What If You Were Me

What if you were me? What if you listened to the halted words?

Would you be different? Would you be understanding?

I wonder. That night when you – well all of us – were up until late. That very night, the last night of us being roommates, when we, for the first time, were talking about our futures\ in a somewhat serious manner. We talked about our study habits. The way we studied, how the consequences were, and whether or not we were content of ourselves. We talked about our relationship goals and their importance or idleness. As the night deepened and time flied by, one by one, all slowly slipped into sleep and you and I were the only ones left. 

Yes, we often had these moments. The tranquil, sentimental moment with this somewhat lonesome yet soothing atmosphere, when everything seems possible and gives courage - the inclination of being straightforward. Maybe that was why you would tell me stories, especially emotional ones, in such an easy manner. Maybe that was why I was so kind enough to spend my time listening to your gibber. Maybe it was simply the power of that certain time period, not because you trusted in me so much or because I liked you so much.

What if we didn't stay up late as much?

I am not your emotional garbage can, much less your emotional breakthrough. The words of complaint that were just on the edge of my throat, ready to be spit out, were halted, only because I didn't want to add another burden to your shoulders at such a hard time. A small girl crouching on the very corner where stories – ones I was more than afraid to confess – were hidden, crouched even deeper for others.

You always said that you would listen.

“Whenever you need help, I’ll be there for you.”

Empty promises, empty words. Stories that were stuck changed into words of consolation. I sunk even deeper to the bottom. I was sick of being sentimental, sick of all the stories. I couldn't even bear my own pain, yet I have dared to embrace those of others. Sometimes, just like you've said before, I longed to leave for a fresh start.

Maybe I was way too prudent.

What if I was bolder? 

If I tried, you may have listened. Yet the slightest possibility I spotted, that you were so consumed in your own hardships, was what made me so afraid. Instead of talking about myself, I listened to others' stories - way more than my own. Things changed - I did get bolder. I still am hesitant to embrace myself, but I can say NO. No to those who digest on my own feelings. No to those who ask at times of my own trouble. A starting step to face the weaker me.

What if I did embrace myself?

A time to stand up from the very corner. Time to stretch the legs and face the mirror. A farewell to the small corner and a greeting to the bigger world.