Maybe it's because I've been left with myself for too long that you appeared like a surprise I wasn't even sure that was coming. You, like rain at 3 in the morning or 3 in the afternoon, make me want to think about you, make me want to (day)dream. Make me want to steal glances, make me want to stare into your eyes, make me want to look away from your gaze. You almost make me want to stop being sad.
Maybe it's because I think you weren't a surprise for me and instead I misread the signs and now I'm in too deep to stop misreading and you make me want to write words that remind me of you, make me want to write words about you. Make me want to describe how your eyes make my heart want to continue beating, how your smile makes my lungs want to continue breathing, how your lame jokes make my cheeks want to continue smiling. You almost make me want to stop being sad.
Maybe it's because I feel like I'm giving myself hope and I'm sorry you ended up in a reality I made up because I couldn't get a grip of myself before I found myself jumping off the building. You don't deserve the longing I projected to you because of my selfishness because you make me want to hear your days, make me want to drink coffee with you, made me fall in love. You make me want to start something, make me want to do something, make me want it to be something. You make me happy.
I can't stop thinking about you.
Trust me when I say you are not the first to love me against your will. I am your every I-shouldn’t-be-feeling-like-this and palms pressed to eyes and dreams you don’t want to end and touches you wish were real. I make you want to stay and change me or change yourself and break your every rule you have ever made for anyone before me and most importantly I make you want to break the world.
Do not make me the epitome of a riddle because, you are smart enough for this and I am not something that can be solved. I am selfish and I am aware of that and I want you but you’re not the only one. I am sorry I never warned you about how I can make you feel and I am sorry I didn’t want to anyway because you are this little book of hope and innocence I lost when I grew up and I need you to be my refuge.
I am waiting for something uncertain in the future and that is why I am playing with the certainties I have in my hands now. Just because I have your feelings intertwined between my fingers doesn’t mean I don’t know the consequences they have on my sentiments. This is not the first time I have done this but the intensity does not die down with the next person and I know I shouldn’t be doing this but I look for homes in people.
But trust me when I say you will fall in love with me on your own will. These moments are temporary and fleeting and they’re the most beautiful mirage you will ever come across. In these moments I am more than just a dream and I am more than who I am and I am more than the 20-year-old girl you fell in love with. And more than anything, I will become nonexistent right on front of your eyes.
I know how hard you're trying, I'm sorry.
I speak of the boy I used to wait for at the train station
frankly speaking, it's not that I know that he doesn't think of me anymore
it's that I know he only thinks of me when he doesn't know what he's doing
it makes more sense since I've always been one step ahead and pulling his hand
I think he knows I like the pull when I'm moving too fast
like a train coming to an abrupt stop and the passengers inside are jumped
sometimes he's like the train and I'm the passenger inside
the problem is when I leave, he'll just keep going.
I'm chasing after the last coach, leaving for its next destination
yes, I know there will be another one after it
but it's the slight sorrow that the one before left when I've just arrived
I think he was always like that, I think boys are always like that
they're like trains the moment you fall in love for one
while you're waiting and there he comes to pick you up
you spend hours with him until he drops you off somewhere
and he never looks back, it was always you looking.
I don't wait for him at the station anymore, I knew he wouldn't come
I've been having the sinking feeling that I missed my train for 2 years now
I go to the same place back and forth but the ride home is empty
you used to care when I'm travelling by myself
but there are trips that I don't feel as lonely
in these moments when I sit in the train, I couldn't help but wonder
is this you?
Train-related writings will always refer to the same boy
It has been months since I picked up the courage to spill my thoughts
but it's not like I haven't thought about coming back
I keep telling myself that my passion for writing has died
and like every dead things, they were never made to come back to life
I wish I could look back on the words I dedicated if I hadn't erase them
the truth is I have never regret all the things I wrote about you
but like every dead things, they were meant to come back and haunt.
What's unbearable was the incoherency that my mind fell into
over time, I stopped feeling altogether
I wasn't crazy, I wasn't sad, I wasn't angry either
sometimes I remember the earlier days and felt better
sometimes I think about the good memories and felt hopeless
the truth is I have never been this scared in a long time
and the fear swallowed me whole.
Trust me when I say the only thing I'm good at is lying
I went on for months denying what was stirring in my chest
I went on even longer thinking that I was absolutely fine
I learnt that you never really know how good you are until you're not
and the only thing I'm good at is crumbling to my feet
the truth is I have never had to hold my own bandages
but in the end, it's the only thing holding me.
I thought about all the other things I've loved before you
but everything I do reminds me of how hollow I am
I go through everyday wishing I was a ghost that would trail your every shadow
maybe it would be more fair if you felt the emptiness I've become
but even then I knew it's hard to haunt when you don't even care
the truth is I have never thought we would end up like this;
I forgot we weren't a fairytale.
I see you every day but I never know how you're doing
in the fleeting moment when your eyes met mine,
I fail to see that they don't glimmer with happiness to see me anymore
just a mirage that has been fooling me all this while
so it's funny the way it tickles when I realise
you're slipping away through my fingers
a sandstorm I created with my own hands that I have no control of
and I hate that when I ball up my fist, I feel like I'm suffocating you
in the end I chose to let you go and leave the remaining grains of sand
to be a memoir of your existence.
Why do I feel like it's a joke when I reminisce us
why do I allow myself to be your puppet
why do I fall apart at the thought of you
when I once let you be the reason for my confidence
but I want to laugh so hard at where we are now-
you look at me in the eyes as if I don't know what the hell I'm doing
and it's stupid because I'm letting you go for the final time
after all that I've done for you
after all that you've done to me
because I'm tired of the same punch line.
I compare you to so many things you're not
like the sun peeking through my window when
I wake up on the right side of the bed
like the bliss of having 2 classes in a day
and all this is funny because now, you're more like
the scorching 1 p.m. heat when I'm walking back to my dorm from campus,
the surge of frustration and anger pumping through my veins after class
because I'm hot-tempered and short-circuited all in one
and I let you explore which of my buttons to push;
your fingertips left me with bruises.
Even though I loved you, it's not ******* funny how much I hate you now.
When I find a place that invites me in like I'm a long lost relative,
I would do anything for them
and that's a weakness because when I let myself be pushed around,
these strangers I call family
will treat me exactly like how my family did.
Here is where I find myself conflicted
running away just to find another home that ended up to be
the exact home I barely got out of;
like escaping from a lion's mouth straight into a crocodile's.
Why am I always fooled by gold-painted stones
why do I always fall right into the wrong book
I've come across these type of characters so many times
why stay and taint their existence that even they wouldn't claim.
I try to fix the broken but my hands did anything but
and left inked-fingerprints on shattered glass
it's only about time until they discover whose it is-
I hope maybe I'll be gone by then.
I try to pull away from the hook that's been tied to my spine
realising it too late that it's slowly ruining me
reeling me back to a home I desperately want to get rid of
but I know these ghosts won't find peace if I keep falling back to them
and that's the curse of leaving a mark.
I preferred when we were strangers
I liked it better when I didn’t know you.
Some things are just better left unfinished
rather than continuing with the tragic event
I learned that you are harder on the ones you know and care about.
There were reasons why I stayed away
but at the same time, I didn’t realise
that I had actually tied ropes to my arrows
so when I attack, you know exactly where I would be
and I’ve always had this habit of leading people to me.
I’ve come to terms that whether I like it or not,
the traces I leave are often appealing to wanderers
who have absolute no idea what they’re getting themselves in to.
No matter how I hard I try to cover my tracks,
the attraction curses my mere existence
and there is nothing more I want than to just be.