This revives something I’ve always been experiencing all this time.
A thing I’ve been trying to bury lately, because it decayed me gradually.
It pains me so.
But Gregor Samsa teached me to embrace it all the more gracefully,
beautiful as it should’ve been.
Why didn’t I shift the lens I’m looking through? As a dear friend recently suggested.
Why should I be afraid of it?
Of the idea, that… for some amount of time my presence is needed,
but the next second my presence turns into plague for everyone around me
everyone that matters to me,
that there’s nothing left for me to do
other than step back cautiously,
stand still and let myself evaporates into the air?
Leaving nothing but memory
to those person who didn’t a wee bit realised
how much they’re changed by the momentary plague?
Thus, ‘metamorphosis’ doesn’t stand for my presence,
but for the state those whom I love are transformed into.
I shall now cry in liberating joy, no more in painful hollow.