Mean

Feb 21, 2019

“Please, don’t fail me in my hour of need,” she cried, her voice faltered. She could hardly hear herself speak due to the low spirited of it.
She tried to hold against it.
The only thing she had been remembered was her father. She couldn’t lie anymore, she couldn’t hold it any further, she missed him more than anything. She cried and screamed for the mirror she faced on.
The memories came to disturb her peace, her own biggest wall — she had been creating — was cracked, and shattered once and for all.
Her own belief was gone.
She missed the companionship of her father.
She missed his smile. She wanted her father back to hug her into his chest. To dry her tear on.

Since his death about a year ago, it changed her so much, unfortunately, not in a good way. Unlike every death ever been, she wasn’t in tear at that time. She just didn’t want to because it could make her weak when she did it. Whereas, the tear was needed to heal, or at least, to calm her down for a moment, right?
There was no guarantee did everyone have that he’ll come, accompanying her for this moment. No one the best, except him, she told.
Home didn’t give her the definition of it anymore since her lost. Literally, she was growing fear of death.
She felt like the cruel world was so mean to her. So mean.

Sometimes in real life, familiarity breeds contempt. She trusted it. Everyone knew how close her relation to her father, how close those two persons when they were together and laughed. But, the familiarity had been killing her so much. Love had been physically and mentally smashed her into peaces. She didn’t hate her father — not at all. She hated herself. Why did she love too much, and suspended on him.

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