part 2 of mourning your reciprocation
before you came, i was tied to a desk and a chair by the binds of basic needs and oftentimes wants when i got a raise. it was a mere routine to arrive at work on time, a severe lack of sleep forcefully shoved away in my eye sockets, only to return home countless hours later with body-crumbling exhaustion from overtime. but no matter how tired or worn out i was and no matter how much workload there was, i didn’t shed a single tear, because i knew all too well that such was life. or so i thought. a true life wasn’t a routine. to live and to exist bore stark differences. it wasn’t often that i found myself living, until i met you.
cooperation was what i always tried to achieve in group projects, in fear of being frowned upon with scornful gazes and disdain for not trying hard enough. that fear took my teammates into account, but in competitions, it overwhelmed me to an extent of completely disregarding rivalry. that left me unaware to those prying eyes that were waiting for the right moment to flip the tables. alas, what good was it to put my heart and soul to our first project when all of my hard work was for naught after the opposing team sabotaged the files that i was in charge of?
my tear-stained face hit face-first against the messy blankets under a tilted pillow that i attempted to lower the back of my head on. all the strength i had left after work was already used up for dragging myself up the bed. this was one of those moments that i felt like i could truly live. because it was hard to breathe when i laid this way that i realised, one by one, how the only thing that wetted my cheeks at this hour used to be a cold energy drink, how amazing it would be to be able to breathe when i suffocated, and how you would’ve rubbed soothing circles on my back, wordlessly yet affirmatively lying by my side as i bury my face in your collarbones.
no, no. i can’t afford to think of you right now. not when you just peered down at me, all disgusted and utterly hateful as if i was nothing but dirt. oh, please, if only you saw those foxes snooping around like i did, you would be standing my ground and supporting me… like before. you always would have. you’d have believed in my pleas unlike the others. those scoundrels were no different from each other with their ignorance, never failing to put everything on my shoulders then shun me for getting tired. was it on me to prevent the selfishness in human’s nature that was vulgarly rooted to the corrupted core? damn them all to hell!
i couldn’t even find ways to make it up to you because how on earth could i when you wouldn’t even spare a glance my way? frustration pooled a helpless desire in my guts to thrash around or punch just an ounce of pain out, but my limbs had reached their limits, so i cried harder instead, though my eyes were starting to sting painfully. i hated the wet burn that my hot tears made on these freezing cheeks, smeared all over my pillow and almost biting away at my face from how it hurt so badly, it hurt being misunderstood by you so much that i could die. but this excruciating pain told me that i was still alive.
because feeling pain was what it meant to be alive, i’d rather that night, after swallowing the hurt whole, i’d fall into a sleep that i would never wake up from.