I’ve been busy, my mind preoccupied with delusion
and strange entitlement that I deserve only blessings
whilst achieving nothing in a life sweetened in misery
I’ll continue to close my eyes in bated breath, please
shoot me everywhere except the apple on my head
and maybe once my ashes blends with the wind
I’ll have my most anticipated rude awakening

—L.m.

it's unsettling to realize
that with the strength of continuing to exist
meant distracting myself
whenever it feels too confined
and that's not to say that I've lived a life devoid of joy
but the fear of making the same mistakes again
had rendered me incapable of letting anyone in
and I have no more sentiments to spare

it feels lonely, but safe
and it's fully heartbreaking to think
that I really tried to live this time,
I really tried and I know it showed
but everything seems forged

I’ve learned how it’s like without you
and every step has been excruciating
some days are easy, quiet, tolerable
because distractions are present amidst
the unforgiving hustle and bustle of life
and I’d welcome anything thrown at me to
keep you off my mind and help myself heal
—but most days are hard
They require patience, tenderness, and
strength that I can’t provide myself with
you had always kept my head out of the waters
and now I’m back to struggling how to breathe
and by then it’s just harder to pretend that
I’m not constantly dreading a future
that is not meant for us to conquer together

But I still hope (and pray and beg)
that our paths will cross again
when the time is finally right
and we are versions of ourselves
that can love each other better
and I beg, I beg, I beg
that we will survive it then

—L.m.

It didn't begin like it was intended to be written longer—
I had thought maybe you were just another story when I ran out of things to say when I'm out drinking with friends, another unfinished sentence with no meaningful content, maybe a blurry image of an unlikely encounter, you know how it goes, we'll spill secrets then pretend we don't know each other the next day and it wouldn't even hurt. There were no fireworks, no warning signs, no pacing heartbeats, just you and I on that lazy August afternoon, talking. And yet, when I said goodbye, you said goodnight, and when I expected nothing of you, you woke up the next morning with me in mind. Days had turned into weeks turned into months, and it was so easy. Talking to you has been so easy. There were no pretense, no hurry, and no longer did any of us utter goodbyes.
There's so much glittering potential—you, me, and the notion of us being something greater.

In an alternative universe, you're probably getting more sleep and I'm probably out of school or you probably remember to jog in the morning and maybe I still don't drink black coffee, and it's nice to fantasize of how we would've met no matter what, maybe in a different scenario, maybe as adults in the same workplace or we happen to be at the same café one fateful night.

Or maybe we only have this chance to get it right.

But regardless of the other infinities in this endless realm of possibilities, I’m just glad this reality exists and it’s ours. That against all odds, we’ve managed to find each other. I am with you, and we are in each other’s lives, prominently, lovingly.

You and I are meant to be in this moment together.

it would've hurt less
if it took me by surprise
but i've always been keen,
my eyes catching and
my hearts sinking on
every signs that told me
that you'll soon leave

it would've hurt more
if i didn't expect it
and so i've been bracing myself
my chin high and
my lips tight as I've watched
with excruciating pain for
the moment that confirms
my antagonizing thoughts

and i think what hurts me
the most wasn't me being right
but the lingering hope
that you would prove me wrong

i keep acknowledging
what shouldn't be
and i blame it
on all the signs i've misread

It's often the little things
that leave nail marks in our
crumpled hearts, gripping
tighter and bolder at each
racing moment almost as if
that person's smile had
poked your lungs and left
you breathless and wanting
and there you are
stuck in momentum,
no desire to break free,
spiked with adrenaline,
injected with hope and need
and please, please, please
let this be,
forever

it's always the little things
that can break you
*—L.m.

just as you don't
have to remind the sun to shine
and the flowers to bloom,
when you ask me to love you,
it already goes without saying


*—L.m.

there are days when my mind insists it's right and i'm foolish enough to trust it, moments when my throat feels itchy and clogged, fingers tangled in anxiousness and eyes bloodshot, nights i forget sleep is a necessity not a choice. I've always tried to fight it, an internal battle between me and my thoughts where none of us are ready to raise the flag but both know are in need of saving. "It's all in the mind," I've heard it plenty of times that I no longer flinch when directed by it. And I do think it's just my mind. But tell me: what exactly have i done that it would want to betray me like this?

