Paint streaks on the windowsill

words about love

Sometimes I forget what I'm writing for. Not for who, but for what. I forget why I'm doing it. Why would I though, scribble words onto a sheet of paper to leave it there, thinking they are immortal, when all it takes is one strong hand to make them die, when instead, I could be 'studying' 'doing something' as if putting words onto an empty sheet is useless. as if writing counts for nothing. 

But then I think of all the things I love, and writing is always #1. I guess I just love to do nothing. I'm good at it too, the whole wasting my time thing. But to be frank, writing, to me, feels like the only time not wasted. Everyone has that one thing. That one thing they love doing most. It's a beautiful thing. It's so much different than the love we can feel for a person, but yet still as fragile. Almost cute, I'd say. 

Things are easy to love. People aren't (no offence), but yet we all still want to love and be loved. And once you've found it, it can become your oxygen. Which is dangerous. The love for a thing is gravity. Because things don't change, people do. With a thing you always know what you're gonna get. It will always be there, you can always hold onto it. Maybe that's why love fascinates so many people (including me) who love doing nothing more than anything. I plead guilty. 

I love love, I love to love, I love to write and I write what I love. And yet, I feel as if I've never loved. Sad? maybe. Confusing? yes. 

but let me tell you something, I miss. Instead of love, I miss.. wholeheartedly. My heart basically rips itself out of my chest, and trust me, when I say it hurts. And right now, I severely miss someone. So I did nothing:

I miss you. I miss you so much. Not as in, you're gone for a few days. No. It's different. And it sucks. It sucks to see you around every day, avoiding my gaze. Have you forgotten about our promise? You promised me. You goddamn promised me!  When you hugged me you said you'd never let go and be there. But you keep your head down every time I walk by. Does looking at me hurt you? Does it rip you apart? Or are you protecting yourself? Building up that wall you always put up whenever I'd get too close? You can at least say hi. It's just one word. Are you thinking about me? Do you still cry? Do you still remember how it felt when I said: 'I don't want this anymore' as my voice cracked and the first of many tears escaped my eye. When you asked 'is it over?' and I nodded my head. How I didn't want to leave because that meant it was real? How I couldn't stop crying as you took me in your arms for one last time and I rested my head on your shoulder. Do you remember? Do you still feel it? Does it weigh on you like 100 bricks every time you think about it? Every time your mind even dares to walk to that house on memory lane? Is your pillow stained with tears, like mine? Do you sleep on the right side of your bed, out of habit, because I was always on the left? 

Do you miss me, as much as I miss you? 

Do you miss me more? 

Or didn't you ever miss me at all to begin with?

I miss you. 

but that's okay, this feeling is not meant to stay. 

but I still 

miss

you

 ♡