There are just some nights when frustration and sadness overwhelms me and consumes me whole. Tonight, I am not spared from the merciless stronghold of such emotions. Sometimes, I wish I could paint. I wish I could pick up a brush and let my hands take me to a different universe. Other times, I wish I could dance. I wish I could move my body with supple grace and be absorbed into the music. I just wish I could express myself.
It has been way too long since I last picked a pen up and wrote till night turned to day. I miss the firm grip I used to have on a pen, and how the nib slid so easily against paper, then being so occupied with it that I was completely oblivious towards my surroundings. Then, that final full stop at the end of the last sentence, signifying a very satisfying show of my emotions, albeit privately. Finally, reading it from end to end, snapping back into reality and wondering where such emotions and eloquence came from.
It has been way too long since I last lifted the heavy lid of my piano and let my fingers take control. I miss the melodies that came from my fingertips. I was never a composer, but the notes of great composers took me away into my own little world. I miss playing in the wee hours of the morning until I got tired and completely forgot why I was ever upset in the first place.
Who have I become? What has happened to the girl who once found every little way to express her deepest emotions? Now, she has been replaced by the girl who buries every underlying problem. It is like digging a hole and slowly filling up with junk. After some time, there is no space left in the hole for good things, and in the end, you don’t even realize that the hole is there, because there’s just so much junk surrounding it. People will mistake that for a junkyard, when in fact, it was just a little hole in the first place. Something that could be filled, if the right person came by and filled it.