Memory 1, Dancing alone.

It's one of those nights again. Where the balcony seems to be such a close presence, where it's almost yearning for me, yearning for me to come home.

Some nights, I stand on its railing, judging how hurt I would be if I fall. Judging how long I get to fly. But for now, I stand.

I stand on its stained tiles and I look at the moon. I fell in love with it, and it seems to love me too. Or maybe I’m just convincing myself that there is someone for me to love.

I’m standing in my room alone, and…

I’m crying. It's the sweet sort of cry, the cry of lacking something. It's the one where it's just tears at a time, you don’t know the reason, but it feels good to cry.

To touch the mirror and look at your bloodshot eyes, to have the want to punch and eat its shards distorting your view. In these intimate times, love for yourself, or self hatred, reign over you like a dictator to your emotions.

But the one I feel is sort of in between.

The feeling you’ve done enough, you gave yourself an applaud, you’re done for the day. But then you start to think about how little the ripple you’ve caused, how pathetic your efforts have been. But maybe, in these bipolar swings of emotions, I’ll allow myself the ability to voice out my worries to the empty walls in my room.

To sing the songs I’ve wanted to. To lie down as I cry into the pillow and feel my tears lick my tongue.

Everything, and anything could’ve been me in these times.

In these times, I try to romanticize my suffering, maybe there's an audience watching and hopefully at least they have something interesting to watch as I sob into my shirt, snot and tears mixing in. So, on one of these nights, I danced.

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I sang along to the songs I've been playing over and over again, practically knowing the lyrics better than I’ve ever known my own parents. I dance, my feet touching the cold floor. I dance, I laugh at my childishness, almost self aware that I look stupid, but I can’t seem to bring myself to care.

I dance, till the tears in my eyes become tears of joy, tears filled with laughter as I boast about my room.

I dance, and I dance till practically my chest is heaving and my legs are shaky.

The moon is eye-balling me, its beautiful crates create the illusion of sight. I hope, if there is a god up there, I pray that it will let me kiss the moon. To wipe the tears of the clouds away, to tuck the sun in for bed and dance with the stars.

But the sins I carry are so deep, it's almost etched into my soul.

And I only pray to the God I was taught when I need something that is out of my control. Yet I ask for divine Mercy, I truly am a pitiful being.

As the scissors on my table gleam brighter in the night, I dream of the stars kissing my intestines, the way my neck silently bleeds as I choke on my own lifeblood.

Ah, I’ve dreamed of this so many times. Please, someone, help me.

Anyone, I’m asking, let me be selfish when I need to be.

I’ve dreamed of my death so many days before, and the memory is reliving in my head once again.

”May the Lord help me when I reach the pearly gates of heaven, because I’m so sure I will get cast out.”