Monday Mornings

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I hate the way the alarm clock rings- always have, always will. It breaks the peace, if I'm
sleeping, that is. If I'm just lying awake, then it just breaks the tension, breaks my slowly
slipping grip on consciousness. It always rings just as I am peaceful, just as I am happy, just as I
forget about everything. Forget reality- unconsciousness always pulls up memories and the strongest
feelings to replicate and twist around in my dreams, to my favour, usually. But it hurts that much
more when I wake up to the truth. And as much as I can tell myself over and over that I'm over it,
that I'm done with them, my dreams question my lies, even though I may forget in the morning. I
can't hide from myself, as hard as I try, but I can hide from others. Masking my emotions, pretend
that it doesn't hurt, that I'm not sitting there, with that smile that seems casual, pretend
that everybody believes me. Because they do, they do. Or maybe they're just too wrapped up in
their own problems to care, I'm not sure. At least no one makes a big deal, but then again-
wouldn't it have been so much easier if I knew someone cared? I guess it doesn't really matter,
anyways. There goes that alarm clock again, its panicked beats growing louder and faster. I can try
to shut it out, but each time, no success. Then I have to wake up all over again, and realise the
truth. Very repetitive, gets tiring, everyday, even though the hurt of the whole awakening process
never fades, but maybe one day, if I'm lucky, it will. When? I don't know, but my problems will
probably be long gone when the time comes for the hurt to fade, and they will be replaced with
fresher, rawer feelings of guilt, jealousy, anger, sadness and longing.





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