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Del Nov 2017
What have we done, Love?

We swam too deep and forgot we needed air to breathe.

Now the storm is here and the thunder is overpowering the rain.

And I can no longer see you, Love.

I can no longer see the land.

What have we done, Love?

We fought too fiercely, we forgot to feel.

Now I am drowning, and all my nightmares feel too real.

And I can no longer feel you, Love.

You have grown too cold.

Where did you go, Love?

Why am I in the middle of this chaos we once called home,



and so alone?
Del Nov 2017
My heart is tired,
It waits for you in dark corners where even the moonlight can no longer touch it.
It counts the days that way,
Missing you.
It asks me how many phases it must witness before you come back,
I don't know how to say you won’t.
My heart still remembers the first time I met you,
It still thinks I write poems about your laughter which became the only metaphor I wanted to write about.
It told me that your eyes were the safest place I ever found myself in,
And between those late-night drives and nights that turned into mornings,
I realized my heart was right.
My heart needs to learn how to let you go.
To take your goodbye, say thank you- and leave.
I need to make it understand that you are an eternity it was not meant to keep.
And the harder it tries to make you stay-
The bigger the cracks you will leave.
My heart is stubborn.
It has tried to keep oceans and galaxies-
Has tried to capture sunsets and sunrises,
But you are more than that-
Yet it still tried to keep you.
My heart needs to unlearn your name,
Because it has given you all my metaphors.
And when I write,
It’s you, it’s you, it’s you and
I miss you, I miss you.
Oh God I miss you.
Heart forgive me, he is not coming home.
Heart forgive me, I don't know how to tell you we are not what he wants anymore.
Heart forgive me, I was too late.
Heart forgive me, I wanted him to be it- too.
Heart forgive me, loving him was never wrong.
My heart is not sorry,
It will never apologize for being
Too open
Too fragile
Too soft
Too big
Too broken,
Because it has held so many wonderful infinities,
It has been home to so many memories.
How can it be sorry?
When it has lived countless of lives.
My heart does not regret you.
It needs to do a lot of things, but for now the only thing it seems to want to do
Is- love you.
Soon, it will hang your portrait in its gallery of almost-

Up where the moon belongs-
Until it learns to stop looking for you-
For now, my heart- is yours.
Del Oct 2016
Don’t make me love you, not in that way.
Not in a way where you pretend to reach out to me and make it seem like you are so close.

When in reality, you are so out of reach.

Not in a way where every song I listen to will have something that will remind me of you;

Reminding me of how I can never seem to silence the voice inside my head that knows nothing but say your name.

Not in a way where your eyes are both the anchor that holds me down and the ocean that I drown in.

Not in a way where the word impossible loses its meaning and I am convinced, although almost insanely, that you love me, too.

Not in a way where I feel nothing but dead butterflies in my stomach still fluttering, reminding me of a love that died a long time ago but the remnants of it still remains and still haunts me.

Not in that way.

Not when I somehow managed to cross the bridge and burn it only to find out I was still standing on the wrong side.

Not in a way a broken record keeps playing, even if it never gets to move because it is stuck playing that same note, over and over again and it sounds exactly like ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’.

Don’t make me love you, not when I know you will never stay.
Del Aug 2016
He made me think about vast open horizons of endless blue,
with soft breeze kisses that taste like saltwater and the start of something new;

Of footprints painted yellow and warm carcasses on golden skin;

Of dancing under colorful hues of fallen leaves when autumn came;

Of snuggling close in purple blankets when spring began;

Of tracing out the constellations from the splashes of paint we called the galaxy;

Of red bricks and white window panes;

Of a garden of colors that are surrounded by the sound of his name;

Of brown wooden floors and a burning fireplace -

Of not being so lonely, in a peaceful place.
Del Jul 2016
All of us were once temporary tenants of a home whose arms could not keep us forever.
Within the walls of our temporary shelter we find ourselves asking our constant

‘What ifs‘

Hoping to find the answer carried by the wind through one of the open windows.
A soft breeze to either tell us-

-we are finally home or a storm is coming.

We have all been there.

We have fallen in love with someone we shouldn’t have
And left someone who could have loved us forever.

These people are like CD’s in a record store.
Stacked together side by side; each one a different genre, a different feeling.

All of them only having one thing in common- they were, somewhat- a temporary addiction.

A song that was compatible with the person we were at the time. Like sunsets, these are the people who would teach you the beauty in saying goodbye, to find beauty in the darkness, and to find the light in the blanketed sky.

Our sunsets, these temporary people who we welcome in our lives, are just that. Sunsets.

And soon enough, you will see the sun rise again, bringing hope to a better day.
So go, enjoy your sunsets and appreciate them while they’re here

-because I promise you,

One day when the sun finally sets,

You’ll find someone who will stay the night just to watch the sunrise with you.
Del Jul 2016
You are a contradiction, let me be an exception

“Let it go” you said, as you reached out for my hand, your fingers like threads that stitch and bind your skin with mine.

“Close your eyes” you said, as you showed me what could be. We were a vivid dream, why did you wake me ?

“Hold on to me” you said, as we jumped and I fell and kept falling, as you pulled out your parachute. I never did learn to fly.

“You are free” you said, but what was freedom when it gave me a choice to go back to you?

“Stay with me” you said, as you stood by the doorway, looked at me and shut the door.

How could I ask you to stay, when it seemed easier to let you go?

There is beauty in tragedy, they say
But where was the beauty, in this tragedy?
Where was the beauty, if my heart was the tragedy?

And I have asked myself,

Where do you end?
Where do I begin?
‘Why not’

You did not mean what you said, but it hurt like you did
I wish I did not
But I did
I did

You are my contradiction, but I am not your exception
Del Jul 2016
I am not a writer, I am just trying not to fall in love.

So I write the words that will bleed out your name and hope it would be enough to silence the echo of your voice inside the cracks of my chest.

I am not a writer, but I want to remember.

So I write about the day I met you, forever encrypting the numbers in my mind. Repeated in whispers inside my head.

I am not a writer, but I want to understand.

So I write about your expressions, how rarely they come and go. I write about your ghosts, hoping she would haunt you no more.

I am not a writer, but you make me want to be.

So I write about you, and it is the saddest story you will (n)ever read.

— The End —