• You wouldn’t be proud of me now.

    by  • December 11, 2017 • 1 Comment

    I’ve always believed that you would some how be proud of me when I grow older. You would dismiss all my flaws ,including the mistakes I had made, and you’d look above what I actually had accomplished yet somehow you found something to praise about me.

    I’ve always looked up to you, in fact I still do. You were my inspiration; my energy to keep doing this, to keep writing. But now times have changed. Four years have passed and I still feel the same from the day you left. I feel heart broken. My family ask me things when I make mistakes; “Would he be proud of you?”. I know the answer. I know the answer when I cry about you. I know the answer when I’m angry at the fact that you are no longer apart of this planet.

    The answer is: no. Why would you even be proud of me in the first place? I was a dumb kid back then. I made you laugh a lot because I’d have a silly grin on my face which brightened everyone’s day. Now I walk round and people look at me. They know I’ve changed. I felt different. I am different now because I feel as though you never believed in me.

    You were never proud of what I had accomplished when you were alive.

    Dear You,

    by  • December 11, 2017 • 0 Comments

    Maybe it was I who got it all wrong. It was I who read too much from your actions and words, it was I who hoped too much to be kept by you when you only want me to be yours when convenient. You were the cup of tea I always reach out in the morning to keep me invigorated, and I was the umbrella you just get whenever you need.

    Maybe it was I who gave too much. It was I who gave you every piece of me without expecting anything in return. It was I who would have reached for the stars if I could, cause I know how much you adore them. It was I who would give you the last piece of cookie I have even I haven’t eaten the whole day, cause I want to see you full.

    Maybe it was I who couldn’t sleep because of you. You were the only one in my mind, and God knows how much I want to be you. Every moment, I always yearn to be beside you. It was I who played all those melodies and dedicate them all to you. It was I who wrote you countless letters to tell you how much I love you.

    Maybe it was only I.

    Cause you cannot love me the way I love you. You can’t give me things without expecting anything. You wouldn’t reach for the stars no matter how much I adore them. You would take the last cookie even if I haven’t eaten all the day.

    You can sleep at night even if I am not well. You don’t think of me. You don’t even love me.

    Why do we have to fall in love with people who do not know how to love someone back? Why do we end up hurting in the end when all that we do is to love sincerely? Why do we have to write songs to people who do not even appreciate you?

    Why did I even fall in love with you?

    I want u because I don’t know how not to

    by  • December 11, 2017 • 4 Comments

    I can’t help it – I want you because I don’t know how to not want you. I don’t like not knowing how to do things but incidentally no one has any helpful advice. Sometimes I wish I could just remove the want, extract it, but I get the feeling the want is not one of those things you can readily extract, like rotten teeth or slow-moving venom. The want is undulating somewhere in the ether. I tell myself I shouldn’t want you because you’re not mine, and I can understand all the sensible and convincing reasons I shouldn’t, but when it comes to the actual practice of not wanting you, something falls off that table of logic and splatters unceremoniously all over the floor.

    I try to train myself to pass your name through my head neutral like everyone else’s but when I hear someone say it, or when I say it to myself like I do, my heart forgets what it’s doing and starts to pound in double bass, and it’s equal parts exciting and squirmy-uncomfortable, a lot like being somewhere uptight in the daytime but also being on drugs.

    Everyone says that time is the answer but I honestly feel like time makes it worse.

    I want you because there aren’t any good words for who you are. The only ones that come to mind are earnest, sad clichés like “amazing” and “magnetic” and “fascinating” and I don’t want to use them, but on the other hand they are the only words, and cliché or not they are honest words and I’m not sure consulting a thesaurus at this point would be genuine. And it’s not that I want you officially, like I want your last name or your Sunday mornings or your hard shiny promise, I just want to absorb you. I want to know what you know, want to hear your stories, want to filter through them gently and get lost in them, them and the soft hypnosis of your hands in my hair. I want you because I know you can make me forget about time. I want you because you and I, the thought of you and I. Those letters forming those words, those words sticking together, the jellyfish swell and shrink in my chest when I think about what they mean. You and I could be something together, that’s why I want you. Something that’s made of us and also isn’t, something different, the way hydrogen and oxygen are indistinguishable in a molecule of water. And I know we can’t be anything, I know that, but when has knowing anything stopped me from feeling it? Knowing better stopped me from wanting it. And I want you because I can’t have you: I want you so bad sometimes I don’t want you at all because I know that having you, keeping you would change you into something else, something neither of us ever want you to be. You’re not that type. Some moments I wish you were, for my own selfish and transient reasons, but then I know it wouldn’t be you anymore so I stop wishing. The truth is, I want you as you are, but I’m scared of wanting you like that because if I happen to slip, if I lose my footing, if I slip and spiral down the twisted tunnel of possibility and grab onto you too tightly, I know you’ll fold in on yourself and disappear without a memory; wither and blacken in my hands like fresh radium that disintegrates instantly when exposed to air. ?????????????????????

    I’m counting the weeks

    by  • December 11, 2017 • 0 Comments

    Isn’t it weird how we used to count the hours until we saw each other. You NEVER sorted out your stuff even though I asked you over and over again. We finally got together and I’ve never been with anyone who constantly questioned my honesty and truth, but because we were friends and for such a long time, I gave you more chances than I would anyone else.

    Now I’m just counting down the weeks until you move out and I have my house back to myself. I can’t wait.

    At first we both cried and I was so upset to even have to come to this decision but now that I have, there is no turning back. I often wonder why I kept going for so long with you? Probably because I just wanted to give you another chance.

    Interesting how when a man knows that there is no chance, and I’ve seen this before, you start to act like an a$$.

    For the very first time I said that after this relationship is over, I want to keep in touch with you, but since you are starting to show me a side i’ve never seen before, I’m starting to wonder if I really do.

    Whilst it may be over between us as partners, all it takes is some maturity to be able to still be loving, civil and friendly to each other. After all, there was a time that we were both in love with each other; you say you still are with me; I am not with you.

    I love you as a person, I care that you will be OK. Sadly, and you admitted this to me, that you have relied on me too much. I read something just recently about this and it was summed up so well. ‘when you take someone for granted and you push them away and they come back. Don’t keep pushing them because one day, they won’t”. You have started and have been taking me for granted for a while now and I’m not here to carry you anymore.

    Time for you to man up; get a job; move out (life is exciting.. it’s just a matter of attitude) and get on with your life; as I’m no longer a part of yours in the way that you want.

    Remembering

    by  • December 11, 2017 • 1 Comment

    Didn’t we have some fun, love?
    Didn’t we have some laughs?
    Didn’t we have some cuddles?
    Didn’t we have some dirty, depraved sex?
    Didn’t we have some intensely beautiful love making sessions?
    Didn’t we get into some states together?
    Didn’t we know eachother inside and out?
    I miss it all. I miss you..
    All gone now, and in the past; forgotten.
    Do you ever think of any of it?
    Do you ever remember how much I loved you?
    Do you ever think of me at all?
    I’m intrigued to know if you ever thought that what we had wasn’t much worth holding on to.
    Because to me it was literally everything which made life fun and worthwhile.
    Didn’t we? Didn’t we?
    Do you?
    Why? Why? Why??

    Never Again…

    by  • December 11, 2017 • 1 Comment

    Never Again will I give myself so easily

    Never Again will I let someone control me and dictate my life

    Never Again will I be weak in love

    Never Again will I be so trusting

    Never Again will I let my heart be so vulnerable

    Never Again will I doubt and go against my intuition

    Never Again will I hurt for someone undeserving