I kinda wanna write about it
about every single thing that's cracking inside
but writing means feeling,
living all those things again
and all I wanted was to not feel at all.

He's gonna fall in love
for the way you like to watch the sky,
the clouds,
and the light below the trees.
He'll be enchanted
by the way you see the world,
your bright smile,
and your desire
to care and make everything ok.
He's gonna read each
one of your poems
and try to understand the stories
behind them.
He'll encourage you to sing
and he'll play with and for you.
He's gonna love to hold your hands
and will try your crazy food.
He'll look deep in your eyes
and recognize your sad smiles,
like no one ever did.
He'll kiss your forehead
and his hug
will hug you from the inside out.
He'll hear you whispering
that song only you know
and he'll sing along with you.
He's gonna make you believe
in love again
and each of those cliches
and songs
will make sense.
He won't complete you:
he will give you the feeling
that we could break you
into a million pieces
with just a smile,
but you'll tell jokes
just to see that smile
again and again and again.
And I swear to you
he's out there somewhere.

I truly believe
that we should give up our pride
and chase after people
that matter to us.
I believe we should show how we feel
and pay attention in each other,
and, I swear,
I try to do that.
But after being so silly
I learned that we have to be reciprocal.
I can't care for both of us.
I hoped it would be different,
and you talked like you did as well,
but, sinceraly, I've never seen that
in your actions.
And it hurts in me to do that,
to ignore you
and I feel so guilty.
The thing is
I'm tired of being
the only one who cares
and shows any affection.
I'm sorry,
but if it really mattered to you,
you'd make an effort.

it's beens so long
I haven't seen you inside your eyes
You just gave up on me,
on us,
in a second,
like there was nothing else
to fight for.
and I could ask you
to keep trying
and to fight for us
but we lost all our strenght
and I'm tired of begging for your love.
you say you don't need me anymore,
neither do I.
I'm done

We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
Or
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
Silence.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you
Heart.

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.

He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come