within this empty space

at sleep, I thought
unconsciously, instinctively,
how come the best of us are always suffering.
my pain, my hatred,
my almost self-inflicted, crippling anxiety
all come to me, yelling within this empty space
of ignorance, and doubts, and delayed future.
at sleep, I thought
of the Universe, and its wonders
of the Universe, and how big it is
– yet, so small for us
who don’t have a place to call home.
and this house, although quite little,
is now too big for the non-existent desire
that we feel towards each other
– none.
at sleep, I thought
of how you had a way to look at me
a way which I could never understand;
of when you told me, “everything is beautiful
in one’s eyes – except what isn’t”.
didn’t you know all of you was beautiful to me?

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clairvoyant

If I could be a clairvoyant
I wouldn’t have done what I did
I would’ve held you much tighter
I would’ve held you much longer than this
I knew our paths would soon ruin us
And I knew our home was starting to feel too big
For the words we didn’t say
For the attraction we didn’t feel towards each other
But I needed a friend
And I wasn’t lonely, I was just too distracted
Trying for perfection, trying for a connection that would soothe this emptiness
Inside me
I know these words are just a ramble,
I know they don’t make sense to you
(Neither to me, to be honest)
But I guess I’m just trying to start up a conversation,
How are you?
I miss you,
I’ll let you go.
I know I have to let you go.

being in love and loving someone are two completely different things*

we lost ourselves, I know. somewhere between the routine of knowing each other way too well, of losing the virtue of spontaneity. it was filled with a raw excitement when it was new; it was the feeling of the unknown, the doubt of where it was going to take us. but now we know where it was going to take us. and probably it was best when it was unknown -at least that way, we were curious, passionate, hungry. craving each other, craving the feeling of knowing it was frowned upon. but the age didn’t matter, our differences either. I wanted you to teach me freedom, to let go of myself and my good ingenuity. and you did. but now, the raw excitement has left us to become a habit, a humdrum routine where we don’t try so hard anymore. ‘it is what it is’. not even do we find each other in bed as we used to. my plans are still with you, somehow, but now… I wonder. I wonder if I am better off alone. I wonder if this is all just pure commodity.

*I love you

dear ex-lover

dear ex-lover,

I’ve been having a hard time at keeping you off my thoughts, but mostly these thoughts have been pleasant instead of saddening, surprisingly. even though I have mostly stayed to myself, I have now found a new sense of companionship, a sense I could never find while being with you, trying so hard to never be alone. but I have found it’s not so bad to be alone. it is silent, and unexciting and yes, why lie, quite boring. but there is this feeling of calmness, and peacefulness and tranquility, that I would never exchange, not even for the highest excitements of the world. at times I wonder where you are, or who you’re with, or what you’re doing, but I remind myself that’s not my business anymore. I must keep focus. my bed has remained empty on the side where you used to lay, and there is no more coffee for two in the mornings, and the books have been read in my head instead of out aloud for you. yes, there is silence. but I wouldn’t trade it for the sound of company. my pride is way too big now, by walls built way too tall. I would rather cry of loneliness than heartbreak, at least that way I know I have been smart -as smart as I can be, anyways. so please don’t come. and please take all your belongings when you do so.

I shiver

I shiver
at the thought of craving you and not being able to find you.
at the feeling of worthlessness and insecurities I felt during my teens,
and going back to those moments where I cried my eyes out;
and ripped my own heart over those boys.
I shiver
at the chance that not everything might go the way that I want it to,
and I won’t be able to control all that I want to have control.
(which is everything).
my mind races around these thoughts
my feelings, a messy mess of both confidence and doubt,
conviction and wonder.
I tell myself I don’t need to have these nice things,
but deep down I know I want them too.
that I deserve more.
and that somehow I must show myself and show others
how valuable I am with the accomplishment of my desires.
I am not talking about materialistic and palpable desires only, (but yes),
but also my experiences, acquisition of knowledge,
and titles, and independence.
my future, so far that I ache at the inpatient waiting,
so close that I’m afraid I won’t be mature enough or strong enough to handle it.
so organized that I shiver at the thought of it crumbling down.
I shiver, and I warm myself up with caring thoughts,
I know it’s coming, I know it’s coming.

live in truth

i wanted to ask you what you thought was wrong with me, but at some point i realized i didn’t care. because i wanted to be the type of woman who does not find validation in the opinion of others, but only the opinion of herself. because i wanted to be someone who could keep going regardless of who was by her side, always fighting for her dreams, her goals, her plans. because i knew i could manage to handle everything thrown at my way, and i’d be able to turn all the heartache, the confusion, and the pain, into power, and authority, and persistence. my life hadn’t exactly turned the way that i expected it to, but i knew it was just a matter of patience until i began to see results. it was just a matter of hope. it was just a matter of prayer. it was just a matter of confidence, faith and conviction that i am good enough, and no one could ever tell me otherwise. because if i wasn’t, how come i had made it this far? how come i had gotten everything i wanted up until this point? how come i’d obtained everything i worked for? if i wasn’t good enough, how come my inner goddess shined so bright? i knew i didn’t depend on you, i didn’t depend on anyone but myself. i just had to live my truth, convinced that everything would work out at the end…, everything, everything, everything.

“Fiction”

My life hasn’t been the same ever since you left. Because I try to look deep into what’s messing up with me, and I can’t seem to blame anyone else but myself. And you. The way you seemed to regret every time you made a comment that tore me apart, yet never learned how to stop making them. Or the way you used to compare me, strengthening my already well-established insecurities. It got to a point where everything that used to bring us close was starting to tear us apart, and I couldn’t help but drown in loneliness. And the nostalgia and never-ending melancholy became my best companion, instead of you. You. Today, I don’t know what else to say because I feel like everything has already been written. Everything else has already been felt, already cried, already complained about. Today, what I must to do is just keep going. But I try not to worry too much about the future, and not to sadden myself about the past, and it’s tough to do so. Because my days are so uninteresting, and I try to make plans and stay busy, but what for?, I wonder. I wonder if someday, stuff will start to feel like they’re worth it. Today I have no other plans, no other goals but just to survive. Hoping that perhaps life will start to make sense again, as it did when I was wrapped in your arms and I thought that home was right beside you.