if you can hold her hand
without feeling torn at the idea that
one day, you may never feel its warmth again,
then you are not in love with her

do not keep muttering worn-out
i-love-you's
under your breath
just to fill the empty spaces in the air
even if they no longer beat with passion,
do not try to explain the thousands of reasons
why you love her
if you don't

because if you can live with the thought
of her name being engraved in
someone else's mind,
her fingers running through someone else's hair,
the thought of those beautiful words
whispered into lips that don't belong to you
then you have never loved her, even for a second

and the bitter fragments
of the love she gave away
were never worthy to
belong to you

Looking back, you never really cared. All you did is strip me down naked. I gave you everything I had. I even gave you my arms and my legs and got left in the cold because I guess you're a coward. After five years I finally decided to trust someone again and I was just left the same way. I was strung along like a simple-minded fool and I was manipulated blindly so you could have me to your convenience and liking. You ****** everything out of me: my confidence, my light.. and you just left me there to look like a fool. I don’t even know who I am anymore or what’s left of me. I don’t think you really care. I mean... who gives a **** about used trash anyway, right? Promises only mean something when things are easy, right? It's my fault. I should've followed my gut while it was screaming truths I wanted to deny. I had mistaken my gut for self-destructive over-thoughts, and you for my hero. I had mistaken learned-lessons for walls.  I had mistaken you for a man. I can't help but feel like you knew that.. like watching a wave crash over me as cluelessness had my back towards the horizon and my eyes towards you.  My heart's freezing over again now. For better or for worse it's happening, and I don't think it will melt for a really long time. In the meantime, I'll have boy friends but I won't feel. I'll maybe flirt here or there, but I won't feel. I’ll **** a lot but, regretfully, I won’t feel. I'll keep on moving and I won't feel. I'll try to feel, and there will be a split resentment for you and myself for making me this way. At the end of the day, it's my fault for being stupid and thinking anything good could ever come out of love. They say love yourself, and love will find it's way to you. What I didn't know is that love is an evil thief that comes and then goes with every piece of you in hand like it was an insignificant amount of small change.

My skin is seeping salty feelings, and cooking warm under the pressure of anxiety.
I just typed a series of monologues to your inbox again, but you don't seem to hear them.
It's 3:46 AM. I'm almost delirious. What is sleep? I spend about 14 hours in bed everyday.
I usually get 1-2 hours of sleep.
My tears have stained my pillowcase. Like, I don't turn the light on anymore because I see the stains.
In my room, it is very cold. I guess it's cold like me. Or is it really, just cold like you?
I'm lost and alone, and I'm afraid you'll never come back.
I need you back.
What did you not understand?
When I told you when we were still together, that I'd love you until the day I died?
When I told you after you forcefully dumped me, I'd have this problem until the day I died?
Because the day I die, in my last moments, I will finally be able to decide to give up on you.
At times, I've wanted to commit suicide.
Because if I'm not waiting for you,
I'm waiting until the day I die.
Oh look, another monologue.
Don't read this one.
Go hang with your girlfriend instead.
You already decided that's whats best for your health.

i'm thinking of the galaxies in his eyes and the stars in his lashes and the dark silk that's his hair and how soft it looked, how soft it was and how the fringe was up just a little bit and how for some odd reason, it made me think of feathers. and of how soft his hands were, how uncertain and when his arm was around me and he bent and kissed me but moved back like he'd been burned and how his laugh sounded over the phone and how his lips danced around my name...how huge and dead his pupils were, how lost when he looked at me-but not really at me, past me, through me-for the last time..

Heart
as we say
meaning it literally
and you do

hear it when
we speak
for the voice addressing you
is your own

though we know now
that the you
we are speaking to
is not the person
we imagine
yet we go on telling you

day after day of the person
we imagine
ourselves to be

forgetting as we tell you
learning even from joy
but forgetting
and you hear

who is speaking
you hear it all
though you do not listen

Life’s a monologue.

You’re never really talking

To anybody.