April, and it's Latest Thoughts

When you commit a little sin, you think to yourself, “It’s okay, I can make up for it with all the right that I will do later on.” But that is not true. It is a lie spawned by ourselves so that we can indulge in the act of sinning. No matter what you do, every little wrong you commit can never be forgotten. You can attempt to override it but you can never erase it. You can try to cover it up with all the charity and kindness but the tiny black stain will remain etched in your life like a reminder branded with a hot iron into your skin.

No amount of right can undo the single wrong I did.

 

I’m sitting on a lonely bench in the park. I watch the light across the street as it flickers. I am alone. It is dark. It is cold. The time is 3:14am. I stare intently at the light as though waiting for something to happen. But nothing does. It flickers once more, then stops and shines weakly. The chilly wind gusts harshly, forcing me to cover my eyes with my clammy hands. I could feel my breath against my cold palm.

I realised then that despite all the things I have in life, all the friends and family that I have and all the materialistic items that I possess, as of this very moment, I have absolutely nothing. I understood as of that moment that my life would not leave an impression of any sort in this world. I understood how small and insignificant I am, and how none of my actions would impact anything in the millenniums this world has come to see.

It wasn’t something that I didn’t already know; I knew it all along. The weight of the thought just never occurred to me till then.

But when it did, I felt the weight of it. It pressed down on me, and it pressed down on me hard, like it was something I could never recover from. It made me feel sadness, a sadness that felt so raw and real that it made me shiver. I guess deep down inside everyone is a little sad. But only so few has had their sadness rise up from within the little pit it lies dormant in. Only so few has had their sadness creep across their body slowly, stretching across their being the way the rain does to dry land. To have their sadness wash away all traces of blessedness in their lives.

 

            I felt myself sighing slowly and deeply, as though my body is attempting to expel the grief nestling in me. It was the first sound that the quiet street heard in hours. The sadness I felt wasn’t the same sadness one normally feels. It goes beyond. Every time it hits, I would die a little inside. And I wonder how many more times can I die before I would give in and retire from this this fragile life. I buried my face in my hands and let the wind blow down on my hair. It was freezing. I was shivering, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or from the way everything is turning to dust around me. I was scared and I was alone.

Right then, all I wanted was for someone to come and tell me, “Come with me, everything will be alright.”

Just for someone to come and hold my hand, to tell me I’ve been forgiven.

For someone to offer me warmth, warmth that I haven’t felt in a long time.

 

Instead, I sat on that bench alone. No one came.

The streetlight flickered again.

And I died inside.