riptide | poetry

10. tethered

there will be a time when night comes and i won't have a side of the bed to walk into and no arms to hold me in my sleep.

we won't be sitting by the docks, talking for hours at two in the morning with the city lights in view, you and your shanghai stories. we won't be drinking screwdrivers under the moonlight, taking a bus to nowhere, leaving at your favourite ice cream place — i never told you, but peach oolong was my favourite.

we won't be shopping for pyjamas five minutes before the stores close, and you won't be picking out a baby blue sweater for me. we won't be driving through the great western highway at night, your windows open and my hair in the wind — i never told you, but i secretly wanted the pink sweater instead.

we won't be watching conjuring again, and i won't feel your light twitches that held me tighter with each jump. we won't be entangled in our sleep, my head listening to the thump thump thump of your heartbeat — i never told you, but i loved horror movies.

we won't be brushing our teeth together in the morning or catching late brunch 'cause it always took you so long to get out of bed. each daybreak i'll hear the alarm you always ignored to nestle your head into my chest while i finish my politics assignment on my phone — i never told you, but i skipped my class for you that day.

and some part of me will always be the same part you once held, will be forever eighteen and foolish, will be forever remembered through your christian youth group sticker on my journal — i never told you, but i think i loved you.

i can give what we had a thousand funerals — i can go on one thousand and one times with strangers to forget you — and still, i wake up to an empty bed.

still, i will remember your mum's lexus and the peking duck spring rolls your parents made us and the saturday we drove west and i held hands with you for what felt like the first time, interlaced fingers walking through the bustling suburb and your blue sweater too big on me 'cause i forgot mine.

still, i will remember the time you came over to mine after easter lunch to hold me tight, as if it were a silent promise to never let me go.

still, i remember the night you left me at 27-29 without a touch.

still, i remember how we played DDR the night we met, taking the same train home.

still, i will bring an extra mask and an extra power bank and an umbrella.

love will wake up next to me one day and it won't be you anymore.

love will wake up next to me one day and i will no longer be tethered to you.

✧･ﾟ:*

( i needed to vent, haha. here's a love letter to someone i loved, long lost. it's been a year. i no longer bring an extra mask, an extra power bank, or an umbrella. i am no longer tethered to him. )