i re-read all the poems i wrote months ago when everything was still okay. i wasn't sad, but my poems were. it's funny to think, how i could always find that little peek hole of darkness even though i was surrounded by lights. you were there with me and it was only a two-days fight, but my words formed a sentence of how we were already strangers. maybe i like to exaggerate things. or maybe we've always been strangers from the start because if not, how could you look away every time i try to say hi? people don't just turn into strangers. we were all made by the same stardust and some of us were destined to meet. or maybe we weren't. i don't know; i wouldn't know. up to this day i still think we are each other's even though we are not anymore and i guess that explains a lot about me, and you, and us. us contains of you and i. we are contained of each other. you still keep my heart in your pocket, and i'll always be the first girl you've ever really loved.

Why can't we have meaningless talk
the way people have meaningless ***-
you would crash over me into a
river of un-scathing emptiness
and leave marks on my skin-
stories that this was where
you started to tear at
the seams
effortlessly
like the silkness
of your sorrows on my floor.

You would become a sultry verse
in this anthology of every day
lodged between the rush and
vacancy of broken hearts
and anguished limbs.

You would radiate the heat
of your angry, angry heart onto
the cold deadness of mine,
and we could burn and melt
all at the same time.

Meaninglessly you would leave
me out of breath,
gather your clothes
and go home.

i remember one famous quote from bob marley, ".. truth is, everybody's going to hurt you. you just gotta find the one worth suffering for."
i was numb back then and i still am even until now but to be honest, i wasn't sure if i suffered for you. yes, i cried my eyes out when you hung out with that girl and when you forgot our date and especially when you left, but did you ever really let me suffer? you were there, you were always there. your shoulder was something that i could count on. you apologized when you made me cry. you never made me suffer (except for when you accidentally stepped on my broken souls on your way out, but it was only one time before you finally escaped).

but maybe, just maybe, it was you who suffered for me.

'Young lady, why is your poetry so dark?'
I don't know good sir, it's probably because I have my insides at war.

I’d like to say that I have moved on
and maybe I have
but forgetting you looks a lot like
the time you sent me home before running to catch the last bus;
I just kept looking back at you,
and right now,
I still am.