I remember reading somewhere that memory has a link to doorways. That whenever you pass by a door, you tend to refresh your mind and forget something. And to retrieve the lost memory, you just walk back through the same door and you'll remember the information when you stand in the first room.
Our old house used to be a small, simple space; on just one floor and not many rooms. We've filled the house with so many memories, we didn't have space to make compartmental rooms. Every gap had our scent and laughter; we've touched every single square of our walls and floor, all the way up to our ceilings.
But then the laughter started to stop and the space felt too small. It was hard for us to breathe and secretly we started to scratch on the walls, hoping we could find a way out. You did it first. You left and took off in the night while I was alone, thinking what should I keep and which should I bail.
Determined not to remember what we had because you went oh so easily, I built myself a new house. Instead of a simple one-floor plan, I built a house that stretched long and far, with many doors in between. Maybe if I go through countless of doorways, I'll be able to really forget about what we had, about you, about us. And maybe by the time I reach the final door, it's like the first house, and you and I never existed.
Hours ticked by as I sat upon my bed, reading what's written on my screen and I grew more irritated by the minute. Odd, there were no specific triggers but anything these people said made me angry. Silent yet violent waves crashed against my ribs. Red, angry waves. Teeth clenched, shoulders tensed, perched at the end of my bed.
But a message from you popped up and so I clicked on it. You replied my message that --in the midst of my random anger-- I've forgotten I sent earlier. A simple, one-sentenced message saying "I love you most" with a series of hearts changed the emotions I've felt.
The red that I saw turned to a soothing blue. The violent waves in my chest went from roaring to calming, still waters. My perked up tongue laid down into a comfortable slumber. My once-tensed shoulders drooped in a relaxed manner.
Just like that, the unfathomable anger that got me riled up for no reason, was tamed and forgotten; thanks to your presence. What is this magic you yield?
These lives once clung
supplying warmth and
But they've dried out
and left me cold.
So I peeled them off,
shedding skin that's old.
Determined to leave
smooth and new
Do you also have that one person in your life? That no matter how many months have passed, they still get the insides of your stomach flipping?
That you went through a long period of time thinking you're fine but when you talk to them just one more time, and all the feelings you had for them--the ones you swore you got over--came rushing back like waves? That when you ease back into a conversation with them and it's just like old times; you both got stupid smiles plastered on your faces as you enjoy each other's company?
And when they open their mouth to say I love you, you can't help but feel all fluttery inside. Wishing, hoping, that maybe this time they'll say it romantically instead of platonically.
But then a third person comes into view and it's their partner. And your smile freezes.
Cause oh no.
He was never mine to begin with. And he never will be.
And all those feelings go down the drain. Just like how you two parted before. That he could not love you the way you want him to.
And all this love you carry, well, you just keep carrying it. Hoping someone else will share it with you.
Just not today.
Wide awake in a room
swallowed by darkness,
my body is cloaked
with the haunting grasps
of a memory.
A recognition of a bruise,
though the damage is spectral,
the revival of the thought
hurts my corporal vessel.
Causing apparitions of a dark figure,
slowly emerging to my body.
trying to hold me as it envelops
its ghastly form.
It whispers words
that took long to forget,
blurring my mind
as images conspire around me,
rebirthed in the flames in which
i burned them to death.
Slowly, i weaken
until i am fully constricted,
giving in to the thought,
to the figure, to the memory.
Tt trying to st ay awak e but
i d rath errrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr fall asleep
t haan to be haunted
for theeeerest of the nig h t .
I ran out of things to burn to send you smoke signals. Or maybe I just want to preserve what I still have so I would not destroy my treasures anymore. I do not want to wake up one day, completely alone in an empty space because I keep burning things to make you notice me. Why am I always the one sacrificing things here? Now my lungs are filled with polluted smoke, my heart pierced by longings, head filled with strong debates on whether I should keep you or leave you. Do I send you one last signal? Or is the silence already a message sent?
Gone are the days where I think of people I love as art.
The emotions I felt when I looked at their canvas; buried deep inside me.
But the artwork got up and left me for another museum.
And I'm left reminiscing the strokes and lines and colours.
They were never mine to keep.