I love you.
it hurts, and I love you anyway.
somehow, I loved you before I knew you.
you are my poison, and you are my antidote.
I love you inordinately, irrevocably, impossibly.

one part of me goes - what does it matter? why does it matter? this is who I am, this is what I look like. this is me beside you in the morning, barefaced, this is me dressing up for you in the evening, eyeliner, lipstick, the works. these are both me. think what you will, say what you will to your friends. it can't affect me. I don't exist outside of that.

but another part of me goes - I want you to like me. I want you to care. I want you to think about me. I want you to stay. I want you to be okay with my presence. not everything is a means to an end. I care so much it hurts.

we love you and we are happy to have you
but we wanted to stop at two
we agreed to stop at two
and then this bad thing happened
that really ruined things
and we decided to have another one
because we want a clean slate and
this third child will make things better
and we can start afresh and it will all be okay

and then you don’t take into account
the 7 and 11 year age difference and
the two of them hated me then for existing
and for being spoilt (like I could control it)

and for having what they didn’t have
and having to be my babysitter
and taking away their childhood

and I was never in your plan but it’s all okay
because now the narrative changes
and I’m to be the redemption child
but having another child doesn’t
save your marriage and
it doesn’t create a clean slate and

no matter how well you phrase it
I was just never meant to exist

but then I did anyway
so that you two could feel better
about that one mistake that ****** everything up

I had so many questions:

"why did you leave?
what did I do?
don't you miss me?
don't you feel bad?"

he answered only the first question:

"I just did."

being on my knees
begging to be slapped
peering up at faceless men
and thinking: this is what I want
actually, believing this is what I want

and I let (asked) you to do all that to me
there was some resistance, "I've not done that before."
what, slapped someone? deprived someone of oxygen?
but you did it anyway, and now you say I've ruined you

so now we're both a little more damaged than before.
"some moments I fear you are in self-destruct mode.
I like it, I hate it." you plead for me to stop this.
somehow, I wake up. and somehow, I listen.

I told myself I'd never do it again
and yet I found myself in the airport at 5 AM
and I found you and we got ****** coffee and we waited

we waited and we flew and we drove
we laughed and cried and kissed
we drank and talked and ******

a little boy asked if I was your wife
and you said yes
and when you booked a taxi to the airport for me
you called me your girlfriend

how liberating it is to lose yourself in the fantasy of it all
but the loneliness hits eventually
and somewhere along the way
you found your conscience

somewhere along the way
you felt bad about the age difference
you felt bad for letting me give you permission
you felt bad but you did it still

I hate that I like you as a person
I hate that we did that
I hate that it didn't end terribly
I hate that I can't hate you

the worst is over
and I reside under it

I slept to not think about you
and then I dreamt about you anyway

I can't remember much of it
I just remember you picked me up
we went home
we talked
and things were okay again

and I woke up
and I checked my phone
and there was nothing

HIM
what is real for you right now?

ME
hm, you.

HIM
me?

ME
yeah, you. because you're here.
what about you? what's real for you now?

HIM
us, because we're here together.

ME
ha, you win. that's so much better than mine.

you are easy to like
though sometimes it
did feel like an interview

I suppose I don't really mind
you know all these things about me
and you barely remember my last name
or even know my birthday
though all that information is
somewhere in my flight details
should you ever think to look back

you touched me and scratched my back
and held my hand and kissed me
and I reciprocated
I leaned into it
maybe too much
that I started wanting it more

but I think I am too sensitive
I hold your hand
and you don't really hold mine back
I touch you
and you don't return the sentiment

then why would you initiate so much in the first place
why would you make me want it
then take it from me
why did I fall for it

I hate feeling like this
looking for your name
I can't run away
not in the way I want to

love is too simple a word
how could I ever condense
all the depths and eternities
of this fondness I feel for you

you know when you’re in a car,
and it’s thundering outside,
and you go under a bridge
and everything goes
silent

just for that moment, everything is calm
my own sanctuary, my quiet place
everything is okay before
we descend into the chaos again

you are my bridge, my peace, my comfort
the sun in my sky, so much that is good and perfect
how can I ever say I simply love you?

it hurts to confront the truth
all I have in me is nothing but proof
of the unresolved trauma, the unbridled fear
the (your) voices that only I seem to hear

we're all better now, we're so sorry
sure you say that, but I still worry
the raise of a hand, the sound of a slam
these things, they still scare me, *******

I am the person I am because of you
for that I never know what to feel
I now have the compassion to never make
another person go through this very fate

whatever it is, to atone for your sins
I take no part, both you has-beens
I'm nothing like you, I'll never be
so goodbye now, please excuse me

