if ever that we meet again at the same age, i hope things would hurt less.
all i can remember is that we met standing at the edge, we met as two dying soul or perhaps we’re just the ones that the world forgot the existence or we’re just blindly loving the cruelty placed in our palms—who knows? together, we watched how the night falls or maybe, we’re just learning to love how the withered flowers grow inside us while all i can smell from you is the cigarette that you have in your fingers while i have one in my jeans. that foggy evening just turned into pretty insanity, the moment of silencing the raging storms inside us; forgetting how our bruised knuckles hurt so much every time we try to touch the sky. all i know is that you came to me with all the void sleeping inside your eyes, with the faint smile that i once mistaken as mine and with the stains of blood you have in your shirt that complements the smell of beers i have spilled in my ragged sweater. you look like the misery and anger that i have buried in me but you’re just so peaceful and chaotic as the same time and i honestly don’t know if that’s a good thing when i know we’re just standing at the same pace. we’re just the villain in this story: the bad ones. the rebellious. two miserable paths that crossed just to do things we know we shouldn’t do.
maybe, we met as just nothing. we’re no one. we’re no poet. we don’t even know art or every beautiful things, we just know pain but we even forgot what it feels like, who can say that’s possible? but sometimes, we know poetry is everywhere, it can be on streets or at the theatre signs or into nothingness. we don’t know. we even mistook it as the scars we have in our body, the wounds that we have that even the fading lights wouldn’t want to see, maybe because just like them, poetry meant to last forever. i hope love does too or maybe i already know, it doesn’t. but still, we tried so hard to find it into the coastal city that the moment we found ourselves, we blindly embraced it as we glanced desirably into each other during our wasted state. it makes us want to run away, go somewhere where we can’t put our guns on people or where people can’t put us their own, but we just stand still, remembering how many times we failed ourselves. if the night could just change how we used to live for a long time, if the romance we have right now could just reside to the sharp edges we both have—if we could just stay, maybe we could escape from the thing that fuels the brokenness. or maybe not. we’re just too much: too bad, too miserable, too intoxicated with the idea of a love that dies, too broken. we’re too much that we weren't even meant to stay.
i remember you walking towards me with all the void sleeping inside your eyes, faint smile, with a shirt stained with blood on and i can also remember how we began to laugh as we share the same breath and as we hear our drunken hearts began to frantically beat. so, if ever that i wil see you again standing there at the end of the line where i used to be, i will answer your question that i failed to answer when you asked me the first time:
“if heaven doesn’t want us, would you go with me to hell?”
as i remain standing here at the edge where we met that night, i would certainly say—
“i will”.
— 01:48 l. sin, modern lovers
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
»» photo (without the words in it) taken from Cultura Collectiva
