Holy Week. Holy Crap. Those times when the hate and pain succumb me to endless despondency, felt like having burned wounds smashed open day in day out. It's not the best feeling in the world (unless you're a masochist which I'm not) so I try hard to consign everything to oblivion. But still, the pain is too much that even a breeze of the wind gives a sting.
I gave my mind a break, left everything to the gentle hands of time. Little did I know that those hands slyly crawl up to the scabs and chafe them until it felt like the healing process needs to start all over again. My wounds are exposed for all the world to see so once again, I need to put them out of the way, keep mum about things that makes my insides want to flare up, and maybe try for the nth time not to let the pain show. Sadly, it has become a cycle too familiar that I know it so well. Too well it seems that it keeps haunting my thoughts.
They say time has a way of healing but maybe my time hasn't arrived just yet.
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