staying up late just thinking of all the could-beens and should-beens that could and should have been us.

what if we'd tried a little harder? persisted a little longer? held on to each other as tightly as we should have?
would you be by my side then, instead of the empty void staring tauntingly back at me?
would our hands be clasped together, interwoven,
your eyes that once bored right back into the back of mind haunting me wherever i would go,
your touch tattooed into the skin of my palms as they once were?

what if i hadn't let go?
what if i'd learnt fate's cruel lesson that
possessing the trait of fickleness never awarded anything but everything slipping past, earlier?
would you be willing to stay with me then, and forgive me for all the wrongdoings that i would inevitably cause?
would we have ever evolved into more than just an idealized dream drawn from a fragmented memory,
the idea of an irrevocable love that despite having been mulled over for what would've seemed like an eternity,
has never seen the light of reality before?

then again, everything does appear only better when it's all in your head.
when i can still pretend that you are who i expect you to be,
and i may be accepted for who i am truly,
excess baggage of unneeded insecurities and imperfections weighing me down and all.

is it better to be cleanly rejected or to be
torn down bit by bit,
night by night,
spent just staring at a blank screen and waiting,
hovering over imperishably,
pure naive hope fuelling the drive to continue delaying the inexorable?
foolishly believing that crossed fingers and
any lingering feelings that hadn't yet been sieved away by the
jaded culture we exist and drown in today
would perhaps, even if accidentally,
as if out of a fairytale that i starkly don't belong to,
send me a text back?

you are
the single first piece of petal that
gracefully, like a dancer gliding elegantly
through the wind, carrying newfound hope
and the kismet
spring needs to start again.

you are
how
we all hold our breaths, half tepid anticipation and
half pure, unscripted terror that
our calculations and everything
we’ve ever worked for
were wrong.

you are
touching the steely soil-covered earth,
the slightest shared circumference of area
causing the whole world to come alive again.

you’re all bark and no bite,
all talk and no action,
the throwing around of flamboyant words as if they mean nothing at all,
the wasted invention of a dictionary,
the multiple misinterpretations arising from a single conversation,
and the accumulating heartbreaks tailing behind you like a trail of puppies eager for more treats in wait.

to be honest, how do you ever really recover from an ordeal like that?

i know i can’t run away from things forever, but for now at least i’d rather be
held back by the admittedly frightening
terrifying
pale thin cold clutches gripping my
wrists so hard i feel—
all blood circulation getting cut
off.

it’s all an excuse for myself anyways.
forgive me for putting me first, but
i need to do this for myself now.
i need to stick my head in the ground,
cower away from everyone and just
allow myself to be pulled under.

for now, i say, for now.
don’t know how long how that now will be, don’t ask
don’t ask me questions i can’t answer!
why, why, stop demanding things from me
let me take things at my own pace!
i can’t do it!

so that’s why i’d rather stay behind and cower.
you can all progress ahead of me first, i swear
i swear i don’t mind
humiliation seems to come like a
day-to-day thing now,
the rising sun every morning glaring mercilessly down at me,
melting me till i
am nothing left but
a pile of bones and perhaps
a shredded wisp of whatever soul is left.

thank you for listening to my speech.

jealousy
ragged breaths
green eyed monster crawling in the pit of my stomach
long fingernails clawing my sides
a searing urge to prove myself
a desperate want to kick you in the face
a concealed longing (from even myself) yearning to have that too
to not feel this way
to be there in your place
and wipe out that infuriatingly smug look off your face

a flower without scent,
wilted petals blooming in the cold of night,
you came to me like
the fog that encompasses you in the still of a hurricane,
the uncertainty that sifts through your heart before you
take the leap off the platform
and fall flat on the unmerciful ground.

in winter, you take what you get
somehow even surrounded with blankets full of snow-capped mountains and warm fireplaces oozing with love,
people still pick the dying breath of spring.

never being able to live in the moment
seems like such a pity to me.
we never get to fully appreciate the
monument of the moment till it’s over and
put up beautifully in a photo frame,
adorned with decorations and a
caption awarding the printed accessory
more than it deserves.

this was not how i expected 17 to be like:
not the collective hunching over desks,
dust from the wooden tables clouding our systems and
the constant scratchy sound of pen against paper.

what i was promised was:
an adventure.
cries of the youth not from desperation but from joy.
hand-holding and running towards the sun,
smiling so wide our faces hurt.
being happy.

and i feel scammed.
did i do something wrong, for things to end up like this?
did i somehow stray into the wrong path?
foray into a different journey in which only this hellhole of a place exists?
or did i misunderstand everything from the start, and make assumptions that life was going to be alright?

whatever it is, i’m not sure i want to know anymore—
the only good news nowadays is better off left alone.