I’m tired of seeing things that are not there, tired of hearing a voice that’s not there, tired of everything that’s not there. Most of all, I’m tired of loving you, when you’re there but always half a mile away.
drop some. please. im going home now. bye
When I was a child, I was tricked into thinking that I can slide over the rainbow’s arc and at the very end of that rainbow, there’s a treasure chest. I believed back then that clouds can be touched and that its softness will melt in your hands and you can ride on them just to get to the rainbow’s top. Every year, since three, whenever I see the bow of colors stretching over the hills, over the mountain top, the lake and the city, I cannot stop thinking of what kind of treasure one may find.
Is it something you can hold?
Is it gold?
Sometimes I think, if only, I have the courage to call one of the clouds and be brave enough to ride it, maybe I have seen that treasure they are talking about. Maybe. Maybe I would be happy.
That was what I thought when I was seven.
Ten, I knew that there was no treasure, no clouds will carry you high up in the air, you cannot slide on a rainbow, because you cannot touch them nor the clouds. That was my first heartbreak, that made my heart sank, deeper than what you can ever imagine. It was like saying fairies are not real, and Peter Pan grew up but Wendy was older so they were never meant to be together, and that the little wolf in the story was not mean, he was just lonely. I was sad and I thought that I could have never been sadder than what I have felt at that moment.
But I was wrong when you entered the picture.
You came without notice like the young man who wanted to make fine fabric out of trees, you said words which turn into butterflies that flew around my head, you made me say promises and vows and you told me secrets. What I had was special, you said, you felt lost without me. You needed me, yes you did. You needed me at times your feet cannot move. You danced with me, you held my hand but we never kissed. Because we thought our mouths were only made for talking, talking about things we do not like, and things that make us laugh.
I felt loved and I fell in love.
Eighteen, I felt that kick in my stomach by the time you said you like someone, someone who is not me. That kick went all the way through my lungs and I thought all the air inside me was gone. That kick reached my heart and I realized that it was not from my stomach. The epicenter was my heart and my body started to crumble and I stumble upon memories and memories of us were all I have and all that I would ever have. You hurt me, without knowing that you did. I lost you like how Hazel Grace lost Augustus, how Pudge longed for Alaska and how Q looked everywhere for Margo though our story was different from them, way too different. I find pieces of me in the dark where we stayed. You can find parts of you in my smile. You were like the treasure at the end of the rainbow, I could never have a hold of you, but you’ve always held mine. And when I die and scientists will come and find me, they will put machines on my body to see and look inside my heart- you will be there, making your way to the rainbow through a big beautiful cloud."
i miss falling in love, after all this time-
all i ever did and thought about was how to fall out of love, how to take every part of me away from you.
if people will ask me
to gauge how much i love you
on a scale of one
to positive infinity,
id say i can’t because
what i felt
a theory of which
i still cannot explain-
how I can see galaxies in your hands
and feel the fluffiness of nebula in
that when your mouth
stars explode inside me.
if people will ask
how much i felt your love,
i would look at them
and give a bit,
just a tiny of a smile-
I won’t say anything,
because there’s nothing to tell,
all there is,
was everything to feel,
and I fell,
if people do not believe that
deep within our souls,
a universe can be found,
do not worry,
I’ll show them my scars
‘This is how they are formed’.
and if people will ask,
on how did i get these scars,
i would not say your name,
but i remember,
i will remember,
how much love
was poured through these black holes.
"Woman. If you grow up the type men want to love, You can let them love you.
Being loved is not the same thing as loving. When you fall in love, it is discovering the ocean
after years of puddle jumping. It is realizing you have hands. It is reaching for the tightrope when the crowds have all gone home.
Do not spend time wondering if you are the type of woman men will hurt. If he leaves you with a car alarm heart, you learn to sing along.
It is hard to stop loving the ocean. Even after it has left you gasping, salty. Forgive yourself for the decisions you have made, the ones you still call
mistakes when you tuck them in at night. And know this: Know you are the type of woman who is searching for a place to call yours…”"