I have never been the one to run from what I feel,
or swallow what I feel.
It's been more than a month since I've written.
I am feeling exactly what one will feel after a month of being "too busy" to deal with feelings
I feel emotionally constipated,
in short, I feel numb.
I have made myself busy, tired, angry.
I ignored the sad, the depressed, the want to die.
Here I am with emotions overload and I am trying to find peace in places that I know has none.

I have felt angry
because how dare life!
How dare life make me work for the next 30 to 40 years just so I can have a life!
It's not even to enjoy life, it's just to have the slight option of having a life.
How dare life demands so much positivity from me when so much has left me so empty!
How dare I want love!
How dare I want to come home to someone who loves me!
How dare I want something that has been seen everywhere!
How dare I want someone to hold and to hold me!
How dare I want to have a place to call home!
How dare I just want peace.

I realize this year that kindness is linked to love and being loved.
I find myself consciously being aware of times when I am being nice.
Buying an extra soda for my mum when she broke her glasses,
telling my best friend I love her when things are bad.
I never knew how much I didn't care anymore until I cared.
It felt like an awakening, or rather a revelation from myself to myself.
It explained my lack of writing,
my lack of interest in anything that tries to stir up any emotions,
my complete disregard for the presence of any empathy and compassion that I sometimes feel.

To be honest, I don't care.
I don't care if the world is burning or if I am burning
I mean, in the grand spectrum of things,
everything is bullshit.
I am so angry that everything is bullshit.
I try so hard to find meaning or put meaning to things.
If everything is bullshit and everything means nothing,
I am that idiot that tries to ignore the big picture
because so what if she still remembers my birthday and I feel happy that she remembers.
So what if I traveled the world?
So what if I have not felt peace or sanity in a long time, what if that's the last time I felt like someone could love me?
or I have not had a hug, a long proper hug in a while?
So what if I wanted that?
What if I just want life to be good to be for a bit?
What if I just stop trying?
What if I died?

If everything is nothing,
I have wasted my time and I am tired.

A farewell perhaps?

I spent the last 7 months getting myself ready to let go

of every message you have ever sent me.

I feel like I am finally there. 

I don't look at your messages anymore,

no longer fall asleep to the sound of your "good night, I love you".

When it's close to midnight, 

I take off my glasses, make sure my phone is charged,

switched off the lights and just go to sleep.

When I am depressed and can't get out of bed, 

I just stay in bed but it's no longer because of you.

Somehow I am here, already able to see the end of the tunnel,

still reluctant to walk away from the comfort of the dark, which was to miss and love you.

This feels like a goodbye, a farewell,

one that I need to stop myself from running back to.

You are the greatest love story of my life. 

You made me believe in love, fate and all the stories that I have ever heard.

You were the one, my sun, my moon.

You will continue to be the first that I love,

I don't think I will ever stop loving you.

I no longer live for you

but saying that, I mean I no longer want to live at all.

It will be close to two years now,

I think I should at least try.

I believe I have experienced one of the greatest things in life 

which is loving and being loved by you.

I don't know if that is ever going to be enough for me.

If I am ever going to end my life,

then my greatest sin would be loving you. 

25 things I learn/am reminded of in March of 2017

1. March is not a good month for me.
2. A black hole in your chest can still hurt even though it's empty.
3. Love doesn't mean the same thing to everyone.
4. The people you love will hurt you, especially when you don't expect them to.
5. The people that love us the most in the world, are the hardest for us to hear.
6. The lucky ones are the ones who are loved exactly the way they wanted.
7. I am allowed to still love you with so much and still walk away.
8. Under no circumstance should you ever lose your temper with the ones who love you.
9. Words of comfort from the ones who love you are never intended to harm you.
10. Always run to those who love you.
11. Your circumstances in life are not an excuse for your behavior.
12. Wisdom does not come with age.
13. Understanding comes with a level of respect.
14. It's okay to leave when people push you away.
15. Under no circumstance should you ever say something because it will help you in that moment and only in that moment.
16. Feeling hurt when paired together with acceptance of loss brings a comfortable amount of peace.
17. You are allowed to blame yourself for things. Just don't believe it.
18. Always communicate what you want and what you need from someone. Do that even when they are not listening, at least you can say you did your part.
19.The words "best friends" are cursed for me.
20. Life is too short for being "too little".
21. Love even when love has let you down because it is the people that you love that disappoints you, not love.
22. There is strength in continuing to love even when you are broken and gasping.
23. Not everyone wants your love, it's okay, you can give it to someone else who wants it.
24. It is okay to mourn for people who left. They were important.
25. Always fight for what and who you love. Don't let your regrets be losing them because you were too scared to fight. Fight.

