Bibliography

And you taught me what this feels like.
And then how it feels to lose it.
And you showed me who I wanted.
And then who I wasn't.
And you ticked every box.
And then drew a line.
And you weren't mine to begin with.
And then not to end with.
And you looked like everything I wanted.
And then became something I hated.
And you get thought of every day.
And then not in a good way.
And you let me leave.
And then wish I'd stayed.
And you almost killed me.
But I didn't die.

some things simply speak for themselves

VII

i gave you access to all of my accounts

never realized you actually check on them

we stopped speaking for a while

you sent me a copy of my conversations w/ him

you asked, "what does it mean?"

i said, “whatever you’re thinking, its true”

but what i really wanna say is,

"i'll let us slip, cuz we never were real  "

VIII

we stopped by a fountain

you handed me a penny

i watched you make a wish

you said, “i wished for us to make it”

i said, "if i tell mine, it wont come true"

but what i really wished for is,

"i've used all my strength holding on so we'd make it,
now i need more so i can walk away"

IX

it was a long day, but i agreed to meet you

i didn’t fake not being happy to be out w/ you

you grew silent, i felt obliged to ask

you said: “it feels like you'll ditch me,
when someone better comes along”

i said, “thats silly, i had a bad day, i'm spent”

but what i was avoiding to admit is,

"i end up missing him more when i'm with you"

X

i take my finger, turn it into a pen

i take your palm, turn it into a paper

you guess i wrote something profound

something like:

“i hope we last forever”

i say, “you’re good at this game”

but what i really wrote is

“how i’ve yet to forget him”

Scratches

You buy things and you keep them clean. You take care of them. Keep them in a special pocket. Away from keys and coins. Away from other things that should be kept clean and taken care of as well. Then they get scratched. And scratched again. And again. And again. And again. Soon, you don't care about them anymore. You don't keep them in a special pocket. You throw them in the bag with everything else. They've surpassed their form and become nothing but function. People are like that. You meet them and keep them clean. In a special pocket. And then you start to scratch them. Not on purpose. Sometimes you just drop them by accident or forget which pocket they're in. But after the first scratch, it's all downhill from there. You see past their form. They become function. They are a purpose. Only their essence remains.

the season that brings out my melancholic personality, in a good creative way ..

And you keep whispering the same story to yourself "I'll be unhappy now because that'll make me happy later. Because that's how a story works." So your happiness will always happen later, never now. Life isn't a story. Life is chaos.