When that day comes

When that day comes, I’ll be alive again. My chest won’t be aching. It won’t feel empty or, better yet, hollow—as if nothing can ever fill it up again.

My days won’t be a never-ending routine from which I can’t escape no matter how hard I try; I won’t regret them coming as soon as I open my tired eyes.

They will be filled with things that I love, things I enjoy. Filled with the endless thought of you, the sweet impatience of seeing you again, hearing you again, kissing you again, holding you again.

My feet will touch the air, higher than ever and nothing will hold me back. No amount of logic will be able to restrain me, or keep me sane and quiet. I will be light as a little feather, eyes full of sparkle, and crazy as hell—with no limits. Crazy as hell, but enough to make me find some peace and excitement in this thing we called life.

I will be empowered, and strong. Nothing will be able to shake me, or rattle my balance; even if it is still unknown. I won’t be afraid of tomorrow, and what it will bring. And even if I do get afraid, I won’t let that hit my rock bottom.

The songs won’t be sad anymore; I won’t avoid listening to the radio. The speakers will be blasting those songs that make me smile, or make me think of you. And somewhere between the singing along and the lyrics, I’ll know that everything will be okay.

I won’t carry that weight with me wherever I go. It won’t make me feel worthless, miserable or even yet pathetic. I won’t have to face the absence or the longing that comes along with despair.

I won’t rest in my bed every night staring at the ceiling wondering… or overthinking. I won’t think that once again the day that just passed was a lost one. I won’t sleep for endless hours just to avoid being awake. My pillow won’t be best friends with my tears or my heavy breathing. It won’t hear my screams anymore, those screams that have no sound but can cut deep within, without anyone knowing.

I won’t be a bad company for my friends or avoid the world with its’ people entirely. I will be twice better than the person I already am. I will have something to say again; something to give. I won’t avoid looking people in the eyes, being afraid that they’ll understand my sadness. I won’t be labeled as cranky, weird or out of place. I will be myself again in all the right ways.

My mind will be free. Free of fear, insecurity, worrying. Instead, it will be full of faith. It won’t wander around looking just for the negative. It won’t fall into that trap again, assuming that it is in denial to escape out of it. Not anymore.

My voice won’t be heavy, as if it is trying to make it obvious that I’m not alright. It won’t shake, it won’t tremble everything it has to answer the question “How are you?”. It will be steady, sure; peaceful but still loud, as it usually is.

That physical pain of missing you won’t be here—instead, I’ll be admiring the view. Your view. And in that moment, I’m sure that I’ll know that this whole thing is worth it. But most of all, it is something real.

My soul will finally be serene, knowing that it couldn’t possibly feel any better than this; because it has found all it’s asking for.

So when that day comes… it will be wandering near you, loving your light and your darkness.

Just like it always has.