and I absolutely hate how I dwell in the possibilities with such serenity that someday maybe someday you will reach out again.

Has anyone ever written anything for you?
In all your darkest hours
Have you ever heard me sing?