I’ve been obstructed by the idea of losing you.
It somehow awakens the side I thought has long died.
The problematic side I have never had a cup of tea in a downtown café on day-night transition with.
But if I would, I can imagine how she looks like.
Dark feature with dark hair, black turtle neck sweater, and black irises.
She would smoke menthol cigarettes and made some donut smokes.
Her words will be light but piercing, as what a short knife would be.
It’ll easily bleed me, for it is honed till you can easily notice red capillaries your eye balls have brilliantly reflecting on its surface.
She would tell me how miserable I am, being left behind by the idea that I made up in my head.
Numerous times has she convinced me you don’t exist.
Numerous times too has she told me that life and love aren't what I deserve in this lifetime.
Numerous times has she managed to bring the worst side of my curiosity.
I used to believe her. In the pitch-black room, I used to listen her rants about how undeserving I was to ever dream about having my own life.
When I closed my eyes, I saw her sitting on a chair inside my head.
With snarl, red eyes, and black turtle neck sweater.
Chilling and heavy atmosphere surrounded her.
I couldn't breathe, as though gigantic boulder is sitting right on where my lungs blooming and deflating.
I used to believe her. Until one day I invited you into my pitch-black room.
In your khaki pants, periwinkle polo shirt, and white oxford.
You drew the shades.
Lifted the boulder, and asked,
“shall we have some tea?”
As astonished as a human could be, I quickly replied,
“sure”.
YOU ARE READING
Victor Of My Heart
PoetryPieces i compiled about a man i love. I am embracing my infatuation toward this person through words. Through something i only know how to do. It's an 18 months project of mine. I'll try my best to upload every week/when i am inspired
