Commitment

I used to like my birthday, my celebration of life, but somewhere along the way, I forgot to not think. From one moment to another my hand stopped mid writing my name and from there I don’t know what happened. I left, I walked for hours and hours, to stay comfortable in a hammock, forgetting everything that had to happen to exist, I fell asleep. 

(I don’t know, call it broken heart, trauma, sadness, curse and damage)

I only know that it took its years

and it has its ghost 

and somehow, I started my way back through haunted catacombs that were full of pain and wounds. This is how I found myself remembering what I had burry under a familiar name. 

{…}And I know I should explain, but I don’t want to nor I can {…}

What I do know is: I still write with a handwriting that must be revised and I wouldn’t say I like my birthday although I am interested in my anniversary of commitment to life.

TA.