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.