To remember.

Remember when we went ice skating around this time last year?
People were either whooshing past us, or
clinging onto the sides, like you?
It was the first time I could properly hold you in public.
You were scared of falling,
you vowed off skating fifteen minutes into the rink.
It was the only time when it was acceptable to hold you so close.

It's been close to a year.
We were over for close to a year.
You said you didn't love me nine months ago,
stopped picking up my calls, replying me seven months ago.
Stopped saying you love me, whatever that means, three months ago.
Became someone else, two months ago.

Well,
I collapsed crying on the floor of a cold shower nine months ago.
Stopped eating, started having nightmares of losing you seven months ago.
Started imagining scenarios of you coming back as a friend, whatever, three months.
Started gaining all the weight I lost, back from emotional eatings two months ago.
Stopped loving you, never.

I remember how your lips melt into mine.
I remember how it felt to hold you, the way you fit in my arms.
I remember your smell, your butterfly kisses that I don't understand,
I remember how your eyes look like in the dark.
I remember kissing you good night, a kiss to keep away the bad juju.
I remember loving you, I still remember loving you.

10 things I found to be true after 23 years of living.

1. God is good.

2. Too much cheese will give you gas.

3, When you are in that "headspace", every hello will sound like a different version of "I'm sorry" and goodbye's, they'll sound like "Take care, I love you so much".

4. Sometimes "I love you" isn't enough. "I love you" does not make acceptance rain down from heaven. I learn that "I love you" na matter how many times it is said, it does not make people stay.

5. Heartbreaks are shit. Even after a million times. They will still feel like drowning, in a storm with crashing waves that keep you underwater. They will leave you cold, crying and broken. I learn that it hurts even more when you begged them to stay.

6.   There is always something calming about sipping drinks with straws. I like holding my drink with both hands. It makes me feel content.

7. You are loved even if you don't believe it. People will give you their jackets. They will call. They let you stay with them because you couldn't do anything else but stay in bed. They will knock on your door and let themselves in because they know you won't get the door. You are loved. You just need to choose to see that they are there because people cannot save you if you keep jumping into the hole that you got pull out of.

8. Pain is gift to writers. With pain, comes the romanticization of heartbreak and letting go. Pain will be given a face, a personality. Sometimes pain will feel sorry that he or she is visiting. In some stories, pain is a long lost friend, accompanied by anxiety and depression. Writers often paint pain in black and white and call it "colorful". I picture pain as red. I guess it's supposed to mean "Stop", "Danger", "Run" but guess who ran head first and got the wind knocked out of her? Me

9. It does make a difference when someone loves you. Someone wise once said, "Being loved is not the same thing as loving." When you are loved, you become a manifestation of calm waters and late nights. Being loved releases you from the cage that you build around yourself. Being loved reminds you that love is a real thing even if you cannot see it.

10. When I was 21, I wrote about not understanding the concept of happiness and love. I also wrote that I don't like birthdays. I am 23 this year. I have had a brief meeting with happiness and love. I like birthdays now. Two years, so much has changed and happened. Despite all the changes, God is still good.

A marriage proposal that I will never get make.

I knew exactly what love looks like.

When I saw you at the airport, luggage in hand, 

eyes still hazy from sleep, I knew you were everything I could ever asked for.

When you wake up in the morning, grumpy, 

morning breath, shirt up to your stomach, 

love of my life.

If someone asked where I see myself in ten years,

"Me and her in a condo", I'd say.

We would have a big couch with white goose feather pillows,

a kitchen with brightly colored utensils.

I see us dancing in the living room, kissing with juice-stained lips,

We would try to count the stars from our bedroom window,

pretend we live in another galaxy, with our pet dog.

If someone asked where I see myself in ten years,

I say I'd be with you in our little piece of heaven,

Being loved by you is the most painless thing that I never deserved,

Being loved by you felt like turning at the last right on the way back home. 

You make me want to wave at strangers that pass by me,
make me want to go skydiving even though I have a fear of heights.

