WARNING: I am full of shit

0.1 the alphabet

01. the alphabet
I don't even know what this is, but one thing's clear, I am writing about the same guy again. It's probs a sign that I haven't moved on yet, or I am currently in the process of moving on. I don't know, because I find myself confusing oftentimes. And I promise you, just like the title, I am full of shit.

. . .

His name feels like a profanity as it rolls in my tongue,
beneath theclamp of my teeth
and the exhale of my breath.

His name---sordid---eases its way out of my lips
like vile in the form of smoke.
It dwindles through the humid air of the second last day of November.
And I, the maiden of hatred,
watch it mingle through the breeze,
its color a tenebrific violet to my dull brown eyes.

I promised myself not to utter those two letters that make up his name,
but conversation tends to break it the way he twitched my heart
and stomped on it with his Doc Martens.
It is inevitable.

He is inevitable.

The mere mention of those two letters of the alphabet makes me cringe
as I feel the blow in between my heart and my stomach.

It folds me mercilessy like a crumpled paper,
my screams silenced by the words of praise that come with those dire letters.

Conversation never fails to remind me of what we once had
---or at the very least, what I thought we had.

So I bury my head in between the comforting words of the books,
ignoring his gaze,
ignoring his words,
ignoring his presence,
ignoring his existence.

It is what he wants.

Or it is what I think he wants.

It is what I want.

Or at least, I thought it was.

I have often thought of myself as lucky.
Girls my age would have drowned themselves in melancholic tears.
They would have clawed on every memory
and would have held it tight to their chests like a five year old with its teddy bear.

I thought I was lucky.

But indeed, I was not.

I have gone a perfect three months without thinking of him.
I have stepped foot of the outside world
without ever thinking what his hands would feel like against my back.
I have dismissed the possibilities that his big feminine clammy hand would
wound its way back to my much smaller and dry hand.

Or so I thought I had.

The thing is, he brought a storm with him.
It was a storm too big to settle, so it consumed me,
until I was in its eye.
They say that a storm's eye is its calm.
And so there I was, forced to believe that everything is fine
when it's not.

And instead of escaping,
I stayed in the middle of the turbulence.
I stayed because I thought I was being practical.
I stayed because I just...

I didn't---don't know where else to go.

I'm stuck, and I can't seem to shake him off.

There's this little piece of hope nagging at me
whenever I look at him with distaste.
There's this little blossom eating away the negativity,
reminding me that we once shared good memories.

Or at least they were good to me.

The thing is, I can't just let go of someone
who had rocked my boat too hard.
I just cannot force myself to forget about his smile,
his eyes, his ridiculously long neck, and his persistent jawline.
I simply cannot just force myself to forget
the fact that I used to love the curls of his brown hair fanning
the half of his enormous forehead.
Because every move I make, I see him.
Everywhere I go, I feel him with me.
And when I close my eyes, God help me,
I see him smiling down at me like he used to.

Past tense.

There was nothing between us,
and perhaps there was nothing to lose at all.

Or maybe nothing was our everything.

It was just too goddamn late for both of us to realize.

For me to realize that when I had lost nothing, I had lost everything.

Henceforth, I hate him.

But,

But, that doesn't change the fact that his name would forever taste foul in my mouth.

It doesn't change the fact that the nothingness we shared
will always remain like coffee stains in my music sheets.

I hate the alphabet.