Certain kind of sadness I’m addicted to

When I go to bed, about to say my prayer that often had been forgotten, I find myself asking if I am happy. Not for that night or that day or that moment, but in everything that had been happened and that might happen to me and to the people whom I share my small world with. Of all the things that did happen, the ones that would be remembered best are those that hurt me in some way. They would drive me like a record playing scenes that leave me worse than broken over and over until I could no longer snap out of being broken. By then, I would have forgotten my prayer and everything but the scenes.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s