I closed my eyes, letting the tears that began to well on my glassy eyes to fall straight to my cheeks as it slides past my lips, giving me a taste of the salty liquid. My nose felt the burning sensation and my whole face started to feel heated, blood rushing to my head as I try my very best not to let out a voice. The air around me felt stuffy, but I couldn’t help but to bring my knees closer to my chest because I find no comfort in everything else. In my head, I imagined a presence; a presence that offered their arms and shoulders, shushing my wails as they reached out their fingers to wipe the tears that are staining my cheeks. It felt very realistic as I could hear them say “It will all pass. You’ll find comfort in the end,” with absolute assurance. I weakly nodded, my face still deeply buried in their shoulder as they continuously tried to pacify me. As my ragged breathing gradually became regular, my puffy eyes began to close out of fatigue - the pacifying voices too began to sound blurry and incoherent.

The reality is that the presence I felt during the arduous night, the presence that I thought have accompanied and comforted me was my very own self. I wiped my own tears, I hugged and shushed myself and I was the one who reassured my broken self that it will all pass. I pretended to be someone I wish I had in order to pick myself up from the ground.. Because there’s no one else to do it for me.