“It’s a process. Everything is a process. But really, the problem for virtually anyone who’s trying to recover from virtually anything is that a milestone for that individual may mean NOTHING to most people. Seriously? Give the people who are trying a break. One day, tables will turn.”—Micah Robles (me)
Is there such a thing as forbidden pain? What happens within us when our hearts grow heavy with want? And our longing cripples us?
When all you once knew and believed is distorted by a hurt you cannot comprehend.
What happens within—that even breathing becomes a task? How could something, not made of glass, break? And yet, ruthlessly keep you alive? And how are we able to celebrate one moment, succumb to despondence the next?
What happens within us? What chaos exists in our souls? That what beats to keep us alive only succeeds in tormenting us? And death can become the more humane experience?
How could the heart love so deeply knowing it subjects itself to deeper pains? How could time heal our wounds when every second of independence has become a tiresome struggle to keep sane?
Is there such a thing as getting well again?
Does such a thing exist?
Or have even our hearts adopted a mere medicinal cure—wherein symptoms are alleviated, but we are weakened just the same? While there is numbness and relief, we are being poisoned with by-products of what is supposed to kill our pain—not our souls.
The relief can get us by, but it can never make us whole.
“Then there are the people who believe in love but do not believe that they are worthy of it. You find them moving from one destructive relationship to another. What they call love, any reasonable person would call abuse. It’s almost impossible to understand why they choose to stay in those relationships. You can’t seem to talk them out of it. If you dare say anything about their partners, they are the first to defend them. They are held hostage by their need for love. They are made victims because they don’t believe they deserve love, so they settle for whatever they can get.”—Erwin McManus, Soul Cravings
You are the text that will never come The thought in my head when I can’t sleep at night You are the missing ring on my telephone The silenced voice on the other line You are the face I see when I dream The air I breathe in the places I visit You are the cold that consumes me on my bed The name on my tongue that my cries elicit
And as Dawn Breaks to another day There, in my heart, exists a void It is hollow but it is Stone in weight (wait) Where your remnants linger like a ghost Copyright Micah Robles 2011
Don’t get me wrong, I have inggit moments. and sad moments. and moments na ‘kelan ba? inip nako’. But i still think it’s worth waiting. Para pag andyan na siya, buo pa rin ako. In every sense. Hindi ung gutay-gutay na puso ko tapos pagod na ko.
A bitter person wallows and nourishes bitterness despite moments of hope. A hopeful person will regard bitterness as a disease. When those moments strike like a fever, they have an innate desire to be well again.”—Micah Robles (me)