You don't deserve any of this.

You don't deserve the smiles I try to hide back whenever people merely mention your name.

You don't deserve me happily listening to love songs and absent-mindedly dedicating them for you.

You don't deserve my feelings when I'm high off my mind, looking back down from the clouds, wishing for nothing but your presence silhouetting mine.

You don't deserve my drunken texts when I feel like I'm wasting my youth away; it's ironic how even though I can't form coherent sentences and I barely remember my own name, you still ****** my thoughts and lurk behind the shadows of my mind, like a spell I've been wanting to cast myself free from since the day I first met you.

You don't deserve my midnight blues when I drown myself in sad songs and relentless thoughts of you, along with endless voices screaming and questioning why I'll never be good enough to be called yours.  

Above all, you don't deserve me.

*(So why do I always find myself crashing back to you?)

He chose you.  I hope you know how lucky you are. I tried so hard to be it for him -- hell, I wanted it to be him so badly -- but I just never was.

Don't worry, even though you have no reason to. I know my place, and so do you.

He loves intensely. Fully. As compelling as the moment you first saw him and it felt as if the stars finally aligned in your favor. As strong as the gush of wind whenever it storms. As overwhelming as holding his heart in your hands. As powerful as the waves that meet the shores. As hard as I stupidly fell for him. Am falling. But trying to let go of.

So when you doubt that love... Just don't.

Don't be bothered when he replies a few hours too late, just be glad that he makes time for you. Don't act affected when he puts his other responsibilities before you, it's just that he's always been an overachiever. He's so used to juggling everything on one hand that he forgets he has yours to hold through it all. Swallow your pride, and accept that he will always be occupied. Don't compare yourself to his past lovers, or the other girls, including I, who are so gone for him. You aren't competing with shadows anymore.

I wish I could call him mine, but he's all yours to adore. It's you, and it will always ******* be you.

And I hope you know he loves playing chess. Half the time he devotes to studying is actually spent playing that geeky game. Tease him about it because you love seeing him smile. He drinks ridiculously copious amounts of alcohol but he'll never admit to it. He eats food off the floor. He denies his crazy ways since he just wants to bicker with you about something. He says the quirkiest statements but appreciates it when you let out your peculiar side with him. He'll never let you open your door on your own. He'll wait for you. Always. He claims he's shy, but God knows he could charm anyone's pants off.

Do me a favor: *don't be afraid of loving him, and the love he could give.

I hate you.

I hate you because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and what I believe I need. Whenever I stare into your eyes, I see clarity. I see what’s good for me, and what my heart yearns for.


I hate you because I can’t stay away from you, no matter how many times you push me away. You could shove me off and take me for granted, and I’d still stay because it will always be your safe embrace I’d want to return to at the end of the day.


I hate you because only you have the capacity to make me feel the way you do – as if all the butterflies were convoked to enter my stomach and find a permanent home there. The words to express how happy you make me have not been created. You are my favorite notification among the many that incessantly buzz my phone, and nothing else matters as soon as your name pops up.


I hate you because I’m willing to fight for you, even though I’m already losing the battle. They could tell me countless times how I deserve better, but I don’t want better because I want you.


I hate you because you could break my heart a thousand times, and I’d willingly go through a thousand more if it meant a shot of becoming yours.


I hate you because I’ll never get tired of choosing you. Even if you won’t choose me.


I hate you (but I hate myself more for it).

let me tell you about great love — a love so big, it rattles your very existence to the core. it bestows you with euphoria beyond measure, an unending high others spend a lifetime seeking. it swallows you whole, all too consuming. if you’re lucky enough, it’s eternally yours. you get to hold on to the red string of fate that intertwines souls together.

yet for the ones whom the stars never seem to be in favor of, destiny decides to cut the ties you had built a home in. one minute all is well, and the next, your world crashes before you.

but no matter the circumstances, no matter how difficult it may be, it is your duty to thank whatever reigns above for allowing you to momentarily experience this great love — a love so bright, a love so powerful that it could never be yours to keep. it was too risky to flourish, too explosive to be contained, too thrilling to be tamed, and too **** great to merely be left in the shadows of your existence, while the whole world hopelessly gazes, eyes glimmering in hopes of getting a taste of what you once had, or whatever you lost.

