I do not weep for you.
I do not weep for us.
I weep for what we could have become.
I weep because I feel myself falling apart and somehow believe you’re the tailor who can sew me back together.
I weep because I saw you, holding him, kissing him as if my role in your life was the battleground to prepare you for your saviour.
I weep because we had that.
I weep hard, ridding myself of every drop of sorrow only for it to be replenished again, feeding from the source of beautiful memories where our minds were as intertwined as our fingers and our eyes were a grey blur of my blue and your magnificent green.
I weep fearing I will never stop weeping. Until my body is dry and decrepit.
I weep until I’m raw. Leaving only my devastated soul vulnerable to the reality of living one more day without you.
I weep because I allowed your happiness to become my water. I weep because I fought for you, lied for you and ultimately was willing to forget myself for you.
I weep because I miss me.
I weep because you have stolen that piece of my soul that allows me to function.
I weep because that piece of me that you have, once held me together.

It was you.
It was always you.
Your laugh, your smile, your beautiful voice.
When you sang, it was as if the whole world was condensed in that magnificent moment
There was nobody else. Just me and you. You and I.
But with the fading of your song, the song of our love faded.
We grew dark. I grew darker.
Fists were raised, glasses broken and your inspiring voice became the source of pain, hate and fear.
Your voice broke me.
Your words tore through our love – separating it into shards of non-existence. Pieces so small that they could not survive on their own. Like grains of sand on the beach they were blown away and ****** into the abyss of loneliness.
Too small to be fitted back together. Too fragile to mend. Too broken to repair.
My love still exists.
It has healed over time without you.
It gains momentum from the fleeting images of magical moments spent together when your voice was soft and your touch was gentle.
My love transcends you, us.
My love no longer dampens my eyes nor wishes my heart to stop beating.
My love is happy. My love is free.
My love no longer needs your voice to survive. It breathes on its own, it has its own voice.
I hope your love is alive. I hope you are in love. I hope you love yourself.

You still visit me, now and then but mostly now and always.
Your image flitters into my mind and creates chaos,
Your face, projected in my thoughts, tightens the straps around my chest making it hard to breathe
As if the air is saturated with you and I am gasping to get my futile fix of your fading figure.
You visit my head often.
Your frequent appointments harpoon my heart, pushing it to pump harder, faster.
You do not stay long anymore. Just long enough to scrape the scar of the wound, releasing the septic sorrow and vehemence which has become vapid.
You visit a hollow space. Where memories have been stored away and feelings are protected behind a vault of fury which is always dissolved by the salt of my tears.
You are not welcome anymore but your arrogance is persistent.
You stroll into my thoughts and poison my dreams. Your smile lingers in the back of my throat whilst your words slash away at my soul.
You feed on weak. It is your nourishment.
You fear my happiness, as if there is not enough for us both to live on. Your presence is selfish – only accommodating fear and anxiety which you leave behind to freeze my heart and memory – your image, your beautiful, perfect figure, crystallised inside of me waiting to devour any joy that may pass through my being.
Your frozen statute punctures my thoughts, releasing all pleasurable moments into a swirling pool of abandonment and regret.
These moments will be lost forever. Tainted by the malicious memories that you thrive in.
I am lost. Your light shines hard and lures me toward it.
I will not be burnt. I will create light, new memories, better stories.
You will have no place to visit anymore.

I sit. Pasted to my seat. Searching his eyes for something, anything.
Please give me something.
My food is fighting a war with my heart in my throat. My heart is exhausted, once worn on my sleeve, and then given back to me by him. Shredded and ravaged by those words – his words, “I don’t think we should date anymore”.
Seven words.
Seven words that are inconsequential, frail and harmless when muttered on their own.
Seven words that he strung together to make a sullen bracelet of destruction. And how dreadfully beautiful that chain looks secured around my neck. Gasping.
That jagged piece of jewellery which he kept on him. With him. Silently guarding his tragic trinket that would eventually be introduced as the lead actor in the character assassination performance I would perform on myself. For myself.
I sit. Saturated. Bloated and empty at the same time.
My heart sighs, except it’s not my heart but an exhale of who I am. Who I once was. It comes from my gut. I can’t be releasing anxiety because that’s my best friend now.
Anxiety now takes its form in shaking me awake to sit and reminisce, collectively with depression, about every word that was transferred from my mouth to his heart. Reminding me that my fleeting words and desperate, outrageous cries must have been pulled from my vocal chords, crushed and then swept away before they were processed, translated and understood. Please understand me.
Could my words have evaporated in the sheets we shared with so many others?
Were they swallowed by the shallow mouths I allowed to roam his body or were they intercepted by the unfamiliar hands I allowed to explore my skin?
I sit. No longer able available to him.
I sit with his bracelet, permanently affixed to everything I see.
I need to stand up.