Don’t you love self-destruction. Like you love the Autumn.
Everything falling apart and yet it is a beautiful sight.
And unlike autumn, we do it everyday.
To put yourself to pain until it gets numb.
To feel the pain of something so much that nothing else can compete it.
There is a happiness, a sense of satisfaction to hurt yourself and cry over it.
As bad as it sound, it is fulfilling.
No, don’t take me wrong. By self-destruction I don’t mean to physically hurt yourself.
I don’t mean to cut yourself in the places it hurts the most.
Nor do I mean to drink until you zone out or smoke to death.
Self-destruction is way different than self-harm.
It’s better and it’s worse.
When you type and delete and re-type and delete that one text message over and over again, you are doing enough of self-destruction.
When you build a high and hard wall all around you, that no one is allowed to peep through, the destruction is done.
When you refuse to fall in love or when you fall in love too much and too deep, it is destruction.
When you don’t say what you feel or you don’t feel what you say. When there is a shiny smile on that dull face.
And, when hurt others just to not get hurt yourself, you are destructed.
When you just cry yourself to sleep when you know you can talk to them.
And smile when it is absolutely okay to cry, baby, that is self-destruction
It’s all self-destructive and painful. But isn’t the pain beautiful?
Just like the Autumn is beautiful?