Since the very beginning, all you’ve ever felt you were good at was being worthless. Being absolutely of no use to anyone or anything, you’ve known from a very early age that being amount to something was a dream that will never come true, and for the most part, you were fine with it.
The heartfelt realisation of everything you touch surely dies didn’t come after repeated plays of Let Her Go by Passenger, but was something you’ve held throughout your life, accepting the truth without an ounce of fight.
'It is what it is', you’ve always thought. Some people weren't just meant to be of any good.
Miss Misfortune was your name, and you’ve walked through life accepting it. It never was a smooth sailing road, but it still was something.
But then, things took a turn towards something phenomenal; an extrodinary discovery, a fateful meeting, and you found yourself on a road you’ve never walked on before.
Gone were the misty damp sidewalks and dead trees. Gone were the stale, heavy wind and polluted air. Here, the trees were green, and for once in your life, you saw the sky shine cerulean blue above you, making you feel wonderstrucked at the sheer beauty of it all.
You were so busy exploring, that you forgot where you came from, and what you were. And that's exactly when the lines started to be rewritten.
Even if the name Misfortune was erased from your memory, she had followed you along the journey, hiding herself perfectly within the shadows. She lingers behind every tree you touched, and she bid her time.
This time what she planned for you was grand. She had brought all of her friends along for the show, but you saw none of them, as you were too busy looking at the birds and how they flew, secretly thinking you might try to be one of them someday.
She marked her presence slow. With a wiltering branch here and a dead leaf there, she moved like a snail. And when you finally did notice her presence, half of the trees around you were already beginning to die.
The feeling of devastation, is a heavy one. It's a desperate sort of emotion, and it comes with a touch of false hope, that makes you think a bucket of water can bring a vast garden back to life.
It's in the middle of these panic filled thoughts that your identity starts to come back. Your name is Miss Misfortune. Your hands are made for misery. And as you watch your beloved forest wilt, you remember that your fingerprints stayed on every little branch that now layed among the ashes.
It's a harsh feeling, not being of any use to the people you love. The emotion that bounds you in those moments, when you watch your loved ones suffer, without being able to do a single thing about it, is something that is unexplainable. It makes you feel helpless. Makes you feel worthless. And in the end, makes you blame yourself for the destruction.
Self blaming is a tool used by cowards. But I were never truly brave. I'm trying hard to be this time around though. I'm trying really hard.
"You see her when you close your eyes,
Maybe one day, you'll understand why,
Everything you touch surely dies..."