10:50 p.m. and this is when it hits. This is when the tears streaming down my face know no end. This is when the ache in my chest begins to dig deeper. This is when the reality of your absence becomes so vivid and tangible. Isn't that something? I can feel your absence. Your silence cuts me to the core but I keep insisting, I keep trying to reach out to you knowing well enough you won't respond but hoping, wishing you'd take the time to remember what we once shared. I thought I would be okay, but I'm not.

Maybe you'll always be a fresh wound and maybe I'll always keep picking at it.

THREE YEARS LATER AND YOU'RE STILL THE HEARTBREAK I TALK ABOUT

We are critical.

We find flaws in
everything we see
because nobody
wants to write
about perfection,
even though sometimes
we wish we could just stay
staring into that
unblemished surface.

2. We are never satisfied.

We live our lives upon
mountains of
scrunched up
bits of refill and
ideas we gave up
trying to
express.

3. We never forget.

We write words about
eye contact made
three months ago
that we replay over
and over in our minds
even though it
stopped
being relevant.

4. We are fickle.**

Our emotions flash
from one
to the other
like strobe lighting that
disorientates us
until we feel as if
the world
will never be still.

5. We are exposed.

We don't know how
to keep our feelings
to ourselves so
we'll write them
down for
you to find
'accidentally'.

6. We are vulnerable.

We wear our
hearts on our sleeves
and won't lift a
muscle to fight back
if somebody tries
to break it
because we thrive
from the pain.

7. We will never stop.

We will never stop
feeling and
we will never stop
hurting,
we will never stop
breaking and
bleeding and
loving
even though the cycle
is endless
and we know what's
coming next.


We are addicted
to agony,
but we agonise
for the art.

You really messed me up, you know that? You cut me to the core and you don't even care. You used to find any way possible just to talk to me and now you haven't said a word to me in 3 months. You've completely disappeared and the funny thing is that I didn't even know you were a magician. I didn't know I was just a part of your act. You see, I never had you figured as that type of guy and I still don't, in a sense, but how else is this stunt you've pulled supposed to look? We were in love. Or at least I was in love. And I wish I could be angry at you. I wish I could paint you as some cruel man but my heart won't let me. I know who you truly are. You let me in and I saw the depths of your soul and I guess that's why I can't ever play you out as the bad guy. I want to believe you have a reason for not responding, that there's some valid reason for your absence. I want to compare you to your father but as much as I want to, I can't. I can't do that because you're nothing like him; you'll never be. I want to see you in such a cruel manner that I begin to just despise you. I want to hate you. I want to. But I can't. I can't and that's what kills me. I still see you as my moon. Do you still see me as your sun?