Words of the Broken and the Lover

Memory of You

Written on: December 18, 2017

Finished on:  April 25, 2018

A collaboration with  IoveIis

The memory of you begins to rain down on me again, and I don't know how to make it stop.

Each droplet forms a crystal that soon becomes crystalline and another pearl-like tears glisten as it falls down to my cheeks.

And I can't even exactly tell if I miss you or the idea of love in general. Perhaps I'm in the brink of total desperation to be loved that I would want the old us back, even though it can never be.

And sometimes I call for nature to hear my plea yet I'm still under the sea wherein vagueness is set free. Questions asked; will I drown or ascend from this darkness and finally see the blazing sun among with the clear sky.

Yet it's almost like it's intentional that you often cross my mind the exact moment that I think that I was okay. I wonder from time to time if I am allowed to even rest from this hell that you dropped me in?

Charming as you are and mischievous as the star behind the cloudy night.

Every fragment of you in me is like a seed that grows inside me. No wonder I can find no solace in your absence and the longer you aren't here, the more it grows.

The more broken my heart becomes.

And now my heart is in my hands, in shards and pieces, still trying to hold myself back from looking behind me, as if there's a screen that shows all the good times we have spent together. It's behind me but I can hear it. It's deafening. It makes me wish that I view the world like you. I view us like you. Because if I did, I would have just forgotten about this a long time ago. But this is me, and I don't want it anymore.

I don't want this harvested pieces of my heart. The madness of our long-"lasted" relationship. The lies of your "I love you's" or the remembrance of our everyday "valentine's moment" that I kept holding on to. Those rotten sweet words and rusty sweet actions yet it remains in my mind and in my heart like a precious fossils. A treasured antique and I wish for it to be forgotten and thrown away like how it should be because it has no more use nor it can bring back the past.

I am trying to fight off the tinge of hopefulness. That one day you'll realise what you threw away. One day our paths will cross again and you will see me turning to gold with every step that I take. That one day, you will realise that I was someone who was worth it. I am always told that the majority wins, but not in this case. The small portion of me that misses your touch, that creates lingers of your hands on my waist as we dance that I always push aside, tends to take over the entirety of my thoughts from time to time. It turns out that this small portion is quite venomous, and every drop is eating me alive.