hannah jang

I think there are no reasons why one would feel so stone cold-blooded.

I have spent my months attempting slower breaths just to seize each day, to only find that my breaths have turned heavier from the conscious effort to feel something - that perhaps with each slower time taken within the minutes of great anguish that I could be present without feeling meaningless. It is truly a great enigma how these people around me seem to be in their own world, they laugh without the fear of the future, they are bright; we don't know what is to come but I am afraid that my greatest fear would be age for now.

I've spend months counting the days till I see it again.

When I lived out the same days we looked forward to each day and age and time could not take a toll on us for we were on the same page the very once, but only in my mind. It is different now - a unfamiliar space, a time too fast for the both of us. I am apologetic, yet I find no purpose to rectify my affected conscience for I have zero control, and anyone else could concur. A short span found once that I was indubitably elated to spent my days away - for each minute - for each second brought me a purpose to the days in my youth. I am left with nothing to blame - for the existence of mine, for the mistake in time and space, or for the one whom I believed could give me a decent living life. I am not very sure at this point if resentment is the supposed feeling to my own autonomy? I fret my instincts.

I am not sure about why i well up in tears any more these days. Perhaps my repressed understanding, an unfortunate, unwilling acceptance that the good days will soon to end, a truth far too terrifying for me to tell anyone about. I forget to for I am utmost aware that these vulnerabilities will soon be the cause of my fall -- except that I have already gotten to a point I can no longer.

I am afraid of myself for I no longer feel for people anymore. I stood there once watching someone in agony - and all I could think of was to go back to sleep and forget that this ever happened, for I bear the burden, I heave the heaviest sigh of regret - I have become the person I fear the most and hate the most waking up to. I am better fine when I look up to the heavens and pray to the one who - who am I kidding -- I am only looking at the white walls of lies. Times like this I also stand in awe at the existence of Atlas, for he has always been one of a kind for the times I find myself bearing the weight of the world, I find no gravity dawned in my advocate and instead I float - and I forget why I am doing everything from the beginning, one I never choose to start.  I have settled with being a cold-blooded soul. For those of you who are wandering do hope still exist it probably will on the day my written paragraphs seize to start with an "I" because I have started to remove myself out like I always do and back into my own world where I dwell in self-doubt and in being inwardly focused. I hope nobody ever asks how I am ever again, for it is the only question I am afraid to answer. If you think it could change my life with accusations, mind if I do not. I still hope that everyone else is doing fine even if I am not, it is one thing that keeps me out of my consciousness once in awhile.


one day and next day I am only a person who cannot even keep her own priceless head up in the waters.
 I do not know which God of audacity they trusted to find hopes in me.