The Wanderer

Like a wanderer I walk as if I don’t know where I am headed to. And I am sad. Yes I am sad. For I don’t belong anywhere. I have no place to go for comfort and solace or somewhere to sleep for a quite night.   I don’t have any one to call and share a meal with.  Sometimes I do feel like I’m lost in a familiar place.

I am alone and lonely. I am  in search for something, or someone, or of people.

All I want is a place where folks smile at me sincerely. All I ask is a friend to care for me genuinely. All I need is a mate who exclusively loves me like no other. All I want is a companion who can physically be there for me when I need a hug, a laugh, a good story or a drink.

Am I the only one in the entire face of the Earth who doesn’t have someone to call “best friend”? Pathetic isn’t it? I don’t know the feeling of  knowing you have at least someone to run to when everything feels like a mess.

You know, someone you can call any time without worrying of disturbing or bothering them because you are sure that you’re not. And even if you are, it doesn’t matter. That person, who gives you advice, slaps you when you’ve done something stupid, dances with you, watches TV with you, tags you along and never forgets you.

You know, someone who never stops caring, no matter what happens and no matter how many years had passed. And that place where it feels like home, making you want to stay forever.

But I haven’t found that person. I haven’t found that place. And I am sad. Yes I am sad, for like any wanderer nobody wants me. People look at me, they greet me, give me a drink and then leave me. There’s nothing to do but go on with my journey. I don’t stay in one place very long. But deep in my heart I wish to stop walking, stop searching and just, rest ; find a home and wander no more.

Ah, that would be bliss.

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Hate List

I hate it when you care so much you know you’d do anything for someone.
It hurts when you know for sure they wouldn’t do the same for you.
I hate it when I try to please you.
I hate whenever I try so hard to make you laugh.
I hate that I’m happy when you’re happy.
I hate how you make me smile.
I hate it when I get jealous of the people who hold you dear,
because for once, they held my world.
I hate it when I refer to you as my world.
I hate it when I correct myself.
I hate it when I try to control these feelings but fail.
I hate it when I even try.
I hate it when I over think.
I hate how everyone says I should use my brain,
when my brain listens to my heart.
I hate the feeling when you’re around.
No matter how I tried to forget and move on,
you always have a way to pull me back. I hate that.
But you know what I hate the most? You.
I hate that you don’t want me, when all I ever wanted was you.
I hate that you don’t know any of the things I hate.
You don’t even care.

TEDDY

I saw Teddy again today, but only from a distance. I knew it was him. I knew it was my favourite stuffed animal that little girl in the park was holding so dearly in her arms. Teddy used to be my best friend. He was once mine but now I can’t even be near him, least embrace him once more.

I remember  it vividly – that night I lost Teddy.

Daddy came home one night with a bag full of presents. Inside were pretty dresses, drawing kits, even a video camera, a set of dolls and more teddy bears! I was so happy to the point that Daddy had to talk me back to sleep.

Days passed and I was happily amused by all the new toys I got; I was hand painting, drawing on walls and recording everything with my video camera.

One morning, I noticed Teddy was gone. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I was pre-occupied playing with all my toys and forgot where I put him last. I continued looking for a couple of hours, but when I saw how many toys I already had, I forgot all about him instantly!

Teddy left me. Maybe he found a new playmate and doesn‘t want to play with me anymore,“ I blurted out.

Oh well, why would I need him when I have all these toys in my room wanting my attention!”

I went back to the play room, had fun all day and never thought of Teddy again. Days passed and my teddy bear didn’t cross my mind. Years went by and I soon forgot about him. I grew up and kept my childish toys away.

One day, I was sitting at my usual spot on the hill in the park when my eyes wandered to a bench on my right, just near the big old oak tree. It was him. Teddy. I knew it was him the moment I saw those expressive brown button eyes and his stitched-red smile. My body was trembling as I felt like a little girl again, wanting to run towards my teddy bear, grab him and take him back home.

I was about to take my first step, when I saw a little girl running towards Teddy. She kissed him and hugged him so tightly like it’s the most precious treasure one can have. That moment I saw Teddy’s eyes glimmer as he turned toward me and smiled.

Then it struck me. Teddy has changed a lot; he has been through a lot of repairs. He used to be so fluffy and clean and white; not dirty and badly groomed. My eyes surveyed his body and I saw stitches that were never there before. There were stitches on his ear, on his tummy and on his leg and arms; Oh his right arm! It was slightly shorter than the other! It was obviously ripped and stitched back.

I was disheartened. “Oh dear friend, how can I not notice that you’ve been through so much?” That brought me to tears. I couldn’t do it. I could not claim what’s not mine anymore.

From that day on, I’ve been watching this little girl play with my Teddy in the park for hours. Day by day I sit on my special spot on top of the hill as I observe Teddy with his new playmate.

There were times when I wanted to reach out and play with him too. Countless times I wanted to talk to that little girl and tell her my story. But every time I see Teddy in her arms, I realized how long I’ve been away and out from my Teddy’s life. He is somebody’s toy now. And he doesn’t need me anymore.

How this little girl found him, I would never know. Where Teddy has been and what he has been through all these years will forever be a mystery to a stranger like me. Yes, a stranger. Because that’s what I am to him now. Nothing more.

Dreaming with a Broken Heart

Crying. Screaming. The sound of her voice awaken her.

It was two in the morning and she’s having these nightmares again. Half awake, half-asleep she tried to separate the real from the dream.

Still sobbing, she refused to open her eyes as thoughts of him haunted her yet again.

She missed him beside her. She missed waking up cradled in his arms ; missed the way he patiently and lovingly calms her after every bad dream; how he whispers and assures her that it was just another imagination. She missed how he says nothing can harm her as long as he is with her. That idea comforts her as she falls back to sleep.

She cried for all the memories – for it was all that was left.

Finally getting the courage to open her eyes, she searched for him. But he’s already gone; nowhere to be found. For the first time in months, her heart ached and bled again. And oh how she felt the pain!

Not letting herself be consumed by the moment, she uttered a question in the silence of that dark room. “Is he for real?”

“Is he for real?”, she expected an answer. “Or was it only just a dream?” Tears fell down her cheeks.

She stood still for hours;staring at the blackness of the winter skies.

The cold, shivering wind blowing from her window stirred her up from a lonely melancholy. Dragging herself back to bed, she grasped her blanket – covered herself  like the cloth can protect her from the coldness she was feeling. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep – with high hopes that the sun is going to shine for her when she wakes up.. and maybe then, she’d finally see the light and feel the warmth she’s been longing for so long.

When you’re dreaming with a broken heart, the waking up is the hardest part.