Do you mind me sending a heartfelt paragraph?  if i talk to you like this, it'll feel a little like talking to each other in 2019 again. in all honesty, a part of me misses you, in an unknown way yet. i can't tell whether this longing is amico-related, full-on nostalgic or romantic. it's extremely inappropriate to talk like this, but it's a real feeling I'm currently going through. i don't know; maybe we should've gotten together if you did like me even just a bit. perhaps that would erase the curiosity that lies within me. or maybe not curiosity, maybe just the foolish, romantic, nostalgic part of my heart that finds it difficult to let go of feelings that never materialized into something real. christ, i pray you never ever read this because this is extremely embarrassing and devastating should anyone else but me read it. consider this a letter that should've been posted to  you many years ago, that arrived only today. this letter, which back then would've been considered a rubicon-crossing type thing, is only relevant if seen through the lens of a nostalgic person, one who's trying to piece his life back together. this is, after all, the remnants of my past self talking to you, with the honesty he wasn't able to give you when it would've mattered the most.

now, i have to live with the regret of never knowing how you truly felt and you never knowing how much, just how much, i needed you back then, just how much i loved you, just how much i liked you. you would've been my everything and my every day would've been devoted to you; hell, i would've written you books of poetry just to show you a small piece of my devoted heart which I'd have given to you in whole - really, there would've been no space for anyone else. but look at us now...****, we're both alone but we can't even say anything to each other now, the ship is now beyond repair. i cannot sail to your island anymore, my love (for i do still wholeheartedly love you). so, what now? should i press send? i am downing my final shot of the night. i am sober enough to tell this is the type of **** only a drunk person would send. but i am not sober enough to stop myself from sending it. we both know the bridge has long burned. i just need you to know, i desperately want you to know you are still my muse, the one i write little lines for in my notebook, the one i dedicate whatever lame poem i come up with.

okay, that's all i had to say. good night, Willa.


He looked at his phone for a minute or two, loud chatters surrounded him. For a moment, he hesitated. His thumb was hovering over the delete button. He was imagining her face as he closed his eyes. The music died down. Customers left one by one. Stoically, he sat there, meditating, contemplating. Email sent.

these feelings are abandoned
they look at me sulkily
i shrug and tell them to quit playing
they don't seem to understand what i say
they are persistent, these long lost feelings

they continually haunt me
and faces appear in my mind
i strike a deal with them:
fine, i will build you a home
among these words i write

they will find a home
among these secrets i must keep
whether it's a dream of Rome
or the women i think in sleep
in these dark passages, they roam

so, i quietly bury these feelings
these people i once knew and love
people with whom i don't even confer
their faces show betrayal, demanding an answer
but, in acceptance, they wave goodbye.

perhaps, not forever;
outside, the sun grows by the second.
to get up is to forget.

I often wonder
whether in those books you read
you ever read my name
between the lines

like an unexpected gift
or unfortunate rift
like a rifle aimed at you
or flowers handed to you

do you ever feel like I am there?
staring back at your weary eyes
do you ever stop and think back?
the love we never got to share...

a poisonous thought, come evening
I wonder and wonder and wander
to you, the birthmark on your wrist
the poems you write, the meaning you twist

between the lines
did you ever wonder?

quietude of love
everlastingly beautiful
rambunctious excitement
effervescent life
never, yet, the twain shall meet

between the lines
did you ever wonder about me?

Nobody told me how much life would change once I graduated. The immense feelings of nostalgia, I barely managed to dissuade it. My heart, in all its complexities and difficulties, yearns for all kinds of things, scenarios, people - feelings. my heart yearns to feel. love keeps me warm, but lately, I've been awake with alarms, ringing like a maddened storm.

I think of the people I no longer talk to, my mind can come up with a few. Do people get over this? or is this a mist you cannot miss, haunting like a broken wrist, a cruel fate twist, that drives you searching for some kind of bliss?

I am undone. There used to be so much sun, but now it's hard even just to have fun. Is it cowardice to want to run? I imagine buying a gun and aiming it at my head, a joke so blunt.

I lay awake yet again. Dreams used to be so grand. But now it's all so bland.

I don't want to be bland...

as the mists of night rise,
I can see the faint illusory white light
in the distance, gleaming beautifully
like an oasis in the middle of the desert

I get up from my bed and open the window
tears welling up in my eyes, dissipating sorrow
suddenly, I saw life as it is and it was wonderful
I haven't had as terrible a life as I had thought

Isn't it funny how life is but a fleeting moment?
I can't say that it isn't filled with harsh torment
But happiness isn't too few to mention too
Life isn't always all shades of the color blue

I rest my head on my pillow again
Still, in my chest, I feel the subtle pain
But tomorrow is a new day
and, perhaps, the beginning of the end
of all this terrible pain I've endured.

When the day is over
and night takes its place;
Would you wish you weren't sober
if you still remember her face?

I've quit drinking, I would say.
You'd smile and congratulate me.
Is it really worth the price I pay?
The ability to access lost memories...

Now I can see how lonely the moon is
As I recall of the first time we kissed
Is it just as sweet for you as it is to me?

When the day is over
and night takes its place;
Is anything even worth anything?
At the end of the day, you gotta live it alone...

loving often feels like running hurdles
but it's endless; there is no specified finish line
you keep jumping hurdles
and you keep running

you brush aside fatigue
you brush aside pride
you burn the desire to quit

you don't stop running.
that's what love is:
running endless hurdles.