constant. constantly.
Like a busy city on the weekend. a mothers call when their children aren’t home on time. The bell’s sound at your grandma’s place you can never forget. Or maybe the moon? Or is it that tear that’s threatening to spill every moment?
There’s an aching pain in my chest at all times. Maybe because I haven't memorized the rhythm of my heartbeat or maybe because I didn't answer when I was asked how I was doing.
What’s your constant? Is suffering a constant, because that's the only thing we are good at? Or is the moon a constant because we see it every night? Why aren't I afraid to claim the moon when I can't even claim myself? Is that what cowardice is, to not own yourself?
What happens when no one is awake at night in your so-called ‘bustling city’? What happens when your mother stops calling you when you don’t come home at night? What happens when they change the bell at your grandma’s place, and you forget what it ever sounded like?
To own yourself is to be honest to yourself. So I say “My love, I’m no poet, and my metaphors don’t make sense. But I wish that you would see right through me. I want you to know that when my city isn’t as busy and loud any more, my people’s hearts still beat. My people are okay and maybe so am I. And I know that I say we are made of love, but I hope you aren't disappointed in me because sometimes love is what kills me. Love tires me, and it angers me that what built me also breaks me, Which is to say, I love you, but sometimes I get tired, and I hope that doesn’t become a constant.”
Is suffering a constant, because that's the only thing we are good at?
Author
Cerene
The Abandoned Woman, Female
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