"There were nights when I would lay in bed and even before sleep would claim me, memories would assault me, and I'd let the tears fall. I cried for my mother, I cried for my father, I cried for my sister, I cried for my brother, and I cried for me. But most of all, I'd cry for the laughter we shared that was replaced with anger, resentment, lies, and deceit. I'd cry for the love that was broken into a million pieces - into a million shards of memories. It was like slow, dull torture tearing at my insides and my nerve endings and my heartstrings. And in an act of desperation and defense mechanism to keep my heart beating, I'd stop feeling.
Even as I was already 16 years old, some nights I still cried, mourned the lost of my family and the sorrow and pain it inflicted on each member. Only God saw my tears. Only He heard my wails and my cries. Only He felt the recurring pain in my chest and the despair that went with it. It was like watching my hopes and dreams shatter and scatter into the dark, lonely night.
I passed each day no longer even living at all, like a routined robot whose heart and mind was stuck in the longing of the happiness of the past, not even sure of what I was looking for anymore, of what I wanted to be. All my aspirations for the future had been forgotten, replaced with the need for a time machine. I empathized with every family member involved. And the tears continued to fall."
The previous composition was originally written by and therefore copyrighted to ©KenBocala. All rights reserved. Credit where credit is due.