You make me feel like I can never drown when I swim,
like I can never die; and if I do, it's okay.

You make me feel like I have nothing to be afraid of. 

When I am with you, there was nothing I couldn't do.

Of all the times that I have pictured you in a wedding dress, 

this was the one time when I also see myself next to you. 

If I had a dollar for the times when people asked if I was sure,

I could pay for the rest of our lives. 

I get to hold your hand forever, wake up next to you, kiss you good night,

tell you to get milk, drive you to places, eat burgers - forever. 

You are my best friend and my soul mate.

When I kiss you, I can taste the next fifty years of my life.

I promise to love you, treasure you and call you Sugarpie for as long as I'm alive.
I love you so much.

Will you marry me?

Questions that I want to ask you but never will.

There are so many questions that I want to ask when you told me you were meeting him.

Do you think of me when you hold his hand?
Is mine smaller than his?
Does he know or remember how your skin is smooth like marble,
as if the marble itself were hand picked by Gods himself.
Does his hand feel any different than mine?
Does his feel rough like all the work that he says he is supposedly doing
or is mine rougher from all walls that I had to climb through to get to you.
Does it feel like you're holding onto him or
does it feel like he doesn't want to let you go?
Does he look at your hands when you're holding his?
Does he hold onto your hands so tightly
that he feels like you might slip away and never come back?
Does he feel as lucky as I do when I am with you?

Then, I realize that you always hug him.
Does he smell of cologne?
Do you feel like your problems are fading away when you bury yourself in his arms?
Do you remember me?
Do you ever compare the way we held you?
Was I ever too tight? Or too eager? Were my shoulders broad enough for you?
Am I at the back of your head as he wraps his arms around you?
Does he ever realize when you are slipping away?
I remember, the way you turn your head sidewards
while you put your hands against my chest to pull away.
I remember how your eyes were dead.
I remember how you talked to everything around you but me,
and I had to play it off like I didn't mind.
Does he try to make any hug last longer? Does he try like I do?
Does he feel as happy when he is with you as I do?

And you cautiously told me that you kiss him.
Do you look at him the way you look at me?
Does he notice how your eyes can sparkle in low light?
Does he notice how you laugh when he pulls you in for another kiss?
Do you remember me when his lips grazed across yours?
Kissing you felt like kissing flower petals.
I wonder if you ever felt the exact way for him before you did for me.
Do you look at him the way you still looked at me?
Does it feel wrong to kiss two people the way that you do?

And when you told me, you still tell him that you love him..
Shit, that sucked.
It really did.
I felt that my chest was ripped open, my heart taken out,
only to have it shoved back in through my ribcage.
Do you tell him those three words before you go to sleep?
Does he say it back?
Do you mean it when you say it to him?
Do you think of me every time you say it to him?
You have deemed him worthy of those words.
Was I not enough to be more than a secret?
Do you think about the last time that you will say it to him?
What about me?
Have you ever meant it when you told me you love me?

Autumns and him.

I have never met you.
When I think of you,
I think of autumn,
breezy afternoons and chilly winds.

I was told that autumn can be quite cold
and somehow,
I can imagine us taking a walk in the park.
Hand in hand,
fingers interlocked.
I don't know how cold I'd be but
in this imagination of mine,
your hands were warm.

In my mind,
we were wearing scarfs of the same color.
In my mind,
 we are walking hand in hand in the same park.

Rage

Sometimes I feel it bubbling inside of me,
like a ticking bomb, a land mine.
A slight pressure, at the right time, wrong time,
Boom.
Casualties everywhere.
You know what's the worse part,
I don't care.

I could snap your neck,
stab you in the chest,
rip out your throat,
break your arms,
crush your legs.
I could cause you so much pain,
look you in the eye,
and not feel a thing.

How do you know you're in love.

How do you know you're in love with them (or anyone in general):
There they go. As flawless as they can be. Everything about them makes you smile like a kid at the carnival for the first time. You can't blame yourself because you're in love with them. How in the world did you end up here? You feel like everything in your life has happened and aligned so that you could be at this place to meet them. They were everything you wanted and needed. You are happy after a very long time.

When you hold their hand for the first time, their hands feel like the right temperature, the right size. Waves of excitement and joy rush over you and drags you under. Then, you found out that you can breathe underwater. What joy! This is the most amazing feeling ever. The first kiss. The first time you went on a date. The first phone call. The first sleepover. You will feel invincible, like nothing can kill you. You were on top of the world. It doesn't matter if someone came and knock you down. With them, you could just climb up again, no biggie.

