Step 1. Delete everything. Delete her photos of her laughing, the picture of both of your shoes during a summer day you took after going to the book fair with her, the conversation you screenshotted of her saying "we are soulmates". It's too painful for you to bear now, you don't need a physical reminder of the void she left.

Step 2. Stay on routine. Wake up, get dressed, go to school, go to work, study, sleep. Be tired. Let your body ache as you lie down the cold mattress where the winter winds outside your window lulls you to sleep. Overthinking is your enemy.

Step 3. Write a letter for her. Tell her everything you wanted to say. How your heart broke a million pieces when she sent you her last text. How you thought she was going to be with you forever. Talk about the would've-been future you were going to have, the two cats you were supposed to raise, and the places you were supposed to see together. But don't ever send it.

Step 4.  Don't go back to the day when it ended. December 6, 2018 at approximately 9:38 p.m. You were standing in the rain, she tells you "I don't feel good." and walks away, leaving you to stand there alone. It's the day where you finally see the cracks, but realized it's too late to fix a week later when she finally messages you.

Step 5. Stumble upon a TED Talk about getting over a heartbreak, you cry for 12 minutes straight watching it. You do what the speaker tells you because you feel lost. He said to write down a list of why this person is unfit for you, and you finally realized that love has made you look at her through cloudy filtered lens.

Step 6. Don't open her friend's snapchat stories and see her there, smiling, and having fun. Don't wonder if her heart is as broken as yours.

Step 7. Fail. Miserably. But get up anyway, because only time can tell.

Step 8. Get out of your comfort zone. Reach out to people, start conversations. Go to the places you planned to see with her, and see those places by yourself or maybe with other people.

Step 9. Find new hobbies, and go out on your own. Make new memories with other people and enjoy your own company.

Step 10. Know that 7 years is a long time to spend with someone, so it will take some time. But one day you will wake up and you won't even notice the void she has left.

I used to be so caught up with the thought that
my worthiness is measured by how many people love me, or think i'm pretty.
Maybe that's why I try to make them fall in love with me and make them feel vulnerable.
I love having that power over someone because the more they tell me they love me,
the more drunk I get with the feeling of being worthy.
But no matter how much I get high with their love,
it does not fill the gaping void in my heart and soul.
I think that's why no matter how many I love you's roll out my tongue, it does not feel as real to me at the end.
But I've come to realization that it's okay if nobody loves me, or maybe nobody will ever love me.
Maybe that's not the point.
**Maybe it's not about being loved by somebody else.

After two months of silence,
your name appears on my phone
quite randomly,
which is funny because a minute before that,
I decided to let go a small(huge) part of me who is still hoping.

It seems like you wanted to pick up where we left off,
but I burned that bridge a long time ago,
because I wanted to make sure that I wouldn't run back to you
the moment I said goodbye.

I sniffed the sweater I took from you,
and I realized that your smell is gone
and so is the comfort of your smell that goes with it,

and I'm scared I might be losing you too.

He stands at your bedroom door while you're at the edge of your bed, staring at him. There are wilted white lilies on top of your bedside drawer. He sits at your bed, not too close to you, but close enough you can feel the heat radiate from his skin. You feel like this distance is too far, you want his skin to clash against yours, his lips at the nape of your neck. The street lights pour from your window, his face illuminated with it. His face looks so innocent, yet deadly because of the light. Red for passion? no. Red for blood. Red for deadly. This is not love. This is destruction and pain. He reaches out for you, and you moved too eagerly. He holds you without care, his nails scratches your back, too deep. You're in too deep. Red for stop. His lips crushes against yours, and he tears off your dress, and he kisses your neck, and you realized that he has your heart in his hands.  You didn't pay attention to details. Red for deadly. You're going crazy and wild, you are empty handed. You finally realized that his ribs are intact while yours is wide open. Red for too late. There's a broken vase with wilted white lilies on the floor, and his lips ******.

