someday,
somewhere,
someway;

you will find the girl
who loves herself enough
to love you even more.

What do I want to write? What is it that’s not abstract about me? How to explain what I want to explain, what I want to tell, without confusing whoever reads it? I want to keep it vague, I want to keep it unnoticed, I want to keep it just the way I want it written. You make the theme too heavy to read, they said, keep it simple.

But how do I do that? These are my words, these are the reflection of what I am, what I’ve been through, what I learnt, what makes me, me; and it’s never simple. It’s always the overlaps of pain and wounds I fail to heal, the glimpses of happiness I desperately trying to hold onto before it crashes to dust and I’m trying to defend what I’ve left. It’s always the grief to which I wake up every 3 a.m, always the same red spots I find plastering on the ceilings, it’s always the promises I or they broke, the dreams I never have the chance to weave, the will that never gleams, the hope I have forsaken.

It’s always confusing. It’s always spinning, unclear, abstract, and always I am there, in the middle, tumbling between everything that is unsure, unexplainable, and other ‘uns’ I can never list.

Dreams are meant to be chased, you say, and I am there. Four hundreds sixty two kilometers away from everything that screams comfort for both of us, and I am there. Four hundreds sixty two kilometers, the turning point where the car hits the road, doesn't care how loud I scream inside, begging the universe to bring you back to me, to bring me back to you, to eliminate the four hundreds sixty two kilometers from our way.

And I cry, you cry, and we both don't know how to stop.

In that very moment I stare at the horizon that would be different from mine. That horizon is yours, and I'll go back to the place where the horizon used to be ours. And I will never stare at the same constellation, I will never have the same stormy rain we used to run through together, I will never have the same field where we lay back our head, stick it to each other. I will find your shadow plastering on the horizon, I will hear your voice resonates in every corner of the street I turn myself into;

But you won't see me, you won't hear me,

Because I have lost you, between four hundreds sixty two kilometers, between a slight time difference, I have lost you, I lost you: forever.

You could've just killed me,
But you decided it wasn't enough to suffered me;
So you let me live.

I used to call her in my worst nights.
And she would come, said she had a cure.
The cure of sorrow, she claimed.

I’d always laughed over it, still she did it anyway.
“Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”
Though it was silly, still I did it anyway;
I hold out my hand.

She’d grab my hand and say these,
In the tune that flows like a lullaby;

It is not a crime to welcome a hand,
To receive one’s help.
And it is not a sin to hold out your hand,
To ask for one’s help.

And every single time I would fall asleep,
Into a deep sleep with no dream,
For my dream was so close,
So close I could feel it between my fingers.

I see a strange girl, who looks like me,
But even if we pass by each other on the street,
Shoulder to shoulder,
I will not recognize her anyways.

I see a strange girl
They said it’s my reflection
But how come her presence doesn’t ring a bell?

I see a strange girl
Stated as me
Yet she is all the opposite of me

Are you me or am I you?