He sings about me,

about my desperation --


Everyone hears it.

I was never yours. You were never mine.  
We never held each other. You know me not.  
I acknowledge you whole, yet I know fractions of your entirety.  

I want to hold you close.  
I want your perfections against my skin, printing on me.  
Even better yet, I want your imperfections on me.  
Stain me with what you call imperfections,  
colour me black with them.  

Tear me apart—with effort.  
Make me yours, for life.  

Let me carry your imperfections,  
of which they hold no weight.  
Let me carry the weight of your perfections.  

Let me pave the road of us.  
Maybe your print will be missing from the first miles of it,  
but your print is everlasting on me.  
And on the road—who can carry the burden of us together?  

A road fractured the instant we met.  
Parallel worlds.  
I fall into a world where vividness falls short of the eye,  
another where light meets colour,  
and my eyes meet you.  

I was never yours—  
or so you say.

what do we mean when we say "I miss how things used to be"?
is it a question you'd like to answer yourself
or let float in the air of uncertainty we all live in?

is it a specific period of time we miss or the people in it?
or are we just grieving long-lost opportunities?
from love to occupation, we long for the days of demonstrations.

do we simply miss days when we still had options?
when the doors were wide open and the ground more solid?
when we were giants and moved without caution
when we didn't mourn the feelings we buried

desperation grips
the mind, hell-bent on treason;
the devil grins, proud.

Dear Amelia,
How have you been? I know it’s out of the blue and even more likely you won’t read this letter. But I must get some things off my chest. I have tried so many things to alleviate the pain reigning over me but all to no avail. It’s okay, I’m just trying to let you know I miss you. I have no expectations of you coming back to me, but I’d just like to say that you’re still the one consuming my days and nights and every drink I pour has been in an attempt to not think of you, if only for a minute. Maybe someday I will stop thinking of you.

Perhaps someday we’ll learn how to live our lives without fear of falling apart the mere touch of another human being. Maybe someday we’ll let someone special into our hearts, see the ugly parts we hide from everyone else. Until then, I’ll keep you deep within my heart. The boldest I’d ever been in my life was when I tore myself open right in front of you. Magically, you didn’t run away. You took good care of me and years later, when you finally revealed the broken pieces lodged deep within your barren soul, I did my best to pull them out and sew the open wounds. My God, we did so well for each other.

I often wonder when things began to fall apart. Was it when our wounds were healed and our souls began seeking something else in this ****** up world? Even now I grieve for the things we achieved together and the things we’ll never experience together. The thought of never picking a wedding dress with you kills me every time. I’ll never get to put a ring on your finger. I’ll never watch you walk down the aisle, glowing under the May sun (because you always said you wanted to get married on May 15th). I’ll never get to spend the first night in our hard-earned home somewhere in the suburb or a new apartment in the city. I wonder sometimes if you remember me fondly… or if you even think about me from time to time. Men have always been the weaker ***, far more prone to sentimentality and regret. And, well. I am regretting hard right now. We did so much good for each other but, God, I wish I did so much more. Anyways, I hope you are doing well. I pray that God is kind to you night before bed.

Maybe one day we’ll be able to talk to each other again. As old friends.
Until then…