I want to run so fast,
so fast that the monsters wouldn't catch me,
and their faces will just be a blur,
and the wind will wipe my tears away
and my heart will beat really fast,
but at least I know I'm alive

I know that stopping means death,
because their claws are always reaching for me,
and looking back will be a mistake,
because their sinister smiles will be waiting
and the darkness will engulf me

I feel like it's a race
to see if I reach my goal,
but I'm getting tired,
and I need to breathe,
but I know that if I stop
the monsters will swallow me alive

You know those cliched romance movies,
and songs that sing of love that lasts forever,
and those poems that make romance so endearingly nice.
I know you said you're tired of it, you've seen it too much.
It makes you sick, and it makes me sick too.
But if it was you who I would do all those things,
and spend my life with you,
then cliched or not, it will be a dream come true.

Our bodies will change,
and my hands won't be as smooth as you were used to,
but we will share everything together, and all the best and even the worst.
And we may face obstacles too tall for our love,
but then my love for you grows each day I look into your eyes
and see the universe unravel.
So those challenges are no match for us,
because we have a lifetime ahead of us,
and thinking about spending it with you,
is truly a dream come true.

We are all paintings
We are painted with words that have been said to us,
the things we thought of,
the actions that caused us to succumb
and to cower in the dark.
The nice things we said to someone,
even the bad ones.
They're all painted on us.
We are the canvas of our life.
Shaped by tragedy and triumph.
Sometimes you feel like your canvas is painted black.
Maybe it is.
But you know what that's good for?
Painting a galaxy.
Because why look at stars and planets outside of Earth,
when there are wonders here that we have not explored.
Inside of us, there are galaxies to be seen,
and marveling sights to be delve into.
We are all explorers.

as the leaves fall,
we fall apart from your absence.

The daylight is dying,
and the night swallows it whole.

Everything started to fall,
from leaves turning into orange
and to the breeze that begins to feel chilly.
I think we started to fall too,
not with each other,
but apart.
The degrees were getting lower,
and you were being more distant.
I get shivers down my spine,
but it's not the weather that makes me feel cold at night.

everything is the past,
the time i wrote the first line is already a history.
the moment i blinked after this word is already gone,
they are all in the past.

the world you know changes constantly,

blink

blink

blink

the world you knew already changed once you finish reading this line
and life works that way.

so I don't see why you stress over something that happened an hour ago, or maybe a week ago, sometimes even 2 years ago.
they are already in the past,
simply a memory engraved in our minds,
haunting us from the future.

and then we have tomorrow
or maybe the next hour,
a history that hasn't been written,
shouldn't you worry about that?

I thought you were my angel sent from above
to make this misery end,
and to be the bright light that shines upon my darkness.
But even lucifer was an angel too.

Don't tell me I'm beautiful,
because I've heard that a thousand times
and I bet you've said that to other girls before me;
Like an old shoe, tainted with mud,
or worn-out clothes.

A word that simply scratches the surface,
but barely reaching the inside.
It hangs in the room like dust,
so used and common,
being thrown as if it's the ultimate prize.
As if it just slips out of your tongue,
a word you've always used.

Tell me I'm breathtaking,
as if you hold your breath whenever we're not together
waiting to taste the air again the moment you laid your eyes on me.

Tell me that even the thunderstorms clear out when I'm around you,
or maybe that you feel the sun shines brighter.

Say that I am intelligent,
that you always feel at awe when I speak
because it seems as if the angels were the one
who spoke the words.

Tell me that my voice is sweeter than honey,
and that my laugh is contagious even to strangers.

Because these are the things that I am dying to hear,
metaphors that are waiting to be used.

This word has been splattered on me like a paint,
and I cannot be a masterpiece if it's simply white.

So paint me with words and metaphors that you haven't used
and make a galaxy out of me,
because surely everyone is a masterpiece simply hiding beneath the white paint.

they asked us what is our relationship,
you answered "nothing"

A mother would cradle a shoe
it is not a pair for it was lost,
and still damp even after a year.
Every night she takes it out of her special box,
a picture of a girl with a bright smile was inside,
including cards she gave her, with poems within them.
She hugs the shoe as if it's her own child,
remembering how she bought it for her as a christmas gift last year,
too bad it is not a pair anymore.
The mother can still hear the splash of water as it hits the rocks,
carrying this pair of shoe.
She lulls the shoe as if it's the most important thing in the world,
only because her real treasure is long lost gone.

The other pair is still lost and buried underneath the pebbles and dirt
of the raging river,
and this is the only way it gets to be with its owner.

i always feel helpless
even when i'm around you
because stars that seem to be
just right beside one  another
are actually separated
by a great,
great

d i s t a n c e