About a “you”

When I am sad, you hold me wipe my tears tell me jokes. Some would have found the jokes annoying but that's just how you work. To me it is everything And not once have you failed to make me smile again.

Finally, someone makes me write because I want to and not because I need to.

I am in love. Again. Just wanted to put it out there. The falling in love again. It exists.

Thank you

It did not have to come to this, you know! I am filled with this furiousness, this rage. And it is all your fault. It did not have to come to this!

I no longer know how to write. I don’t know how to put words together in clever, metaphorical ways. All I know is that I miss you. I just miss you.

In a dream I saw your bloodshot eyes. Someone asked ‘are your eyes always that red?’ and someone, maybe it was you, maybe it was me, replied ‘yes’.

You may not have been the first boy I ever claimed to be in love with, but you were the first boy I ever really loved.

179 days. That’s how long it’s been. One hundred and seventy nine days. Five months and twenty seven days. 25 weeks. 4 318 hours. 259 108 minutes. 15 546 521 seconds. Fifteen million five hundred and forty six thousand five hundred and twenty one seconds.

Something I wrote when we were still in love

When I woke up today a memory crossed my mind. The T-shirt. The one you always let me sleep in. The ‘This is your T-shirt now’-T-shirt. The one that to me smelled like you and to you smelled like me. Did you wash it? Did you burn it?

And then an hour becomes a day and a day becomes a week and one morning you'll wake up and six months will have passed and you can finally breathe again.

First came the shock. The realisation. The helplessness. The I-am-going-to-die. Then came the tears. The screaming. The shivering. The lying-in-bed-and-I-cannot-move. Third was the anger. The cursing. The blaming. The fuck-you-I-hate-your-guts. Later came the fear. The anxiety. The worrying. The my-heart-is-pounding-is-he-alright. Fifth was the forgiveness. The talking. The trying. The please-let-me-back-in. Now, the cold is here. The ignorance. The repressing. The I-swear-to-god-I-do-not-care-anymore.

I won't say it wasn't meant to be, because it was. We were. Only for a short while, maybe. But we were.

Your body is shaking from the exertion of keeping itself together. I can see it from afar, and I can’t help but wonder. What if you let it shatter? Would your Ice Age finally come to an end? Would flowers grow in the cracks of you again?