Exhale

I may read a book

from a different page

and being different from everyone else.

But I can still summarize the whole book,

because at the end of the day

the whole story is still the same

when you've read every page.

And I choose to silence myself,

over words that slips

through the rubbles in me

- not because of I am afraid, nor scarred, nor torn, nor tattered, nor not appreciating.

But solely because I don't need to justify anything.

I never in fact had anything to justify.

And for the reason of my words are worthless, as always.

On which I rely on my actions and deeds that speakes for the whole of my situation

and it's up to the world to judge - where at the very end, truth prevails.

I don't need the clovers of rainbows,

to cleanse up the fog in me - because everything is temporary

and far from the harshness of assumptions

that I am seeking answers

from the dusts of white ponies and blue buttons.

Because I don't need answers to questions that turn out to be rhetorical.

And to be mistaken that I never acknowledged,

and never will, the beauty

of memories that will always glow through our darkest moments

is far more hurting from the damage done.

Because no matter how stark the reality is,

underneath the bitter tastes

of burnt Winston Lights on the surface on my lips everytime,

I can still find the sweetness of the memories

and facts that was buried under,

that you never know.

I am still

the same person

that reflects

in your mirror.