Buried in the Echoes of the Past

Nostalgia is a vicious thing… It throws you back to reveal all your flaws. And sometimes, you don't even know what was real.

I wrote this piece, to be honest, in times that can no longer be recalled. Times I tried so hard to forget in every possible way. And it seems those ways have indeed helped me…

I may be wrong in my path… But at least on this path, I choose life, rather than the darkness that might have awaited me on another.

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My thoughts were filled only with words, chains of words. It was the only thing that could drown out the pain that had tormented me for eternity.

A new breath of air, a new flash piercing my body. Words, words - a notebook page and a pen in my hands. A trembling hand, with unsteady fingers, writes down everything that echoes hollowly in my mind.

No. I am not crazy, just tired, very tired. The constant pain, the eternal hustle and bustle around me. The white drops have long been lost in the dark abyss of life. I lost the desire long ago, but the chains bound my body to this world.

I have nothing, I lost it all myself.

Family, friends, love. I rejected it all throughout my life. I never believed in happiness, especially for myself.

It is an abstract concept, imposed by society to plant in the minds of simple people the hope for a bright future. A future where there is joy and no pain.

A flash, like lightning, pierces my hand, pulling at exposed nerves. My hand clenches the crumpled piece of paper tightly, where thin lines of words run one after another.

Happiness - what is it?

For everyone, it is different.

Some are content just to wake up each day and see that the world around them is still alive. That everything is going its way. That the people surrounding them are happy just being near them.

Some see happiness in something greater, and once they attain it, they strive for something higher, something more incomprehensible.

There are also those for whom happiness is the ultimate goal, the thing they chase but can never reach, rejecting what they receive themselves. Yet, they too live in joy, in happiness, from the mere thought that they have a goal. A goal to strive toward.

And I am dead.

I have long been gone! I dug my own grave. A grave where I lie, bound in chains, with a pulsating pain that torments my body.

Words, streams of new words. Around me - empty darkness with deafening silence. I remain silent, only my thoughts pour like rain into my consciousness, forming images and places.

Happiness has no name, but I was the only one searching for it. Searching for a name, but unable to find it.

It was so close, always standing beside me, reaching out its hand, but I constantly looked the other way. I did not want to see, I deceived myself, I was afraid to receive what I did not deserve. I feared gaining because I feared losing.

Can one consider themselves a fool if they cannot see what is right beside them, cannot understand, do not wish to receive?

Now my happiness is to be shackled, cast away from the world. I saved those dear to me from myself.

One cannot look at a person who has no happiness, no desire, no life. Suffering, agonizing suffering… I spared them from it.

My grave is my fortress, where I will always be alone, hiding from the eyes of others.