My Lungs Melt at Dusk

Have you ever heard the phrase “you will get over it”? When something bad happens to you, they will tell you these words, regardless of how traumatic it will be. It somehow comforted me back then, until it did not sit well anymore. I cannot convince myself nor do I find reasons to still try. My patience is wearing thin and I am known for being patient. I have realized that nothing is getting better; the more I become restless, the further I am pulled into a haze. I go through life with no sense of direction. I have never been given a chance to be angry, I was only allowed to accept things because they would not matter soon enough. Rather than getting over the things that hurt me, they consumed me instead. I detached myself as a defense mechanism. Repeatedly drawing a line, taking three steps away from people that see me as someone deserving of tenderness. And I have burned for so long, too quiet, I have forgotten what it feels to be a little less dying. Therefore, do not embrace me with a promise of eternal salvation.

Oftentimes, I simply sit in the corner and watch them go. Some will slam the door shut but most of them leave quietly. I have grown used to not hearing goodbyes, and my mouth never opened to bid them farewell. In spite of this, it does not mean that they are gone. I live with their memories to feed this insatiable guilt. I have uttered countless apologies just for them to be always rendered useless. I remember, I cannot forget even if I want to. This longing visits me at night beneath a cloak of fleeting solace. Hence, when I can no longer feel—I am cold and hollow. And I wonder how long my frail body can bear the weight of those who are still alive. Perhaps, when I cease to bleed each moment I will make contact with their fragments, if my hands have learned to not tremble, and I am able to touch them without falling apart, they will not slip from my grasp. They will not slip through my fingers, if there is more than a language my tongue has ever known—I speak of too much hurting.

Regrets have teeth that do not stop biting, a loyal dog that clings relentlessly. Anywhere I go, it follows. Shaped like two hands wrapping around my throat. At times, it seemed I began to be incapable of loving. For the countless attempts I did to keep myself intact only to break over and over. I gasp for air and wonder if the life I am living is actually mine. They say that I am still too young to think that I do not have much time left, too young for the world to start my wake, but not too young to not be rotting.

Alice

_{I used to stumble upon dreams where I was floating as a child, it went higher and higher—the world seemed tinier in my eyes. There were several nights I would have a similar dream when I started to be older, the only difference was the fall that occurred shortly afterwards. It happened so often I no longer remember how I actually felt. One time, I noticed a small crack that made everything crumble and I sank. I never ceased slipping until then.}

_{Hello! I go by the name Alice, under the username @lienric. A graduating senior high school student. I am from Laguna, Philippines. I enjoy doing a lot of things although, I am far from being considered as consistent. Yet I know that we are just trying to survive, and my pets are here to keep me alive. I write when all there is for me to tolerate becomes unbearable, or on some days I think I am a giant with hands I do not recognize.}

_{Photo retrieved from on Instagram.}