A,

I don't think I'll be able to date anyone for a while
I want to, I want to but I can't get over this, over us
I'm scared I will get pushed like this again and I will lose myself again and who knows, maybe for good

I don't know who I was when we were together

I'm stupid like that
I let you use me because I was afraid of losing you
and you knew you were using me
but you said you couldn't help it
as if that was it

you said I loved you more than you could ever love me back
and left it at that, like I was supposed to do something with it
I love you, I miss you, I'm sorry?
where the hell did I go wrong

I hope this flame burns bright enough
for you to burn
with me

I can't remember how many times I've tried to say no before ***. It was always easier to get it over with instead of trying to struggle.

Confronting him about it doesn't work. I did it once. He told me not to give him a cheeky answer, that I should've said no.

But I did say no.

It scares me that he’s capable of this, that he can find it in him to do this to me.

He scares me. I act like he doesn’t, so much that sometimes I can convince myself I can get through everything. But he does, no matter how hard I try to believe otherwise.

I tense up when he walks towards me with that look in his eyes. My heartbeat quickens, and how I wish it were in a good way. I don’t dare to look at him. Then he makes me look up at him, and he kisses me.

And it begins all over again.

Imposter syndrome, that's a thing right?
Fed with compliments all my life but it just makes me feel uncomfortable, like I have to live up to more
That tomorrow I will have to be better than yesterday

Before I met you
I did not know what it meant to be proud of myself
To be able to be myself genuinely and not have anything to live up to
To just be, without having to meet expectations
Purity in its best form

How do you exist?

There's a tin in my kitchen with your name on it and I cannot touch it with my bare hands because it's salt, and I am open wounds.

Loving someone so madly and helplessly like this...
I will never love like this again

We whispered a lot that night, I have no idea what for. We probably didn't want to disrupt the delicate atmosphere with our voices. I wouldn't have changed it anyway. The silence lay down with us, resting its head on our shoulders, breathing calmly when we did, and falling asleep when we did.

The world around us gave in to the silence, giving protagonism to the sound of our lips colliding with every breath we took, our breaths slowing down. It was a slow symphony played only for our ears to hear and our skin to feel. It was the best I'd ever rested in ages. A human body can go without sleep for four to five years, and I've gone years without rest.

We fell asleep together a lot everyday.

I knew even before you started leaning in that I was going to regret this for the rest of my life. I also knew that your lips would make me feel like I was in heaven. They did. Your lips touching mine for the first time, as gentle as a butterfly landing on a petal, was possibly the best thing that had ever happened to me. We forgot.

I melted into it, pressing back harder. Hard enough to have the ghost of your mouth on mine for an eternity, but not hard enough that I'd never want anything but your lips against mine. It was fantastic in a way that it'd never been, and then it was so much better. It was closed lips playing seek-each-other, again and again, and another time, until we didn't know whose lips were ours anymore.

We kissed a lot that day.

We were walking on the street, hands brushing against each other every now and then. We shared knowing smiles and it was all about youandme. I forgot who initiated it, but I remember walking slower and closer to you with our hands intertwined.

It was so crowded, people kept pushing, but we knew it was us against everyone. We held hands so many times that day. You have two identical moles on both hands, near the longitudinal arch of your ring finger. We Googled that term up together.

We held hands so much every time.

I don’t even remember consciously thinking about you but somehow I always get jolted back into reality with a mere realisation -
there’ll never be an us again

No one, not even the trees, or the flowers can then say that there is nothing more beautiful than falling in love, and nothing crueller than having your heart broken. I used to think falling in love was no big deal, it was just exchanging whispers and kisses that didn't really mean anything. The folly of youth, really.

I kind of hate you, for being able to make me fumble with my words so easily around you. I hate how you make my very insides burn with warmth whenever I see you. Is it a blessing or a curse, to be so attached to someone?

As the saying goes, "All good things come to an end." Sure enough, it did. You got tired of me and it was no surprise to me that I woke up to an empty bed and a half-empty closet and a hurriedly scribbled note on the coffee-table saying, "I can't do this anymore." It was scary, how five simple words put together shattered me into fragments so tiny.

But ******* it, I should have known from all those red flags that were so obviously waving in front of my stupid, dumb face. It was so ******* obvious, how you were so much more distant (red flag), how you rolled your eyes and clenched your fists every time I complained about a little thing (red flag), how you never worried about me anymore (red flag), how a scowl found its way onto your face whenever I asked you how I looked (red flag). It wasn't any surprise when I found you gone and far away from me that morning.

