When life adopts another regret…

“Leading a normal life as I have been endeavouring to for a long time, is really, really difficult. Every hurt is amplified, every success dulled, laughter lasts but for a moment, the rest is bleary grey. I can’t think my way out of these sensations that override the protocol of normalcy.”

– from avalon’s entry, Shards

I can’t celebrate success because I don’t remember much of them. I don’t because I find it hard to accept them. It feels as though I don’t own whatever I have … done. But they dull moments after and then, they are tossed to the recesses of my memory. And only when I am reminded that they appear for the briefest of moments, serenading my heart for a bit before they are overwhelmingly shadowed by the more sinister of thoughts.

I am not sure if this is way too common, but can one get through days on end without laughing? On most days, the laughter I conjure is to pander to those who made a funny remark, told a humourous story or joke during social occasions. They don’t last. And naturally, these funny moments are never remembered.

Hurts? With age, they have been dulled. The pangs of longing are no longer as intense, compared to the days of youth and dare I say, hope. They still occur and are followed usually from events or scenes that trigger envy. The greater the envy, the sharper the colour of the subjects in the scene or event, while everything else fades into grey – the cold, hard, melancholy and biting grey monochrome.

But I do lead a normal life now. Because this is the normalcy that I know of. It is normal to me, because the storms no longer rage as often or as hard; the torrents of emotions no longer toss my heart from one end of the deck to the other; and the air of resignation is now more pervasive than ever.

I respond in words and I now speak from my heart in words. I don’t say them anymore. There is no audience, not even of One. Normalcy has faded Him out. I don’t know how to open that door anymore. I’ve taken out the screws to the knob. I’ve thrown away the screwdriver. I build another wall. I keep the true emotions out, until the next storm breaks, or the next trigger tears it down.

Or maybe I’m slipping.

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