Letting Go

Have you ever felt like you wanted something,

or someone,

or onebody,

so bad,

because you know it would make you happy,

to the point where you wish the universe is in the palm of your hands,

so you can control and mold your fate to your own egotistic liking and timeline,

instead of hoping and waiting for it to align?

They say we deserve to be happy.

But what if happiness is just a sappy story,

to which can never blossom into reality.

Because everything we want is never within grasp,

and beautiful vision is a fake imagination far beyond sight.

Sometimes I wish two fingers pluck me out from where I stand,

whisks me up to the sky and holds me hostage without any ransom planned.

I’ll look down at my problems and earthly worries

becoming so miniscule to the point I can just…

overlook.

Like dust on my ever-growing archive of sad memories.

Like the side character in my nightmare who doesn't truly matter in the overarching story I’m trying to wake up from.

Like my bane and desire, which often is no different that they become indistinguishable even when drawn side by side, above, below, and beyond.

But why don't good things happen to good people?

Isn’t it unfair that pure hearts are taken advantage of at the end?

Yet the wicked scoot by with ease, handed things they didn’t even ask, overwhelmed by options.

Isn’t it pathetic that one begs for love and security, even sacrificing one’s own happiness?

Yet some are pursued relentlessly with blind eyes, brushing away, distancing emotions, and laminating hearts.

The more I try to tinker and control,

the more the robot gets broken.

Sometimes all it needs is just a liberating blow of the wind and sigh of acceptance.

So I’m letting go of the universe I had created in my head and the empty hopes and what ifs I had bounded so close to my soul, from the palm of my hands.

I give it a gentle blow just like the dandelion I saw in the golden hour of one summer dream, wishing for my fairytale ending someday.

I’m letting myself exist day by day under the warmth of the sun,

looking up to catch shooting stars and the glow of a crescent moon in one chilly autumn night,

again and again ‘till twilight bright,

to convince my unsettled mind,

that nothing

truly

matters.