I’m sitting on a bench at this empty railway platform,
gazing at the train ticket in my hands — again and again.
The years of longing will vanish in a few hours.
I’m finally meeting him…
after so long.
Flashes of our last goodbye play in my mind:
The promises we made,
The sacrifices for our careers,
The calls that stretched across time zones and tear-filled nights.
Now, everything is flooding back —
Nostalgia tugging at my heart,
Memories turning into butterflies in my chest.

I miss her,
I miss her perfectly loose curls,
I miss her gorgeous brown eyes,
I miss falling asleep to the sound of her voice,
I miss when she could make me smile when nobody else could,
I miss holding her sharpie-tattooed,
I miss kissing her soft lips,
I miss feeling the warmth in her hugs,
I miss the way she would look at me,
I miss when she'd tell me how much she loved me,
I miss when we thought we were made for each other.

Maybe in another universe
I wouldn't be so sensitive
I wouldn't be so emotionally dependent
I wouldn't take everything to heart
I wouldn't minimize my feelings
And i wouldn't lose myself

drowning
constantly drowning
arms flailing at my side
voices screeching in my ears
no tears
just gasping for air
a void that cannot be filled
a girl who doesn't want to live
sinking into her black hole
floating in crimson red
is she finally dead?

I looked back down at the paper, hands trembling. There it was, circled in blood red: 18/20. My head starts to ache, my breathing gets heavy. I remember the sleepless nights studying.

“As long as you passed,” I heard one say. Passing is not good enough.

I remember the first time I looked down at my paper and saw the 100%. It was joy I had never experienced—an accomplishment, something I did all by myself.

I tried many hobbies: drawing, skating, playing guitar. It always ended with me quitting. I was only good at one thing, and that was school. I always achieved perfect grades. Anything below 100 is a failing for me.

What once was celebrated turned into something that was expected.

Now I understand what that one schoolmate felt. Though his rank is good and high, it feels like it doesn't enough for him.

Having a good grades is the first thing to be enough especially if you're ugly. Then I realized that slow progress is better than no progress. But it's so hard to be a called "jack of all trades" by my self, it's too difficult. It's so hard to do the things you're good at in the wrong place, just like right now because they were used to it. They were used to think and see that I'm ugly, not enough, dumb in school, stupid at everything. It's so embarrassing to do the things I want to do in front of everyone I've used to. It's so embarrassing and it feels like everyone are focusing or gazing at me if I changed.

I want to be me, I want to completely change. When will the world could do that for me? Will I be able to get the wish that I've dreamed of?

we were speeding down the highway
and there’s gasoline seeping out of my heart
and being set on fire
by all the boys i’ve loved before.

ignite me i’d beg
but once they were done
they never bothered to put the fire out.

the side of my car is crushed
but my heart is still on fire,
begging for someone to smother the flames.

to pay for the damage.
the therapy.
the removal of the emptiness in my heart.
to pay for a touch, a quick one that still lingers
and one i can still yearn for.

i’d crawl for the fire extinguisher
while breakup songs screams lyrics
in the back of my mind
and then i'd notice that my hands are slippery
but i’m not sure if the color is black or red
but i know it’s from you.

i am fueled on anger and love
while you drive away in your father’s truck
the one we used to sit and daydream
and tell secrets that rolled off of our tongues
like the way your tires are rolling away from the crime scene.

fast, effortless, and natural.

this was supposed to happen you’d say soothing me
and my burning heart and bloodshot eyes.
not even the airbags hit harder than those five words you swore to me.

you’re driving away as the extinguisher stumbles
out of my oiled-covered hands
while the memories of us replay in my mind
and i notice how the skid marks on the street
paint a messy picture of us.

you drove away fast, effortlessly, and naturally.

this was supposed to happen.
this was supposed to happen.
this was supposed to happen.

i can’t tell if my heart is black or red or blue
but i know it’s from you.

the mirrorless child sits alone
wondering which truth is their own
for they were not taught of twists and plots
or shown visions of their own worth
comfort zones aren't made of heroes
who you become is not your reflection
which holds the truth
but the devil has his own house of mirrors
and I wouldn't dare to enter