I have yet to call myself
my own again

a figure skinny-dipping in
the dark, ready to drown herself with
every chance she gets then pushing
herself out of the water to taste air,
thoughts too toxic for her own good
yet she never hesitates to consume
more and more
she twists herself in whirlwind romances,
covered in glitter, sunshine smiles and songs
she'll laugh, she'll cry, then tomorrow night
she'll say goodbye, as if she's always ready,
always attempting, always striving to go,
but then she'll shiver, she'll shrivel,
haunted by loneliness, fearing isolation,
so she'll stay, knees numb and frozen.
Up until she yet again craves
another midnight swim.

I didn't even felt
your touch nor did
my heart mimic drumbeats
when you've held me down
but i certainly
froze and burned
when you have withdrawn

"You never know what
you've got until it's gone."

You've left
and suddenly I love you

it wasn't writer's block, i decided,
not even my lack of ideas can
steer me away from producing
something, anything
my skill to make sense
of everything through written texts
that even the most discombobulating
thoughts and emotions and anxiety
has almost never failed to be presented
out for me, like my fingers
have their minds of their own

and i'm terrified that if i write
it'll make it jarringly clear
that what i felt
three years ago
are resurfacing again,
just when I finally thought I'm okay

but my god,
my fingers
just can't stop writing

i have already embraced
that sadness lives somewhere
in my heart that often crashes in
to say hello or it'll fade away in broken
beats of "I'll be back soon."
and i've already touched
my dried up skin as it cracked due to apathy,  dehydrated from life and energy,
but i've yet to dare look
at my ghost, the one with
the happy sunshine times
and perfect family and wasted wishes
without fear of miracles dying,
the one who didn't know what it's like
to be one step away from breaking down
and who isn't practicing how to breathe
while standing on the shore,
the one who still stared at stars
instead of looking down at her shoes,
the one who has her head in the clouds
and her thoughts won't write suicide notes

i always say i don't want
to go back to the nightmare-filled past
but i secretly still hope
everything right now is just a dream

aren't we all
in motion sickness
sandwiched between
unforgiving bad decisions
(though good luck charms
are laced around our necks),
a broken compass and
unnecessary luggage
in this journey through
the unaligned paths of stars
where all we seem to do
is heave broken glass
and exhale "i'm okay."

we'll die maneuvering
our way in this crooked,
manic life
and somehow live
to tell the tale
that it's been magical

i believe despite the dirt
in our hands,
we are not here for nothing

admittedly,
i have wandering eyes
and a mouth that had kissed
too many hands goodbye
and for a while
i've gotten used to dry spells
and disenchanting love affairs that
has left me coughing black and blue dust

yet my loneliness craves the warmth
my cold bones can't provide
but i run away with heightened wariness
at any chance to defrost

i’m going to hold on
to the belief that you and i
met under the disapproval
of fate because our paths
were not supposed to cross just yet
with hearts winning over logic
and with mouths driving us over the edge
both of us were two young
angst-ridden teens trying to understand
what we cannot, what we should not
and our story ended with a semi-colon
—you and i will always be an
unfinished sentence

but maybe we can meet again
and maybe time and distance will
no longer  be the villain of our tale,
when both of us are not in distress
and none of us are in need of saving,
when we’re both the wholesome
versions of ourselves with hearts
that aren’t broken in half nor with
minds fooling us to believe we’re broken

we’ll be able to stand on our own
separate grounds
but with our hands intertwined
like the stars had written and intended for us  

i’ll wait for that day
and if we’re not lucky enough
then i’ll wait till the next lifetime.

you and i,
we’ll be okay.

i've tore through my cocoon with
urgency to change because i didn't like dangling under pressure and have expectations
poking, ripping, stabbing
me open
so it wasn't long
before the wings on my back
had spread and learned how to fly

but no one had warned me
that by taking flight, now i have
to worry about treacherous winds
and betraying storm clouds, too

i panic a lot.

for me, life has served nothing but anxieties in the form of a single phonecall, speaking up, ordering food, deadlines, crowded places, traveling, etc.. my heart hammers against my chest in hazardous rhythm of messy drumbeats over the simplest, everyday things. but nothing scares me more than the future.

i am terrified of thinking about what lies ahead of me. the inevitable stress, worries and insecurities that ties with growing up leaves me with nothing but quickened breaths, trembling fingers i hide under tables, and a mind that screams just breathe, just breathe--and it's not silly than it is disheartening that i can only imagine the worst, a flaw i've been working to get rid of.

