Wrong Person, Write Love.

Prose 030

"I've finally kept the handwritten poems I've made for you on the farthest back part of my bookshelf. I'm done re-reading the unsent letters I've scribbled every lonely night when I was wondering how you might have been and what you're up to.

I no longer wear the wooden bracelet you've given me on your birthday, that I've buried on the bottom of my worn out treasure box. It doesn't hang loose on my wrist anymore, rather it now lies underneath the fres candy wrapper, emerald green flower key chain, and many other little things you've given me before when we're just seatmates and good friends.

I no longer feel the need to tell my best friends that I saw you just this morning and you smiled at me like how you did before, or that you seem fine talking to me even though we haven't said anything to each other for a long time. I don't frown anymore every time someone mentions your name, or if someone suddenly asks me if I have seen you-- although I'm well aware that my eyes show clearly what I really feel.

I don't need to avoid going to places we used to go together before, because I no longer remember how we were then. I don't look for you anymore every time I feel lonely and upset, for recalling the words you once said makes me feel like I've been hearing it from someone I never really knew-- someone that can be considered more of a stranger than an acquaintance.

Your voice no longer sound like home to me-- instead, they felt so foreign and indifferent. No, you can not be that person I've used to write for before. You're now just somebody I used to know, someone who's worth forgetting.

Perhaps, it would be easier this way-- to pretend I've forgotten about you and the way you broke my heart. I'll pretend 'till everyone believes I've already moved on, and maybe, just maybe, I'd really stop writing about you.

- Aries