maybe we didn't really fall out of love.
maybe we just refused to give each other up.
or perhaps you were to blame,
for you stopped choosing "us" when that day came.
i know i didn't.

― apbq, when i used to say 'always' i meant it

even a bee,
forgets and leaves,
even the most beautiful flower,
once it extracts
everything
from it.

I always feared that the stars didn't align for us
but still words flowed between us,
letters floating through cyber space,
tinged with unspoken love.
Love we half-acknowledged.
Love that wouldn't be.

And so I got drunk with her, even though the 12 year-old me swore that I would never take a shot of ***** or a bottle of beer. I bent my morals for her most of the time, but I didn't mind. I sat next to her in a bar with other people and kept my eyes locked on hers, memorized every detail and felt alive as ever.

And when she told jokes, I laughed. Amidst my boisterous, embarrassing, weird laugh, I did. I laughed so much that I could barely breathe. And when I looked up, her eyes were still gazing at me as I intently looked away.

And at some point, there were moments when she reached for my hand and I let her. I found my fingers curling around hers, like they knew something that I didn't and couldn't admit – I'd keep her, only if I could.

And I was happy and it was like I'd never felt that kind of happiness before. It was new and unfamiliar, but in a good way. I told her carelessly, while my head on her chest, "please don't hurt me, I probably couldn't take it if you do."

And she kissed my forehead and said, "alright." And somehow, somehow, her "alright" was enough for me, even if I knew that meant "I'm not sure if I couldn't hurt you, but I'll try."

And we all know that "I'll try" almost always means "I can't but I don't have the guts to tell you that."

With a heavy heart and a sinking feeling, I slowly realized that we would never have worked out, that we weren't good for each other. I wanted what she couldn't give me and she needed something that I didn't have – something she got used to, something she's familiar with. We lived in perhaps separate universes, and it was only through some mistake, some unfortunate collision we both shared that we had met and fallen in love – if it was even real love.

I knew what I saw in her and how I felt and somehow, despite my instinct that it would all end in tears and heartbreak, made me dive completely in, made me offer all my love and made me irrevocably careless. I knew. I had known. But that did not stop me.

If you knew her, you couldn't blame me.

I don't love you anymore yet there's still the part of me that searches for you in the features of others' faces. Each time I ask myself why, yet I never have an answer.

Sometimes I find eyes similar to yours but when I look into them, I find that they are different and somehow, purer than yours ever were; and ever could be.

Other times, I feel hands on my body that feel like yours but they never are and although I don't love you anymore, I find myself hoping that you somehow you feel me.

Sometimes, I wish you knew how it felt - how it felt to be me and how it felt when you broke my heart and tore me apart. I wish you felt my pain with your bare hands and I wish you could see with your own eyes, what it did to me.

I  don't want you to know what you did to me because you already do. I want you to feel it and see it for yourself so you know it's true.