I'll see myself out.
Take my chair and yours,
because I don't think I should be saving you a seat all the time; keep my hands available to catch you;
my heart closed from people who are more than willing to do the things you should have;
pretend to be deaf from the knocks of people who wants to stay and stay for real;
reserve myself for someone who can't even choose me.
I love you. But it's time to stop praying for miracles, waiting genies or wish-granting stars, maybes and one day's. I don't deserve hoping for something I'm not sure if there really is.
I love you. I really do.
But my heart is a home and you've treating it like
Truth is that there were parts of you I could never hold. Parts where she touched and her presence stayed for quite long. I know she had you in your solitude, when you're drowning, she was your savior. And when you're drunk in poison, collapsed down to the floor, alone and suffocated on your own thoughts--you had me.
She had you when you were sane, every Sundays, you would kneel to her as if she was a church. Every gospel, she was your every word. And I had you when you were singing mindlessly, lost and desperate of light and love.
I caught you when you fell.
But no matter, how much I give my mark it won't stay, it won't linger as much as hers, my embrace were lukewarm, and my kisses are just to patch your loneliness during weekdays. She was your favorite warmth; she was meant to stay forever.
And me? I was merely a draft.
reminiscing the time when the person I kept choosing chose someone else instead.
Maybe the reason why I love books
is that they make me understand
what a brain cannot comprehend
Things that only a heart can.
That in the sea of words
I can find myself or perhaps see
in this string of lies I've made
I'll know which is the real me.
When you have ventured into the void,
a planet will no longer do,
everyone else was always a star,
but the universe was always you.
I've accepted that I won't and maybe never will,
understand why souls chase and die for this-
'Love', that bends everyone to their knees.
Is it the lack of interest or fear in me.
That I'll never see and feel
that ludicrous emotion,
the ridiculous notion,
to have someone
just for me.
— The End —