Will There Really Be A Morning for the Past?

Have you ever gone to sleep sometimes, and asked yourself whether tomorrow really is guaranteed? Something about morning is so... comforting and yet, I get this sick feeling at night. What if it was my last day? What if morning never comes again? What if I wasted my last day?

I'm afraid of it so much. I don't want to die. I don't want my life to be over and never see another morning, never watch another sunset. Never say I love you again, never laugh, never cry, never hear music, never sing, never fall asleep on his chest again. Never hear him laugh at the way I hum in my sleep. Never see his childish smile again.

What if that happens one day? What if I haven't done everything I'm supposed to? I don't want life to end. I think life is so... beautiful. I mean, theres parts of it that suck majorly, but... I mean... look at every day. Look at the people and the world that surrounds us!

I remember going for a walk one day, just by myself, and I found this tree by a graveyard (as morbid as that sounds). It was huge, and just dripping with these gorgeous white blossoms. I didn't care that I was going to be late or that people didn't know where I was, I ended up just sitting under that tree and staring up at the branches above me.

Or the time that my little cousin fell asleep in my lap on the couch. The fact that she trusted me enough to curl up with me, that she was so tiny, and so innocent, made me want to cry. I have never felt as much love for someone as I did at that moment. I knew I absolutely loved her.

Last night, I fell asleep on him. Every once in a while, I would wake up and feel him stroking my hair, and then drift off again. When I woke up completely, he thought it was funny the way I slept. That I hummed, and every once in a while jumped. I can't explain to you how completely safe I felt last night, with him there. I never feel that safe. I don't feel safe alone, theres always that question of trust with myself, and I don't feel safe around other people because I'm the one who's supposed to be brave, the one who's supposed to go first. But with him there, I feel small again, like when you're little, before all the shit in the world becomes reality.

But then you wake up. And reality makes itself known again. What's going to happen the day he leaves? My chest just hurts even thinking about it. I don't know if I can take being alone again. Even with him here, I sometimes feel alone, knowing that its just highschool romance, that it doesn't last, that people tell you it isn't real. And I know, that in the end, he will find someone better, he'll move on in life, always smiling like usual, always so happy.

I'll stay in the past. Because thats what I am. I am people's past. I'm not even myself anymore. I am not a self. I am the pasts of people, a memory that fades away after a while. Vivid at first but then blending in with the wallpaper of remembrance. No one has ever needed me, they say they do, but they don't need me, they need my support, my encouragement, my words that they want to hear. Its when I tell them the truth, something they don't want to hear, that I'm abandoned. The robot spoke its mind, it's dysfunctional.

It's so weird to know you don't really have a future, and even though people tell you not to hold onto the past, you know that's all you've got to hold onto, because moving forward isn't a possibility. Not when you're afraid that there might not be another morning when you open your eyes.