no tears soaked

Nur Annisa K.
2 min readMar 9, 2022

i woke up that morning and decided to cut my own hair. everyone says i look good with it, i agree — which is something i hardly do when people give remarks about my looks.

i am not going to look things up in my camera roll. i am not going to open my twitter and rant for two hours. i am not going to cry myself to sleep. i am not going to make any playlist about how sad i am — for i am not sad.

it’s quiet, like the dawn when i wake up at 4, as i listen to the alarms set by people across my room. it’s quiet, like the midnights i spend alone before, and i am okay with the lack of sounds.

it’s quiet and empty, and it’s clean.

and somehow i know i won’t talk about it any longer. or to mention about it. like the storms that swiped surabaya weeks ago, my surroundings grow back in dignity, in their indifference, in solitude. and sometimes it makes me want to be a tree.

i always love slow songs, but sometimes i listen to the loud ones only to let myself scream in outrage. now i have no anger left in me.

maybe i will take some steps backward, but it’s okay, i learn hard enough to hold my impulse system, and i promise i will disappear the next second i get the urge to be seen.

i go back and forth to these four stages, and today i learn how to walk again. the storms have cleared, the road is empty, the sun is yet to come out, i pack my bag and leave, quietly, with no tears soaked.

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Nur Annisa K.

A museum of unarticulated thoughts and monologues. I narrate things and take some notes inside my head.