To be loved.

When I was younger, I was a ball of anger, fury and pain. I went through old diaries and journals. It spoke of nothing but pain and my love for other people. I think I didn't know how to love myself so I just ended up giving away every piece of myself even to people who don't deserve it. It sounds cliche but it is cliche for a reason. It happens.

I wanted to be loved but I refused to give anyone the permission to love me. That made a lot of things harder. In spite of that, I know now, that I just wanted to be loved so fiercely that I have no way of doubting it. That is how I loved people. You can never doubt I love you. You will be that sure of me.

I'd give myself a hug. I think that's all I wanted, really. I wanted someone to hug me and stay there for 15 minutes. I wanted to be loved.

I love you.

Those three words are said too much,
they're not enough.
They became merely words,
with no promises, no hope, empty.

Then,
there was you.
I'd regret it if I didn't tell you that enough.

Bathrooms.

At 14, I was sitting in showers crying my eyes out while rivers of red were pouring from my wrists.

At 18, I was in the same spot in the bathroom. This time, passed out in a pool of my own tears and blood, from the same stream of red.

At 21, I remember how to take showers and sing. The walls no longer represent solitude.

At a week before I turn 22, these walls are no longer cages for secrets. 

Still wants.

I would like to think that I could be happy.
I would like to believe, to see, to be,
To be happy.

I would love to think that pain does not hold me hostage
but every time,
I try to take a step forward with happiness,
Pain shuts the barred windows and doors,
Trapping me in this vortex of what is eventually called depression.

I am trying, I swear.
For you, I'd try to scale the Empire State Building, despite my fear of heights.
No one explains how hard it is for you to explain yourself to others
Especially when you're in situations that they have yet to experienced.
I don't know how to explain my depression to you.
I don't know how to explain my pain.
I guess I cannot blame you for asking.
Like the others, I think you cared.

I still want to think that I can be happy.
I still want to believe that I'll wake up to a day with clear skies.
I don't know how to do all of this life thing
but I promise you,
I would want to be happy.

I still do.

Atlas and His Punishment.

When the Titans lost their war against the Olympians,
Atlas was condemned by Zeus to bear heaven's weight on his shoulders.
His punishment was a series of cramping wrists and stuttering kneecaps,
shaking arms and shoulders that bent over like all the apologies in the world.
No amount of suffering or prayers will ever earn him
the forgiveness of the supreme ruler of the gods.
I guess it's understandable that he suffers.
It is retribution for going against the most powerful god of all.

When I am curled up in my own bed, I often ask myself
if any of my wrongdoings has resulted in this form of punishment.
The weight of the day greeted my waking body like the aftermath of a hurricane.
My shoulders mirror the act of Atlas balancing the heavens,
except the heavens replaced by my anxiety and my desperate need to be good enough.
My arms cramped from the way I wrapped them around myself.
I bite my teeth down so hard that I was made believe that
my voice was never meant to be heard.
I broke and crumbled, without falling down.

Perhaps I am the daughter of Atlas, reincarnated
over the centuries to share the burden of what was once my father's punishment.
Perhaps my pain will act as the head of a decapitated prisoner, stuck on a pole
high up, as a warning to those who might stray.

Then,
Perhaps I am Atlas himself, wiped clean off all memories of the past,
with only the loud echos of never ending pain,
as a faint reminder of doing what I thought was right.

Breaking my own promise.

I promised myself that I wouldn't talk about her anymore, that I would stop dedicating words to her,  words she will never read. Then, it became evident to me that there were imprints of her everywhere. I see it in my stories, my poems, my conversations and even in my reaction towards a new friend. I swore to never talk about her again but she's everywhere.

When I see the word best friend anywhere, my mind still goes to her even though she no longer holds the title. The feeling of this is like a recovering alcoholic seeing a sign pointing to a bar. Their first instinct tells them to go in and order a drink. Then, their senses come to them and they have to consciously convince themselves to walk away because going in will not help them in any way.

Time and time again, my mind will unconsciously remember the good times that we had, which triggered a lot of the bad memories. I would usually stop myself from going down to memory lane but sometimes, I would allow myself a short stroll and everytime without fail, I will end up missing her.

