Untitled

After a week of being dumped by my ex, he texted me saying "When will you get your things here in my place?"

I actually don't know how to respond because instead of answering his question, I like to ask if how was he, has he eaten, how was his work, has he got another good work remarks from his boss. I wanted to say that: "Hey, I've got a lot of stories to tell you. I have a good news. I did well in my tasks"

But I was there, repeatedly reading his text message. I don't know why after a week of not talking, he really wanted my things out.

I wanted to ask him: "Am I that easy to forget?"

I remember, I used to travel 35 miles just to see him every weekend. After my 5 days of work and school lessons at night. I don't feel exhausted because I know I'll get to see him on Saturday. He was used to be my rest.

I hope that every sunset I see would only remind me of the breathtaking scenery and not anymore the promises we made while waiting for the sun to rest.

I hope that the next time I touch my hand with the sea, I cannot anymore remember the countless times you taught me how to float in the water.

I hope that every road in my city that I take would not anymore remind me of you sending me home safely.

I just cant believe that I am back here. I deleted my Tumblr account when I was 17. I remembered I was busy at school, friends, family and fell in love. I left my passion in writing just because my time was consumed by random people I met. Within that 8 years, I spent countless of times with people whom I thought I’ll end up with -- to whom I thought I will always write poems to and left it at the refrigerator door -- whom I thought I will always sing a song inside the car after I paused the player for me to take over -- whom I thought I will build my family with after couple of months of travelling more than an hour whatever the weather it may be to sneak outside the house and instead sleep in his place. 

But guess what? Here I am, writing after 8 long years -- I actually forgot how this works. Now, I ended up here and like the old times, being alone. How I wish I could turn back time when I was still 17, the young, innocent, passionate and a chaser of dreams version of me. But this time, the girl behind these text is damaged, left and drained.