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The Pain

 

You won’t feel pain unless you let it hurts you.

I could only watch the blood dripping slowly, then it started to pick up its pace. It was definitely not a zen moment, but somehow I felt a certain sense of serenity by the scene. The dark red color of the blood, the little bit of pain, the thought of me wasting my inner life.

The drips of blood started to form its own mini pool on the table. I dapped my bloody finger with a piece of cotton that started to turn black by the time I’m finished. I did not bother to clean up the mess on the table. It was as if I was hoping the blood will just clot on the table, harden up and then become some sort of proof – like an arch – that I was once hurt, there.

Okay, let me rephrase. It didn’t hurt. I was once cut there. That’s more like it. And I didn’t know if I intentionally cut myself, or not.

The blood would never be an arch. Silly me. So I took the square paper, the size of my palm - the reason of this cut - and wiped off the blood with it. I took a look at the smudge on the white, glossy paper. What a work of art, I gushed alone.

The last time I was in this room, the last time I bothered myself to make a do-it-yourself greeting card, I was cut as well. But you were here, licking off the blood from my thumb. But today, no more rush of blood to my brain, no more shaking off the goose bumps of our skins brushed together and no more blushing to the fact that I was taken care like a child by you.

And right now, my heart ache more than my bruise. Without you.

I’ll send you the blood-smudged, last-goodbye card. When you receive it, I will never let this yearning hurt my heart anymore. The way I didn’t let this cut pained my skin. 

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  • 1) good one.
    although , i didn't have clue...
    w00b w00b w00b...
  • 2) Plslah tulis Goodbye tu dgn darah. Hoho.

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