I won't wait this time, I swear.

I think of nothing else but  

Oh no, not again.

Even in the relief of reciprocation,  

thinking there is a lesson in disguise,  

something I’ll learn in time,  

though I know it’s not for me.

I am too starved—  

starved for touch,  

for attention,  

for kindness.  

I can’t help but take  

even the smallest gesture  

as something more,  

something faint and fragile,  

like a thread connecting us,  

though it’s barely there.

I’m not the one  

to break into someone’s peace,  

But still, hope lingers—  

quiet, persistent,  

like a whisper in the night.

Half of this is a dream,  

delusions I’ve made up,  

Ambitions too large for my heart.  

But for a moment,  

when you notice things no one else does,  

when your laugh dances in the air,  

when you guide me gently through the world,  

when your eyes hold mine  

a little longer than they should,  

when you wait,  

and I know I’ll wait too—  

I dare to hope.

For just a second,  

maybe this won’t be another lesson,  

but I know deep down,  

it’s me who spins these lies,  

stitching together what is, but probably isn’t real.  

And in the end,  

you are just another lesson

A beautiful paradox  

I’ll never fully understand. Perhaps I'm not meant to.

Festering wounds.

At first, pain is like a prick your skin.

Like getting sunburned on a sunny day at the beach, with sand still clinging on your skin after a volleyball win.

It suddenly swells into the pricks of a thousand needles. Like lying on a bed of thorns, each piercing into your skin,

                                                          slowly,

                                                                  as if it has all the time in the world, it kindles.

Then comes the hurt.

Like a slow, tantalizing drink.

                                        Slow and steady,

                                                                                it hurts to even blink.

It seeps into your core, you can feel it coursing through your veins,

It doesn't bleed,

but it almost makes you wish it did.

The worst part is the numbness that follows,

its like hurt, but just nothingness.

It just makes you wallow.

Like cold,

wet,

 heavy cement

making its way through your body,

Shutting down your mind,

your mind,

encasing your heart,

making you wish that things could go back to the start.

But when a wound reopens,

it festers.

it stings, it kicks,

it lashes out.

Shutting down your ability to think.

Shifting eyes, tapping toes

peeling skin, counting sores.

Its all you can think about.

How it felt, how you left.

Just like a drug, you start to crave it more and more.

You start seeking hurt out,

 just to feel something else than the hurt you feel now.

You start building walls around it.

but it keeps on festering, under your closed knit.

Until you forget and run your fingers over it again,

and your pain begins.

Anew.

Ghost of my beating heart.

Sometimes I delve into my thoughts like I delve into your brown eyes. 

Listen to my heart beating whose rhythm only spells your name.

The skin on my hand tingles in anticipation as I think about touching you. Holding you.  being embraced like a child.

I close my eyes,  trying to get a hint of your cologne.
Crazy? 
Maybe. 

But it doesn't matter.

I smile. You're here.  

Maybe not physically,  but in a deeper way.  I can feel you. Hell,  I can even see you. 

You're there with me in everything I do. May it be just a chore. I know you enough to imagine you sitting beside me with your legs tucked under you,  commenting on my very move.

Sometimes,  I can't wait to see you.
I grow restless.  But I know that it's worth it.
I sleep peacefully because I'm assured that I'll see you the next day.
It's a sweet kinda love. But it's agonizing too.

Because when you reluctantly leave my side,  the ghost of my beating heart almost runs after you only to be reined by the hope that I'll see you again tomorrow.

Keep dreaming!

Empty.

Alone.
Do you know what that means?
Have you ever experienced being alone firsthand?
I'm not talking about being alone in a room, cuddling into your pillows or being scared and lonely on an empty road late at night.
I'm talking about that feeling when you're surrounded by people but you still feel as lonely as the first man on Earth.
Being alone is a very varied feeling. It depends on circumstances, mood and whatnot. And sometimes it may depend upon a single person.
Or maybe a group of people you thought of as family. Or when everything seems to be slipping out of your hands and the world around you seems to be burning in hatred towards you.
Do you feel alone? Or lonely?

What happened?

I lost you.

I lose. Everytime.

This is what happens.

I don't understand anything else. I don't want to.

Things have a certain way of working.

People don't.

People change and sometimes so drastically that when you're reduced to ashes, you ask yourself, what happened.

Circumstances happened.

Life happened.

The hurt comes from the fact that the same person that you loved will not come back.

That shy guy with big brown eyes has turned into something unrecognizable.
 And there's nothing you can do except accept it.
you do.
Your heart can't.
Because whatever happened.
You lost him.

Love ain't what you think.

If it doesn't make you feel immortal,
it ain't love.
If it doesn't make you feel as if you can swim a thousand miles for a kiss,
it ain't love.
If it doesn't make your heart clench with fear when you see "We need to talk."
It ain't love.
If it doesn't break you to see them break,
it ain't love.
If you don't feel like showing them off,
it ain't love.
If you don't feel as if you're the luckiest person on this galaxy,
Then, no sweetie, then it ain't love.
Love isn't measured by PDA or texts.
It measured, that's why it is love.
Love ain't easy.
It is a path of thorns where you go for the sweet release to numbness.
So is it worth it?

What your love does to me.

You're the one who unleashes the beast.
Strokes its warm fur and coaxes it to wreak havoc on me.
You're the weak sunlight on a chilly winter day.
Spreading warmth and calmness and hope for better days.
You're the wave that starts as gentle but becomes proud and fierce.
Always moving forward.
You're that goddamn beautiful evening sky, that inspires people to create breathtaking pieces of art.
You're the one who makes me wonder about the meaning of our existence.
You give me purpose.
You're so so bloody beautiful that yes,
it hurts to look.
But you're mine.
So, I'd take thousand worth of hurt to come at your doorstep
for even a tenth of the cure.