this love may bid you farewell, but one thing remains certain. it can never take away the lessons and memories that you have been blessed with.

so you hold on. you hold on to whatever’s left, even if it feels like a fragment of your heart has been held in custody, with no consolation and chance of ever returning. because at the end of the day, we take pieces of people, and they of us, in order to form the right kind of love, the love that fits seamlessly like a puzzle — the type that is gentle and kind, and leaves no traces of doubt. this is the very love that kisses you in the morning and makes promises meant to be kept. and this time around, it is the love that lasts.

although there is a great love that may never compare, the right love stays.

there is something eerily and ironically calming about being alone in a room crowded by people who do not know a single thing about you – the unsurmountable flaws you try so hard to claw out, the haunting memories that tug your heartstrings, the wretched moment you first experienced heartbreak, the tiresome problems that incessantly pest you, the undeniable fondness you feel for the one who makes you feel all types of fuzzy on the inside, down to every detail you lock away and consent only those who have broken down your walls to see – and do not bother enough to figure out. we encounter different people day by day, apathetic and oblivious to the tough battles they have faced, and the demons they have dealt with. solace shouldn't be found in selfishness and ignorance. humanity clearly lacks a sense of sincerity, the type that is untarnished by each individual's egotistical ways. i pray that we stop being afraid of feeling and empathizing, because there is nothing more pure and beautiful than genuineness.

let's get drunk together and reveal secrets we've kept underneath three layers of skin. you could fill my brittle bones with a sweet disposition wreaking of overpowering bravery. i'd love to do the same for you, but i'd rather make the blood that flows through your veins into canny rivers filled with soaring memories of deafening recklessness. after we both explore every inch that comprises one another, we can interlace our fingers together and experience a rawness perhaps no one else but you and i could feel - nothing but flesh on flesh, bones on bones and blood rushing through mine like yours.

I always wonder what we could've been. Perhaps I wouldn't be writing about you at three in the morning and instead, you'd be wrapping your arms around my waist and holding me through the night. You'd whisper in my ears that I am all yours and you are all mine – as I trace galaxies in the palms of your hands – until we end up dreaming of the vast unknown.

I'm delusional for hopelessly clinging on to our uncertainty because that's all we've ever been, all we'll ultimately be and all we'll ever amount to: an endless list of almosts. Maybe we were too much and never enough all at once, maybe I was too close yet too far, maybe the fire you ignited within me was too strong, and you were too weak to keep that flame alive, or god, maybe the cosmos, the stars, and whatever supernatural forces reigning above us just weren't in our **** favor.

*With that being said, my heart is heavy with all the moments I replay over and over, and the words left unsaid. My heart aches for every version of reality that never gave us a chance.

If I could be brutally honest, here’s what I’d tell you. I’m tired of your mind games — the same ones you deny you do. You establish something casual but then you go on to saying and doing things that make me believe otherwise. You tell me you want me but you don’t act like it. You say you miss me but you go days without ever messaging me.  You make me feel so replaceable. Disposable. You’re hot then you’re cold. You’re sweet enough to keep me around but you don’t put in the work for anything more. It scares me how you could change your mind in the blink of a second, or bat your eyes elsewhere the minute I’m gone. What makes it worse is that I know you do. You have no ******* idea how ****** it is to be outright told you’ve been ******* around with somebody else. It hurts me to know that you think you could fool me into believing all of the things you say. You don’t say it because you mean it — you say it because it’s what I want to hear. You say it because you know you have this hold over me. You say it because you know I’d cave. You don’t make me feel like I’m worth it, and you definitely don’t make me love myself more. With you, it’s just messy. Cheap thrills. Lies on top of lies. Sweet nothings whispered to my ear. ***** little secrets. Emptiness. I never expected anything from you. You give me slight doses, enough to keep me around, but never enough to assure me that this is all worth it. Don’t play with my feelings just because you’re unsure of your own. I’m not a gamble. I always thought that messing around with someone older meant that I wouldn’t be playing these games anymore but clearly you’re not mature enough to know what you want. I’m done settling for whatever this is. Get drunk, or stay sober — just keep your **** mess away from me.