i'm turning eighteen. and this ******* scares me.
i wish i was excited to grow up. i wish i can say i am ready. i wish i was one of those people who can throw all caution to the wind. but i'm not, i'm never ready, and i just can't. not just yet.

but i did enjoy being seventeen. it's without a doubt my favorite age. i got better. i've learned to love myself, fully and unconditionally. i've loved better, more openly, more vocally. i've seen the glass half-empty and i've seen it half-full. i fell in love with the life i have withered in the soil for.

and while it's true that my anxieties can very much crush me, my uncertainties can add unnecessary weight to my shoulders and the unknown simply scares me, but i'll find comfort to the fact that i'm breathing, i'm still living, i'm still alive. right now, that's all that matters.

i'm honestly glad i've reached this point.

so 18.
bring it on.

familiar claws opened
my chest revealing a heart
that only knows how to beat
for him, only for him, for years,
god ****** it has been 3 years
already, ******, ******, ******,
and its pointy nails punctured
my lungs until it deflated entirely, i
cursed as my throat clogged up and
god ****** i can't breathe and his
eyes watched the blood trail from
his hand while mine went blurry
when tears began brimming up
more and more, each tear escaping
my lids and god ****** i can't
believe the only thing i can think
of before i coughed my last breath
was how ******* beautiful he was in
his white t-shirt that remained cleaned

it didn't hit me in full force
like an unexpected rainshower
on the very day i decided
against bringing an umbrella

but it was in ice cream dripping
on hands, in cumulus clouds
on a sky painted pink and purple
just before the sun kissed our
skins goodbye, in whistles of wheels
against warm pavements and
conversations that holds so much
warmth defrosting winter hearts, in
little kids still enjoying their childhood,
in discovering new ways to love
the people i hold dearest, in breathing,
in living, in falling in love with life

and i didn't realize
how happy and contented
i really was at this very moment
until i saw the sun had set, all children
went home and my friends and i
had long finished our frozen treats
but i was still
enjoying every second

never have i ever felt so irrelevant
as if i'm merely an abandoned
building people will walk past to
to stop and appreciate the wall full
of vibrant graffiti next to it

never have i felt a stinging sensation
of watching you laugh at her jokes
when you refuse to crack a smile next
to me, of watching you jump through
currents just to swim with her when
i'm the one who brought you to the sea,
of falling down cliffs and you only saved
the girl who already has a parachute,
of seeing you give her a chance you've
deprived me off

never have i ever felt myself inhale
sharply at the prospect of you giving
her your attention when i'm still
waiting, day after day, for you to text
back, it's so painful to watch outside
clear glass where i'm here, i've always
been here, but i've never felt like i
belong in your world, i'm always
outside looking in, never with you,
never beside you while she already
has reservations to the chair next to you

never have i ever felt this way before

and never will you ever
feel the same way about me

every time our eyes meet, it connects like red
strings as if it's predestined by fate that our
souls are meant to find each other (you have
my heart, i'll forever cherish yours) and our
bond is getting more blinding, more tight but
it never curls up to our throats with restrictions

you have the ability to finish what I'm about
say with ready syllables, you are capable of
keeping up with me knowing full well what
a huge feat that is, i am the yin to your yang
(or is it the other way around?), the only part
you can inflict pain on me is to my cheeks for
making me laugh so much it leaves me gasping
for air and i'll find some of my words in your
mouth and my gestures in your actions and my
heart swell with joy to know you care enough
to not mind that there are pieces of me within you

With you, it's always a blast
With you, it's always a happy day

With you, I want to forever stay

Why is it that whenever I’m one snip
away from completely cutting you out
of the map, the earth’s plate tectonics
promise me that, this time, you’ll stay
rooted in one place like the mountains
but you always walk away?