We don't talk anymore. It's horrible because now, even our small talk is awkward. We couldn't get two sentences out with that gaping feeling between us. And every time she talks to me, I wonder if she misses me. I never understood how people can just go around pretending like they never once knew everything about this person. I never understood how they manage to put away all these memories and information like it never mattered. 

There was a quote that I saw on tumblr, I don't remember it exactly but it goes along those lines, "He always photographed the thing that he loved but he never took a photo of me". I was in a lot of her photos before. Back then, I will always be somewhere in the picture. Now, you can't even tell that we're friends. I was happy then. Spending time with her was nice, I could talk to her about anything and she always made me laugh. She kept me calm, she kept me sane. She was my own sun. Was. Now, I can't remember what her laugh sounds like. 

I would like to think that she was using me because believing that is less painful than to believe that I just wasn't relevant anymore. However, as much as I don't want to believe it, I know that at some point, I did mean something to her and she really did loved me. My judgement about people hasn't failed me yet. So, up until some point, she really was my friend. My only mistake was to believe that that will never change. 

I stop telling people the details of our friendship. It used to be long, detailed paragraphs of stories. Now I replace those stories with "We don't talk anymore" and "I don't know, she never responded and I gave up eventually". I stop telling the stories because relieving the memories bring me pain. I no longer see the reason to put myself through it anymore.  I'd like to think that she doesn't care because it will help me move on from this. However, I saw a quote that says this, "There are two reasons why people don't talk about things, either it doesn't mean anything to them or it means everything". I don't know which one is she.

I think, among all the friends that I've made over the years, I will always love her the most. I mean, how can I still, after everything? But I do, I still do.

Suicide

Most of us are baffled at our own prospects of death. I think it's because of the mystery to it. I mean, we don't know when it will happen or how it would happen. So, we mask that curiosity, that fear of it sometimes, by being busy, being occupied and being oblivious. Most of us think that our end of the road is old age, grandkids or perhaps, success. The very idea that "lives can be cut short either deliberately or not" is a myth, a fairy tale made up to scare us into taking risks and aiming for the stars.

Kristina Akana, 1993-2007, she ended her own life on Valentine's Day. I just finished reading her sister, Anna's book, Surviving Suicide. Anna wrote about the aftereffects of a suicide. People always talk about why people shouldn't kill themselves and how much people will miss them but I have never seen anything told from the the perspective of someone that was left behind. That is up until now.

I have never had friends or family who were claimed way before the expiry date by suicide. However, I have friends who, fortunately, failed at their attempts to take their own life. Two were when I had to talk to them relentlessly because there was nothing else I could do. One was after she had her stomach pumped. I remember the panic when I hear "I'm sorry" and that lump in my throat that won't go down no matter how many times I swallow. I remember bargaining with God even though the life at risk is not mine. I remember that sensation of vertigo when they dropped the other line of the call. I remember hearing train tracks and the sound of her sobs.

Anna talked about how her brain was far from reality when she got the call that her sister tried to hang herself. Her response was "Oh My God, she's going to be grounded for a very long time" or something along those lines. I guess, it is normal for us to not accept the visit of the Grim Reaper, especially when you are not expecting him. Sometimes, I do wonder. I wonder if they ever stop crying. I wonder if they ever stop picturing her face when they hear "Kristina' or if they ever stop missing her. I wonder if Kristina wished that she stayed. I wonder if she is happy now.

I hope, I solemnly hope to God that she is.

Day 3 of 30 Day Poem Challenge: Find the nearest book (of any kind). Turn to page 8. Use the first ten full words on the page in a poem. You may use them in any order, anywhere in the poem.

Are you still here? I'm afraid you already left.
Some days I miss you more, even when you are there
Mornings are the worst, especially after I have dreams of you.
I can still feel your warmth as if you never left, your cologne still lingers on my clothes.
Can you stay any longer, I asked, then you smiled,
Tell me you love me, you whispered.
He's leaving,
Rushing to live a life where he's free from everyone, including me
me, I can't let him stay if he doesn't want to. Instead,
Off you go, I said, my mistake was not telling him that I loved him.

Love letters.

