- you
lately,
i find myself thinking
only of you.
i find myself waking up
and reaching over to your side of the bed
knowing with everything in me
that you won't be there.
i find myself
writing letters to you,
sending it to the same address,
and the new home owners
have to keep telling me
with pity in their eyes
that you don't live there anymore.
and meia,
it's getting unhealthy.
i don't remember doing anything
unless it's for you.
and i,
too,
pity myself
because you probably don't
even know my name anymore.
will my life always be like this?
the last time i saw you,
you were sipping your
hazelnut latté
at café lotus.
your black hair was now blonde
and you replaced your glasses
with gray contacts.
your jaw got slimmer
and your eyes, bigger.
and you have no idea
how much i wanted to paint you
because you looked so happy
now that you molded yourself
into your version of perfection.
and i wanted to talk to you.
and hold you.
and see you see me.
but would you want to do the same?
it didn't matter what i thought,
however.
because as i entered the café,
hands buried in my pockets,
a nervous blush patted on my cheeks,
someone else filled the seat
in front of you.
what made me cry that evening
was not because you were with
another person.
but because
the person who gave you
a self portrait
was not me.
the person who
painted a smile on your face
was not me.
the person who
paid for dinner
was not me.
the person who
gave you a diamond ring
was not me.
the person you kissed
was not me.
and it was especially because
the twinkle in your eyes
that would come only for me
had come also for him.
and i never felt so much pain
at once.
it's so hard, my meia.
so dreadful.
and even now,
i'm still thinking of you.
i'm panicking so much.
i'm in a lot of pain, meia.
will you ever come to notice that?
the paint isn't drowning
any of it away
like it used to
and i'm getting worried
because it was my only hope.
it seems like it has
given up on me.
i'm getting less and less sleep.
sleep has given up on me, too.
and dreaming of you,
for once,
i hate.
because that smile of yours
that appears in my dreams
are there probably because
he said something to
make you smile.
why do you play me like this?
i know you're beautiful,
but now, i'm scared.
your presence heals me
yet it's what ruined me
in the first place.
i don't know what to do.
you're all i think about.
yet there's not a doubt in my mind
that you haven't thought about me
since your hand slipped mine
that warm, may night.