It's raining now, and I’m cold and sad without you. I'm staring into blank space, the occasional clap of thunder brings me back to reality for a while, and I drift off again mindlessly. It's horrible, feeling like this. My throat is dry and sore, and it's somewhat like you are my water. Or my light, because I'm blinded and you are (were) everything I see (saw). Come back. I don’t understand. Please, just come back. Please.

This rain gets heavier and harder, and true enough, there is nothing crueller than having your heart broken.

I can feel my heart beating inside my chest.
I can hear the hollow thumping against my ribcage.
I wonder if your ribcage is as hollow as mine, if you can hear it, too.
The monotonous beat-beat-beating of a death march where your heart is supposed to be beating to the rhythm of your fingertips on my skin,
the incessant drumming of your impatient hands on the tabletop as you wait for dinner to finish cooking.
The pitter-patter of the rain on the window when it pours and you **** me so hard I can't hear the thunder booming over the sound of the headboard hitting the wall, the lightning illuminating you,
making you look like how you do beneath the way-too-flashy strobe lights in crowded clubs.
I wonder if you know this hollow beating where we're supposed to love and I want to rip out my heart and swap it for yours, because maybe then it wouldn't hurt so much.
Then again, maybe it would.

I think it may have gone wrong when I made my home inside of you, or when you made your home in me, curling up inside my chest like you belonged there (not that you don't).

I remember you hung your heartstrings on the ridges of my ribcage, folding yourself beneath the broken staircase of my spine, leaving handprints on my heart in the shape of your smiles, your curls, your eyes.

You fit (forced) yourself into my chest, where I think my heart is supposed to be, and moving everything around and fixing broken promises, intertwined with me like a vine around a tree trunk, fitting yourself to me like a ******* puzzle piece.

I think it went wrong the moment I started talking to you, but I'll still pretend you aren't wrecking me, because it is anything but futile. And you know I'll let you, as I always do (and I love you for it).

You are the epitome of soothing ointments of hurt and blistered anguish in the form of heart tins and pink pocket chapsticks.

You alleviate sudden jolts of pain when my teeth catch onto parts of my dry, chapped lips and I know I can rub your baring being onto my lips when they tremble and shiver.

I believe with every ounce of my being that you'll peel the awful off my skin and if that is not called trust, I don't know what is.

I've fallen in love with you, which is akin to falling into a hole. An abyss, maybe? I've fallen into an abyss where my only company is darkness, and that darkness has wrapped me up in a blanket of safety. (I'm not really safe, because you are arrogance and sarcasm and jagged edges.)

I think you kind of burned out everything until I was nothing. Nothing but an empty shell for you to fill it with your eyes, your laughter, and a dangerous form of love that sparks through you like lighting a match. This love can only end in ashes. I'm not afraid to burn. Never am, never will be. I hope this flame burns bright enough for you to burn with me.

I was burned the minute I saw you. You looked at me like I was something special and I just. I just went up in flames. And, I think I'm still burning.

I try not to love the way the sheets fall off your hips. I try not to love the way the sunlight filters through the windows and paints shadows into the hollows of your throat. I try not to love every notch of your spine (and I wonder if you can see the cracks in mine where I've broken my back trying to keep this love from falling and breaking.) I try so hard to not love you, but loving you is all I have left.

Sometimes I feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness at times that seems to burn, an emptiness that even the warmest of hearts cannot melt.

It's a collation of the most intangible things. I think if you lifted your ear to my heart, you could probably hear the ocean.

"Love yourself," you say. But haven't you heard, the path to self-love is shaky and under construction? It's creaky and unstable, and anyone who tries to step foot onto that path, slips and falls, and dies tragically. You either win or die trying.

"Love me, then." I did. I did love you. You were like my sweetest downfall, bitter but relishing. I could give you seas but you fight for lakes. Who am I to stop you? I don't think I can love you again.

Do you remember our love notes? They were folded like little hearts, the way you liked it. Do you remember when you left? The ink smudged, and it tattooed my skin with broken love.

The scars you left on my heart burn more fiercely than any other I have given myself. So, do you get it? I can't love you again.

It all makes sense now, why you drink tea and I drink coffee.
Because coffee is bitter. Bitter people drink bitter coffee; sad people.
People with heavy hearts and heaving
footsteps and too much on their minds, people with regrets and unsaid words,
people like me.
Lonely people drink coffee.
Ah, but you. You drink tea. It makes sense.
You're light and sweet and simple, delicate even; I can tell.
It all makes sense now.
Tea.
I should have known.