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some realizations
sink to the bottom
of my stomach, rotting
like old, over-ripened fruits
with seeds of doubt growing
in tangles.

Tell me about the person who broke your heart.
Tell me about the color of their eyes.
How their hair felt in between your fingers.
Tell me about the rhythm of their heart.
Tell me about the last words they said to you and how they took every last breath out of you.
Tell me about all the places you used to go to with them, and how when you went for the first time without them all you saw was ghosts.
Tell me about the ache in your bones when you see them in your dreams and how it lasts years
For real tell me in my comments
Ultraloner Feb 14
how deep this goes,
how insane this is,
how painful can it get,
how more cruel can it get,
how thick is the glass,
how calm is the surface,
how wild is the depth,
how curvy is the floor,
how insane is ťhe wait,
how lonely can a sunrise be,
how torturing are the sunsets and fridays and your pain
and how much hope can mondays bring, how lonely is my snowman,
how deep are my pockets,
how violent are our silent moments,
how crazy deep are your eyes,
how how brutal are my thoughts,

how are you?
I love you so crazily Nusho
  Jan 27 Ultraloner
Do you ever smile like a fool thinking about me and my stupidity?
Or do you ever cry as if there's no tomorrow when you miss me?
Do you ever try to find my initials inside the words?
Do you miss the time we used to spend together?
Do you ever read our old texts and wonder why it's not the same anymore?
Do you ever hear my voice messages that must be saved on your phone and feel like bliss?
Do you ever feel the need to talk to me?
Do you still get jealous and possessive over me?
Do you ever want to be with me, the same way we used to be?
I don't know about you because you rarely answer
But all these things
I do!
I really do
Ultraloner Jan 21
Writing just a few lines
about the truth
about us
is connecting two points in spacetime...

When I met you I feared that one day I'll loose you.
Tomorrow is dying.
The world is changing.

I am lying on the street.
Next time it rains I want to paddle out.
Ultraloner Dec 2018
Hours of absence,
of silence,
slowly fading into days,
and quickly into years. **** fears...
  Sep 2018 Ultraloner
We cannot write silence.
The beats.
The pause.
The breath.
The way it aches
and persists

and begs that,

if only for a moment,

our consciousness is only a whisper.
our bodies,
our lips,
the air that passes through falling chests
and stillness.

A melody of emotion.
Sleeping in the quiet of a heartbeat skipped
a word lost to the wind.

The wickedness of reticence
Encapsulated in air and time.

The moment stretched too long.
Hesitation perpetuated in the grip of fingernails
pressed into palms.

We cannot write silence,
but we can try.

to find a way to immortalize emotion
to create space
in the ceaseless drone of words that speak and spin.

I cannot write silence. But I can write
tears and years
and the burn of long-stretched lies.

I can write goodbyes and hellos
And dozen ways to say
I love to hate you
I hate to love you
and sometimes
I cannot tell the difference.
The space I have upheld for myself.

I love to hate you

I hate to love you too.

I cannot write silence.
But I know it.
and I have held it in my hand.
Inspired by the Vanity Fair article of André Aciman's reaction to his book *Call Me By Your Name* being made into a movie. Specifically the quote, "I couldn't write silence."
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