I’ve learned that you are no land
that sits idly on the same spot, you’re the
wind that’s always ready to go forward
(and in circles, it makes me dizzy)
and I’ve been trying to burn the bridges
and jump down railroads just to refrain
my feet from following you but signs keep
popping overhead that the journey is going
to be worth it, my destination is almost near
and the breeze-like voice
I'm waiting for you is all I am hearing

but I have no sense of direction, not
   when it involves you but I did try to ask
   for the right route to take
   however everyone
   keeps telling me the same words “just follow  
your heart” like they all know you are it, that
it’s you and that you are home

and so I tried to match
footsteps with heartbeats
until I could reach you

but you had already moved on

it's so unfair that my head whiplashes, my eyes
dart as if it's an archery event and you're the only
target i found was worth releasing the bow from
its arrow to and that my heart starts its musical
number of blue songs and wild rock at the mere
mention of your name and of anything that reminds
me of you--and it's so unfair because i could easily
forget names and appearances as if they're painted in the background but your name seems to be
wedged inside my mouth, i have to look away from
mirrors because everytime i smile i see it and you
appear everywhere--in books, in journal entries, in high school buildings, in my living room
floor, in convenient stores, in old forgotten 90s songs, in the streets with warm pavements, in boys
who reminds me of you whose identities are now
covered wih your favorite color until i could only
see blue--and it's so unfair because i think of you
on days I've promised I won't and I'm writing you
another poem when you can't even text back

i know my worth, you never saw mine
i know your worth, and i bled everytime
you cut me down with your gold edges
because unlike how my head would turn,
yours would look away and while my
eyes searches for you, yours could see
past through me and while my heart wails
for you to notice, yours remain steady-paced,
unaffected, unstirred

it's so unfair, so unfair.
Can you tell me when i can taste victory?

i never found you to be cruel, even when you played
with my heartstrings as a consequence of baring my
heart open or when you sent me flowery words you
know well are my favorites just so you can see me
bleed from its thorns

i never saw you as a mistake, even when i've already drowned
once down the quicksand of all the time i wasted, even when
i'm well aware of how reckless of a force you are and i would
still heedlessly forget to practice safety measures

i never thought of you as someone who can save me, and while
it's true that i have fallen from grace, i have already been washed
up on the shore, i have already found myself, and i don't need no
hero but if i was asked what i do need, am i allowed to utter
your name? the name that echoes deep inside the hollowness
of my existence, engraved in my mind, tattooed on my soul?

i never wanted you to think that i'd be incomplete without you
because even i think such an idea is irrational and untrue, i never
wanted you to raise my hopes up and crush down my expectations,
i never wanted you to wear your heart on your sleeves so that
we'll match, what i wanted was simply you.

i've always wanted you,
but if you don't feel the same way,
then goodbye.

even the musky scent of cigarette
smoke and the lingering taste of
alcohol still can’t elude me to think
that everything is going to be alright

funny how your smile can

he said, "I'll support you with
whatever makes you happy."

a pause.

"I'm happy with you--will you
support me on this?" i replied.

for more than 14 years I've
been in an unrequited love
with my dream

and i still haven't got it

she reminds people of hugs and
mermaid hair and sunshine-filled
smiles of stained lips dipped fiery
red and she's a walking proof that
being kind doesn't need to be acted
through frivolous bravado nor
does it have to be broadcast for
everyone to see for she has long
set that example for all of us
to be inspired by

she's simple in extraordinary ways,
she's lovely in heightened measurements, she's as cute as a button.

stay golden, micka.

you don't know me, that's as clear as the
day, just like i'm not exactly sure who
you are just yet. i don't hold a time box
of the past i never want to relive, of a
present still muddled w uncertainties
and countless levels of anxieties and of
a future i'm not even sure you are a
part of. i may be deluding myself with
ideas of you, because everyone around
me told me you're the one i need in
order to be complete and i honestly can't
deny that i like what i'm hearing. i'm
still clueless how this works--do i simply
get one look straight from your eyes and
all my doubts will start to vanish, do i
reach for your hand because i suddenly
felt like that's all i'll ever need, do i give
in to the hazy infatuation and plunge
right in, do i say hello or would i lose my
tongue? i'm not sure, nor will i ever be.

but maybe if it's you,
maybe it's because of you,
i'm prepared to meet halfway.

he looked so brilliantly bright
up on the pedestal I've decorated
with fake flowers and cut-out hearts

i know he could make all the
pain of rejection go away, i know he
could see past my flaws, i know he
can make me happy simply by giving
me a chance to adore him, or can he
really? he was perfect, something i
wasn't used handling, i was used
with the broken and the shattered
and not of something so clean and so
polished

would it really do me good to stay
with a person on such high standards i know i deserve

or is it okay to still stay with you?

