Cold

It's cold outside. I feel it more because I'm sick.

It's cold outside. Because as I was making my Blog Directory, I can't help myself from being immersed in several months of my own emotions. Everything felt fresh again. The wounds I thought to be healed, reopened. The memories I thought forgotten, refreshed.

It's cold outside. And I left my jacket at home because I thought the medicine I took earlier will help me deal with the cool air. But I was wrong. Because I'm already shivering now - and I'm indoors.

It's cold outside. And I have no company tonight but the stars and the dark sky - so reminiscent of the rooftop. And with that single word, a lot of memories come crashing back to me, pressing my skull like needles. I am too old. I am too old and there are only enough memories my mind can accomodate. I am too old, and I can only afford to remember so much.

It's cold outside. And tomorrow, my classes' days are numbered. Several hours till it's goodbye. And all the heartbreaks I've felt every sembreak. Every time my students go... The pain. They all come back. There are only so many faces my heart can afford to love. but how many students have gone through me. How many students have I got through?

It's cold outside. And there's no remedy for this coldness I'm feeling but letting this nostalgia take over me. Like waves running through the things I've written on the beach which is this blog. They come over me in waves, and I can only do so much to avoid making a fool out of myself for feeling sad over trivial things like memories. Memories... what are they but remembrances of pain?

It's cold outside. And like how many times I've began my paragraphs with "it's cold outside", things just happen again. Again and again. Every sem. Every sembreak. Every a few or so days. Every week. I return to where I've been. To the pain I was born with. Things go on in circles.

It's cold outside. Because it's cold inside, too.

And when, in the past, you've allowed yourself to be hurt so bad for no sensible reason at all and no matter how you think you've convinced yourself you've moved on now and when you've recorded every stinking detail of the hell you have gone through and you read it again, fresh as yesterday's heartaches you might as well end writing about it because it will only make you remember things you've rather have forgotten, yet you know that deep inside you're still in that exact hurting state which is so painful even the memory of it causes you unexplainable coldness after all this TIME!