sometimes, i wonder— how much it takes to write a farewell?
and i know everything is still vivid as if they were just happening before my eyes, maybe the reason why i‘m still trying to trace your name at the lines of my palms; i will find myself kissing the way my heart beats but somehow sometimes, i can feel that the idea of you still smells like hurt. i know, i’m still wandering to places we’ve been for there’s still a side of me that believes you’re my lost soulmate that i often find in my poems. i know, you never really left for you left aches in me that i promised to hold on to for a very long time just because i’m thinking that it might lead you back to me, for heartaches stay for a little long while. you are an idea that i chose to write about for i’m sick of losing someone just because it is meant to happen; i’m sick of getting hurt just because i choose it that way. i know, you left so much to remember that it even hurts when i breathe, but i can’t help but to relive things, and just let myself trace ways coming back to it even after years.
i know, having you in between of my pages will just leave me so much wounds to heal, and i can say healing is more painful for i need to tear you out from my skin, i need to forget all the uncertainties and confusions that you planted on my wrists, maybe the reason why sometimes, i can still find myself letting you wound me for i believe—at least, still, i have you. and that i wouldn't mind to just let you reside in me through my words, inflicting me sad truths for i hope, i would still end up loving you. i know you’re a kind of hurricane. i know everything will just hurt, and i let you. but there’s this night when the words hidden under crawled up to remind me of the pages left unread for you’re busy giving me tears unknowingly. it is when i found myself finally crying about something that ended 28 months ago already but the scars remain unhealed for the heart often chooses not to forget. it is when i can’t feel anything but i can’t stop crying; it is when it suddenly hurts so much for seconds but i can’t even write to ease the pain for i can no longer make it beautiful. i cried too hard but i didn’t write about that love that’s supposed to be called forgotten. that night, i know i can still remember things well, but suddenly, i forgot the way how you made me feel.
i know, for the longest time i became afraid not to write about you, for the unloved parts of me keep on whispering that i would never be loved that way again. i know, somehow it is true. i just don’t know if it is because you loved me well or it is because i am just afraid to write about something better. i know that until now, i can still see you existing in things i once loved, and i don’t mind. i know i can keep you in any ways, that i can even let you dance in between of my forgetting and not feeling anything.
i know that but i’ve also learned to say: never again. because now, i can let you stay everywhere—
but not here, not just in my poems.
— 04:03 l. sin, to my pages ago
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