regret [悲しみ] inner feelings stories

shiiii_ya how many hiatuses can i fit in a year
Autoplay OFF   •   3 years ago
I’ll give all my tomorrows just to go back to yesterday.

a story of regret.


It’s a sinking feeling that you get once you step in somewhere--that you instantly want to cry.

You want to go home, cower underneath sheets and sheets of blankets and tell yourself that everything’s going to be okay...

...but you know that it’s not. No.

It’s all over--those words rang out from my head like a siren wailing in busy streets. You scream in despair--you want things to be back the way they were.

A lump forms in your throat and you fight not to cry. You assure yourself that this isn’t can it be?

Then a new feeling rises: anger.

You get angry at yourself--the circumstances--people--anyone--anything you can grab your hands on. With only a slight touch of someone will make you waver and lash out.

All looks red, like the pools of blood leaking through your heart.

Then you bargain. Bargain for anything--even at the cost of your life. Your body. Your money. Your friends. Your family...anything...just...please...

Please wake me up.

...Then comes depression. The molasses, quicksand-like feeling of darkness. Black overlaps red. You sink and sink on to the abyss of nothingness. There’s no point...

No one hears your screams in the void. Void is the idea of nothingness.

You only sink and sink.

Nothing matters anymore.

Somehow, you feel an odd sense of melancholy in the darkness, like the times you also went in here.

...can I still ask for a miracle?

Somehow, that slight sliver of hope is lost with logic. Of course not. Miracles only exist for the greater good, not for self benefit.

And you think, are there even miracles? Aren’t those just odd circumstances happening, coincidences and/or just an explanation beyond our capacity to think a form of logic on?

You want to hope yet there’s no point.

Then you accept.

Acceptance...the last remaining item in the jar.

Like the Hope that lies within Pandora’s box to remain for us all.

How did I accept I wonder?

When can I accept?


The last stage of grief.

I pray and pray and pray to reach this.

God, please help me.

Make me see Hope lie within the jar.

Please make me truly happy again.

Things will never be the same...

But can you give me the same feeling of happiness?

Can you hear my prayer?

Can I ask you again and again for happiness?

...If you’re there, please answer me:

Can you give me the happiness they gave me again?

I want to offer everything, my tomorrows for yesterday.

I want to see them again, smiling at me, laughing at some obscure joke, crying about mundane things, getting mad at things that didn’t really matter at due time.

I want to feel the happiness they gave me again.

I want to see them again in our same spot, welcoming me just by being there.

I want to eat with them and talk and laugh. They made my lunches delicious.

I want to hear them complain and I complain back about meaningless things that meant so much for us.

I want to walk with them before I go home.

I want to play with them with all smiles, occasional anger and resentment.

I want to hear their stories again, one by one, and relive and relive in it again and again.

I didn’t want our story to end.

It’s unfinished. Horrifyingly so.

But it is finished.

A cliffhanger that makes you want to punch the author on the gut.

An open ending with such vagueness that the ending might as well be as absurd as everyone has been eaten by Cthulhu.

An unfinished thought that you want to chuck your book across the room.

It’s the end. It’s the end.

Those words were deafening. Painful.

The End. I can’t accept that.

Death holds a sharp scythe on their hands. In one fell swoop, it’s all gone.

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