What You Wished You Had Said

Ever tried thinking so much about something, have a continuous rant inside your head and let all those emotions flow in you while keeping a straight face and when it's time pour it all out through spoken words, you couldn't. You opened your mouth, well, almost. And you wished you could've said them all and you thought that the rest of your life might ended out differently if you did. But you didn't. I know it hurts like hell. But I know we all have reasons for our silences. We could be scared, terrified even, to hurt someone or maybe cause a change to someone or to the situation at hand because we were comfortable of what was laid down before us that we couldn't risk the thought of even changing it at all. You think that you're happy; you're contented of what you have but you aren't because of everything you wish you had said but you didn't. You'll only regret it in the end, when the damage is done, when there is nothing left to save, when there's nothing left to say. All because you were afraid.

I've done this too many times and all of them I regretted up until this day. I regretted not saying that I loved my grandparents until I lost them. I remember whispering to them to comeback to at least give them a proper goodbye but all I had was silence, nothing. And it hurts, it hurts that we had a lot of time in this world but chose not to use it the way we intended it to be use, how we chose it to be used in our silence.

I remembered this one time, this one chance that almost slipped out of my fingertips. I told someone what I've always feared of telling them. And did it change anything between the two of us? Nothing. Well, I wished it was nothing until I decided to lead the next steps of the situation into silence. I chose to isolate myself from this person because I was hurt and as selfish as it seems, I hoped that the person was hurting too. But I know I'm the only one taking the bullet from my own gun.

It's like an art. We're the artist. We're all messy; we are all raw; we are all vulnerable. But it's how we choose on whether or not we'll use that canvas counts. Not the art. It's how we choose to paint with our hearts and not with our hands that counts. And because art requires this sense of truth, you cannot fully engage your whole being onto it when you think you have your shit together. Because honestly, no one does. It's the secret to great masterpieces, the vulnerability; the ability of giving your whole self to something. But if we choose to ditch the canvas, then we are being silent. We're only staying in our comfort zone. 

It's better late than never. Something I've always heard in my 17 years of existence. I've always thought that it is about being late at school or something. But in this case, I think it's more like saying - better be extra courageous and speak out rather than being tormented by your own silence.