I know we haven't talked in months, and i know you
think we are better off without each other, but i just
want you to know that i'm doing my best not to long
for your voice and your eyes, i'm trying hard not to miss
the sound of your voice and the curve of your smile, i
made sure to refrain myself from looking at our pictures
that are in the trash bin of my computer i haven't
permanently deleted yet, i keep on telling myself what
you have told me.

that we are better off with people who won't stumble and
crash at the first sign of uncertainty or push the other person
to leave because you know for yourself that you can't and
you really wouldn't. but instead i'm lying on cold white tiles
right now trying to imagine what it's like to be with you still.
I haven't been doing better.

my life isn't tragic,
my mind is.

I stayed in one place, as if my feet grew roots and bounded themselves
under the soil while my face withered from the drought and my arms left people with bruises because I pricked them with thorns, but I still didn't leave, I still couldn't leave. I wanted to be here when you came back so I was fine there, I did not mind the blaring sun and the pitying eyes--and when you did show your face, you got mad at me for placing myself at risk, you went grave when you realized the agony you think I've been through, and so you asked me repeatedly, again and again and again why I bothered with him when he had told me countless of times I have the liberty to do what I wanted, and so I simply answered three words.

You learned how I have a taken a liking to poems
and writing and anything that drips with art and so you
asked me to write you one.
I knew you didn’t like those poems that I’ve showed
you nor did you understand my passion for writing and
my love for fiction

So I asked you why

You waved it off and told me to just do it; as if words
were easy to tame, as if my mind flows as quickly as
the ink of my pen, as if it just happens in the moment
I wanted them to

I told you that it takes time and you can’t force words
out and ***** them all over the page and you got mad
and swore I’m taking this all too seriously

Maybe I did,
maybe you just didn't understand

You were convinced that you were some masterpiece,
and you wanted me to write about you--not because you
love me or you appreciated my works and my words and
my fingers, but you love yourself too much
But you can’t write
So u forced me.

Well, here it is, *******.

Since when did I transition from gaining keen
awareness of this hazy infatuation boiling
within me then realizing, hardly admitting, that
I'm so deep into a world where everything I
know already exists, prominently so, but your
entire existence seems to be the only thing that matters.

You're not the only thing that matters, I know,
I know, but at this age, at this point in time, every
single star is guiding me to a path directed to you,
and I'll tell myself, who am I to resist such delicious
reverence, who do I assume to be if not but to follow
my heart for once and never mind the logic, the
metaphysics, the rationality—who ******* cares about
consequences when you made me feel as though I
can go against all Gods and the angels are behind me
cheering.

But you're not the only thing that matters, I'll scream, I'll
thrash, I'll tell myself over and over and over again, because
it seems that's what you're whispering inside your head while
you're kissing her to forget the taste of my name.

You're not the only thing that matters, and I had to learn
that the hard way. I was reckless and unwavering,
plunging to a world of complete madness, convinced
that I was crazy enough—crazy for you, to get through.
I lost sight of who I am, and the universe was unforgiving
towards fools who dare to forget.

You're not the only thing that matters. I just wish you're mine.

i held the knife and so
every blood splatters and tear stains and nail marks
are nothing compared to the glaringly big wounds
i stabbed and twisted open, hoping it'll bear out the truth

but it held no significance now
because while i was occupied by the
pain i inflicted on myself, i forgot that
you love to carelessly run around
with sharp scissors in your hands

I'm reverting back to old bad habits of cooping myself inside my room, reading dark themed fictions to match my mood, clenching fists and breathing as shallow as the air surrounding me seems to be, wondering why gravity seems to be heavier on my back against the sheets. I have used up most of my vocabulary to describe this sensation, my battered journal filled with ripped pages and blotted ink can surely attest to that, I'm running out of words, I'm running out of desperation to make better use of my time but there seems to be nothing, no words, no use, and everything is inside the whirlwind of my thoughts, each one slapping me back to reality, fantasy, reality, fantasy, there's nothing real, there's no fairytale here, and I can only rush this out so it may seem like I know what I'm writing and I hope it appears as if the words are just flowing loose like a tranquil river who knows where they are from and where they are going, but I'm nothing like a easy-going stream of water, I'm a hurricane and a volcano and a storm, a full-blown natural disaster trying its best to play it cool, and to be honest I've never been so at loss with what to say and so at loss at what to do

--L.m.

