Hating Time

Everything I do is a disappointment. There’s no leeway for mistakes. No leeway for anything.
No space for me to be a person — with the good and the bad. To have flaws as part of being human.

I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t anxious about every conversation turning into a fight.
The tone in her voice lacks any compassion, even for her own child. I know she’s going through a lot, and whether right or not, I am the reason for it.

That’s the only reason I’ve held it in. At times, I feel like shouting at the top of my voice, begging for forgiveness — crying my eyes out.
And asking: Will I ever be enough for who I am?
Not for what I’ve done, or for what I’ll become, or what I’ll mean to the world, but just for who I am.
Stripped of all human-made titles and rules.
Just for trying to be a good son. A good person.

For sure, I have my flaws. But I am more than that.

Don’t I deserve a corner of happiness? A place where I’m not judged. Where I could eat a nice warm meal with a genuine smile, without having to worry about the past or the future.

It feels heavy.
I understand she’s been through a lot. Much, much more than I can imagine.
Well, that makes the two of us.

We are like the sun and the moon.
Only one of us can exist and live a bright life.
Whatever path we take, it just goes round and round.

There’s no sunrise here.