An extreme emotion that may occur few times on some people, or once in a lifetime to others. I am one of those others.
I am a bore, my life is ordinary. I may pass by and sit in class the entire day but my presence will be forgotten.
I never knew rage then. I only knew, annoyed, and loneliness. But not rage.
Rage came with something I never would have guessed. Rage came after some time when love does.
It was a tragic love, or must I say loves. There were 3 of them. But not at the same time.
The first one, fell in love with my close friend.
The next, can’t move on from his past.
And finally, afraid of his future.
These tragedies made me act dumb, but my heart breaking and filling up with rage. Rage not of these people, but of the situation, and of myself.
Rage is different. Not anger. Not if you’d want to stab things until your tears dry. Not if you’d want to jump off a bridge again and again just to cover the pain. Not if you’d want to scream your lungs would fail you.
No. Rage is different.
You might think why I’m still willing to live.
Honestly, I’m not.
I know you’ve felt this. Like a zombie. Waiting for something. Maybe waiting for your life to come back. Life in a form of another person. A better person, somehow.
I also push to live for other people. When everyone else lefts, you’ll be surprised that strangers will make you smile.
For a withered flower, a small ray of sunshine is a big thing.
We all die, others die every day.
At the edge of a cliff holding on by a thread, I tell you my friend, hold on. Someone will come.