i think i have reached
the point where i finally
feel at ease with myself.
i have found my peace
and quiet and now—
now i’m on my way home.
my heart has never felt this
soft and light before
and it is so worth it.
an excerpt of my journal entry from my nights in the hotel room. growth is painful but necessary and fulfilling.
loneliness is a place i am terrified
of getting used to but have been
living in it for as long as i can
it is a house that doesn’t feel like
home; the only lit streetlight in
an abandoned city; the twinkling
star in the vast night sky; the last
note of a song but one that’s fading
away; the room with a bed that
hasn’t been slept in ever since
a lover was lost in the war.
the echoes of laughter of what once;
the lingering touch of our fingers
after our hands had let go;
the wallflower sitting quietly
in the corner of a party.
it is all of these things at once;
but i think, most of all, loneliness
is a friend who i so desperately
want to get rid of—and i do,
at times—yet she’s always there;
waiting for me to take her back.
if only i had known that it was
the last time we’d talk, i would
have told you i love you.
but now all that’s left are these
memories of you and these
three words stuck in my throat.
i’m tired of waking up everyday
with a heavy heart and so much
sadness inside of me.
all of my tears are spent.
i can’t cry anymore
but my soul still grieves.
you burn me.
and it isn’t anyone’s
fault but mine.
i gave you the match
in the first place.
i told myself never to let love in again, but here i am, burned by the same flame twice.
nostalgic for a love that never was;
for a person that came and went;
for a fire that never ignited.
and in the midst of all the chaos,
my darling, i still fought for you.
but you raised your **** white
flag, welcomed the striking blow
of the sword before i could even
run and save you from the menacing
blade that so effortlessly took you
away from me.
we could have won the battle against your own demons. my darling, we could have made it.
truth be told,
i would still adore you
even if you’re resting
the tip of your gun
on my forehead;
your finger on the trigger;
and with a smile on my
face, i would still say,
you weren’t good for me, but i loved you anyway.
— The End —