I have found words scribbled in books,
words that made me feel the most alive,
words that have understood me completely,
words that have clutched me to safety,
more than anyone has ever done in this lifetime.

There are people you miss
and you let them know.
There are people you miss
but they can’t and shouldn't know.

I opened the old iPhone I had two years ago and I stumbled upon notes I wrote for her. It happened too long ago which is why I don’t remember if I ever sent any of it.

Reading through them, I remembered how it felt like but not entirely. It’s like knowing how something tastes in your mouth without having the actual thing on your tongue. Looking back, there are parts of me that have not changed. I still believe in changing my ways for that one person, going beyond my threshold in spite of the voices telling me to run away. And still, I also believe in letting go when I know I’m not the person who would make you realize you are better than the ******* you portray yourself to be.

Not too long ago, a friend asked me how I was when I fell in love for the first time. I told her I’m not sure if it really was love that I felt back then. But reading through these notes again, I guess it really was love.

And there it is again; the taste of it without having the very thing. I might have forgotten how it was to be in love. But I have also forgotten how real the pain was. Reading the notes through the voice in my head, I could hear myself breaking. My insides churned, but the sensation didn’t feel complete. So I guess this is how it’s like to remember love that’s no longer there.

and at the end of a busy day, i still wonder how you are. i wonder how your day went. i wonder how many times those lines in your forehead creased from confusion or anger or curiosity. i wonder how many times your eyes disappeared when you laughed. did you even laugh today?

that day, i knew i wasn’t anyone special to you. i was just someone who stayed for a while. someone you thought would leave you. i proved you right, didn’t i? i did leave. but i still think about you all the ******* time.

but don’t we all have someone we secretly look out for but don’t talk to anymore?

I peel my lips until there’s blood on my fingertips
Bite my inner cheeks ‘til I taste rust on my tongue
Rip the skin off the corners of my nails
And do things to amplify the pain

I stare at the sun until I’m blinded by its brightness
Hold my breath until claws split my mouth open
Punch walls until my hands are too frail to move
But I do nothing to heal

I fall too easily for those who never notice
I care too much for those who never looked my way
I try so hard to fix myself every time I fall
But end up being sliced by yet another force

I torture myself by paying attention
To those who gave me heartbreaks
I can’t seem to rid myself of stupidity
I can’t seem to rid myself of weaknesses

Who says you need others to break
When your will is enough to destroy your soul
Who says you need others to bleed
When everything you are is enough to cut you open

where did i lose my warmth?
at which place had i turned my switch?

in starbucks? secondhand bookstores?
was it in the local bar or the liquor store?
in houses i crashed, couches i spent the night on
or of dorm rooms i slept at and sheets i found comfortable?

to what girl had i offered it in lieu of the rush?

had i made the trade with the girl
who dragged me through unlit streetlights
as she had her lips perched on mine,
opened my heart with intensity that made her tremble
and eventually turned me into a massive mess.
was it her? i was always too drunk to recall.

or perhaps i gave it away, little by little
to the bartender in a black shirt
with a walrus at the back,
and his sadness was seen in his eyes every night.
we never really spoke.
i ask for shots, he gives them to me.
but he understood. i know he always did.
he looks at me in a way.
all fuckups know why we do the things we do
was it with him?

or was it the cigarette lady
from where i lit my first menthol stick
and swallowed the cough
that i really wanted to release?

maybe it goes farther back

had i lost my warmth in words?
in unsent text messages?
literature? poetry? essays? prose?
metaphors – not at all.

i lost it when i was eight
when i knew about my father's infidelity
when i felt my first rejection
when i felt so unwanted
when my heart broke for my mom
there, in that very dark room had i lost it all.

but the better question should be:
was it ever there?

You’ve managed
to get in my system
no matter how I exert
effort to ignore your
existence.

You’ve managed to
make my heart
feel the warmth of
love again.

But it didn’t occur
in my mind that
you’ll make it colder
than it was before
you came.

Making me wonder,
am I made to be cold
forever?