you and i were always just one second window glance away and i avert my eyes too fast and you always pretend you didn't see me. later on you'll tell your friends like I will tell mine that we saw each other, then they'll ask what we talked about and we'll always laugh it off with a wave of a hand we didn't share when our eyes met. At night, we'll toss and we'll turn and that one second glance will play like a broken record inside our heads, stopping us from sleeping, weighing down our stomachs as the heaviness of regret and disappointment settle in. "I wish I was braver," you sigh to yourself. "I wish I said Hi," I whispered against the sheet. Then we'll try to sleep but we won't until the clock blares 4am. We'll wake up groggy, unsettled, wishing that simple, unimportant one second window glance wasn't just a fleeting moment neither of us anticipated would gnaw us inside out. But it does and it's there and the eyes of the other will continue to be engraved inside our memory, sadly, as only a memory.

The problem lies with me
     because it's either I don't know when to stop
     or i choose to let go at the exact moment
                        you hope I'd stay

I hope I learn that I am not as invincible
as I think and that I am not the only one
hurting, God, i keep wondering why the
pain never stops, but did i ever even pause
and look away at my blood-filled hands,
stop feeling disgusted by the mere sight of
        hot, red trails dripping against my skin
        when not even 2 meters beside me is
               the knife that i used to stab, stab,
               stab you in the back?

dear god i am a, i am a
   -- i tried to stop feeling so sorry
      for myself but im drowning and trembling
      still and everything's a ******* mess but
      yet, but yet, yet, i gasped
           you're still there
           with your hand wide open, patient,
           kind, still waiting for me to accept it

           but i pushed you away, called you names,
           making me want to claw my skin with
           the fingers that burned against yours and
           forced me to bruise my lips that called
           you lies
  
  i'm so sorry i am a mess
  when you thought i was the best

maybe im not as useless
as I think I am

I mean, why else
would you use me, right?

I've been told I'm an open book,
   predictable and eye-catching
but there are parts of me that
has once been dirtied by the hands
of my past
      that i can't let go of
      and that it is committed on following me
I fold these pages of me away,
still allowing people to read my story

hiding behind metaphors
and deep, romanticized poems and journals
just so at least you can imagine
     how i feel
     when I'm drinking sadness
     when I'm choked by anxiety
     when I'm strangled by fear
without having to know
the actual story I'm not ready
to share, just yet

the question hovers above them, seemingly floating as if what felt like a million of bricks weight nothing, silence meet air, their words wedged inside their throats, too many, too much, to let out in one go, so they swallow everything down in a series of anxious gulps, wishing their lips to  remain sealed, but also wanting them to speak on its own,

*Hey, do you still care?

When I was younger, my hands were too small to reach for large shelves, my heart was small but its faint beats used to calm me, my eyes were small, curious, full of wonder,

I wonder why I used to wish to grow up fast? Was maturity that appealing to me? Were the adults around me look so contended, so sure of themselves, sure about their lives, that I can't help but crave for that sense of security that I wished in every dandelions I caught, every shooting stars, every birthday candles,

But now that I am growing up, my hands got bigger but vulnerable to bruises, my heart got bigger, heavier, unbearably suffocating, my eyes bigger, more open, gradually growing dimmer, colder,

and now I don't need to wonder why adults seem to have it together
because now I'm
doing my best to pretend I am okay, too

Time runs fast I knew, but this time frame that I'm warped in acts as if it is being chased down. Too fast, too soon, the day ends and I can't look back anymore with the fear of being painfully whiplashed; go, go, don't stop, just run! just run!

but my feet is growing tired, I can't enjoy the view. I want to stop, dear god, stop time. I don't want to be dragged by its long hand and be pushed and poked by its short one. I want to smell the air, not have it slapping against my skin; I want to remember every view, not to only see a blurry vision; I want to enjoy time, not be abused by it . I'm aging too fast, too soon, that I don't even remember what I ate last night. Everything is on perpetual Go! Go! Go! and I am continued to being pushed to participate in a race I don't wish to join

Loopholes are escape routes
     that can save you from a tight restriction
     that can relieve you from an oppressing pain

Tell me then,
how did you find stabbing me in the back
      as the greatest ran-away-plan?
      Was it as fun as you imagined it to be?
I hope it gave you the greatest pleasure
      that I no longer have you on the leash,
      that you no longer have to bear with me

.

I often tell people that I was always the one getting left behind
   but of course
I never once told them that I gave them all the reasons to walk away
  in the first place