what my forays into online dating offered me that wasn’t s*x; european coffee beans, a film camera from the 70s, a workshop on ceramics, chicken parmagiana, bottles of blueberry lemonade, thai food that isn’t spicy, help with calculus homework, notes on gen chem, all the Star Wars movies, a book about magic: the gathering, a ride to an nba game, museum visits, nature walks, impulsive road trips, stories about their exes, silly anecdotes, photos of their pets, quality memes, awkward hugs that felt good.

such small intimacies, never blossoming into something bigger yet still imbued with meaning..

filled with what-ifs, if-onlys, and almosts.

To Gatsby,
it is the green light shining across his bay that he could never seem to reach,
To the earth,
it is the sky that she could only touch as the horizon spreads out,
To the moon,
it is the sun that he continues to chase since the beginning of time, only to find her shinning for just a couple of seconds.
To me,
you.

there is something
about the way he smiled
that makes my heart flutter
and break
into a million tiny pieces
all at the same time

as the blade runs through the flesh,
blood starts gushing out

she cried,
she screamed,
p a i n f u l l y
repeating it all over again
with a sense of hesitation

a miasma of burning cigarettes
and stale alcohol hung in the background
with bits of despair and tears

——

why can't she do it?
why can't she end her life?
why can't she save herself?

Sometimes I'd find myself awake at four in the morning with a sense of longing and I’d type this long letter for you and after moments of contemplating myself, I'd delete it. But there are times that I get really weak and I can’t help it. I miss you, I really do. This is why I’m fighting the the urge to think about you let alone write about you and yet here I am, staring at the insertion point blinking back at me.

I always thought about how the little things matter, how these tiny pieces, when put together has the ability of making us feel whole and hurt us at the same time or how they make us remember. Missing you starts from the little things that'll eventually pile up into this huge mess of feelings.
Leaving me out of control, alone in misery.

——

I hate how I remember you in the morning, when the clock strikes eight, as the warm and fuzzy early morning breeze embraces my body,
I can’t help but wonder if you’re already awake
Have you started your day with a cup of of coffee? I know that's what you usually do.
Or at least, I knew..

I remember you at noon, you've always dreaded this part of the day. At this point, the scorching heat is just overwhelming.
You hate how the noontime sun burns and makes your skin feel dry.


I remember you in the afternoon, a cup of coffee in one hand, looking up the sky from your office window, wondering why you're at work on such a lovely day.


I remember you at night, while the stars lie like blankets on the evening sky,
you're on your rooftop, finding constellations because it relaxes you, it makes you feel safe,
you've always told me about how you love the night more than day,
"It's more richly colored", that's what you'd say while i fight back the laughter



Finally, I remember you at midnight, it's in these wee hours of the night where I find myself weak,  everything is silent and almost everyone is soundly asleep.

You were the night and I was the day and even if we met halfway, it never felt right to stay.
But I've realized how painful it is to not have you around, no one could ever fill the void that you've left. I've lost a piece of myself that I could never find again

When I first heard the phrase “crying in the shower”, I thought it was an over exaggeration. I did not understand why people always use it, does it make a difference? Why not just say “crying on my bed”, “at the dinner table”, or “in the garage”, what is so special about crying in the shower? Does it make things more dramatic?

I’ve never experienced it, I’ve never experienced it until today. It’s the 24th of December and I’m sitting inside my bath tub completely drenched, trying my best to piece together an explanation when my relatives finally figure out where I’ve been hiding. I think now I know what it feels like to cry in the shower.

It’s funny how sadness creeps up on you, it’s so random! Much like any other emotions that you feel; the mundane of day-to-day life where you can be eating, reading the newspaper, watching a series, replying to a text, walking your dog, petting your cat or even just making small talk while standing in a room full of people and it just, it hits you.

And it hurts. I don’t think there’s an appropriate adjective in the english dictionary that can describe it. I wish there was a way. I wish there was a way to deal with pain, with sorrow, with sadness, without losing yourself. As the 1975 puts it, “If I’m lost then how can I find myself?”

here’s to the risk takers,

unafraid of uncertainty and the pain it carries.

what is life without risks anyway?