I'm sorry I can't write you a love letter.
No, I don't mean "those" letters.
You know, the ones that involve words like,
You and I, forever, house, children, mortgages,
and occasionally, your parents suck.
Love letters, the type I meant were
the ones where you tell them about a place that you went to
because they love the color red.
Then, you'd tell them about the person that you met recently
and how this person's laugh is similar to theirs.
Letters where profanities and insults were the language of endearment,
and I think, it will probably end with,
"Dude, text me. Why are you writing?"
Letters like these are never long,
sometimes they are a beautifully sculpted essay, using words such as,
flamboyant, combust, dynamic, serendipity.
Sometimes they are a random string of words, like
pizza, hippopotamus, Herbie, smelly, you.
Another thing about these letters is that
it made sense either way because it was written to you,
only you,
with love.

I can't write love letters anymore.
The last person I wrote to stopped talking to me,
and now, I am writing this to you
after deleting 290 photos of me and her at 3 in the morning.
I am not a person who is good with speech, or affection
or love, or relationships.
The only thing that allows me to properly explain the things that I feel
is a pen and paper.
Therefore, love letters, they are a manifestation of everything that I am afraid to say and
even everything that I refuse to say.
When I write to you,
no other thoughts but you will occupy my mind.
You will be my sole muse, my inspiration until the very last word
which is where I sign "Love, Tryphena"
I would use words to paint you like a picture, in hopes that
you would understand how I see you as a human being.
I have a knack for seeing things about people that are not noticed by many,
I'll tell you how you always keep your arms close to your body,
like somehow, you are trying to make yourself smaller or to preserve body heat.
I'll tell you how you always smile differently in pictures, especially the ones taken with me.
I'll tell you that people love you and you shouldn't be with someone who doesn't.
I'll tell you how you always change the topic to something else when it's a question that you didn't want to answer.
Then, to make things worse,
I'll tell you how different I am when I am with you.
I'll give you examples, references, citations, everything to show
how your existence is so important to me.
I'll tell you that you're the last thing on my mind when I go to sleep.
I'll tell you that I am comfortable with you, even when we're both in decade-old PJs.
I'll tell you that I check your "last seen" on whatsapp when I couldn't sleep.
I'll tell you that I never stopped loving you.

If I write you a love letter,
I am giving you my heart, my self-esteem, my self-worth on a silver platter.
If I write you a love letter,
you are given the ability to crush me into a million pieces in the time span that ranges from one millisecond,
to three years,
or more, your choice.
If I write you a love letter,
I am exposing myself to you in a way
that I later will suffer maximum damage from
if you ever plan on killing me.
If I write you a love letter,
I won't be able to take any of it back if you chose to leave,
and I will be left here with all the words that I ever wrote to you,
stuck in the back of my throat.

In spite of this,
if I write you a love letter,
you should know that I must really really love you.

A good dream about you.

I dreamt of you last night.

You had bangs again and your hair was shorter just like when we first met.

Things were already different in the dream, 

it was like an exact replica of reality but

the only difference is that we're talking in my dream.

You asked me if I want to go crab fishing with you.

I very very happily agreed to. 

The time was set as present time, present day.

Again, the only difference is that 

we're at the same place at the same time,

You still smelled the same, the odd combination of perfume and cigarettes.

Your hair still did that same thing where it danced in the wind.

I still remember how you always grabbed your hair when it fell into your eyes,

then you'd crinkle your eyes as it tickles your nose.

We recalled another inside joke and

you laughed.

I can still remember it being so loud, vibrant and 

I was so aware that it was a dream that I didn't want to blink.

I was afraid if I opened my eyes again, this dream was over. 

My eyes dilated so much due to the lack of blinking,

I was trying to memorize everything that was happening

because I knew it wasn't real, it wasn't real.

When I woke up, I was in tears. 

I painfully pulled myself away from the remaining memories of the dream

just like how you try to pick glass pieces from your skin. 

You can't really get all of the shards, so you just take your time.

I spent all morning, trying to forget you again.

The process of this became more of a habit but it doesn't make it hurt less.

Now I am stuck with the best parts of the dream and I don't know how to forget it. 

I hear your laughter ring in my ear, I hear your voice, god, I'd still drop everything for you.

You know what's the worse part?

The worse part is that I am sitting here, writing about you,

just like I did over the last 2 years. 

I thought I will never write about you ever again

but here I am, sitting in front of my blog,

writing an article, a blog post, a poem, about you,

Another bad thing that comes with this is that

I will spend the entire day missing you.