愛 • helloitsai

I know I'm pretty.

I know I'm smart.

I know I'm worth something.

But I can't feel it, so what are thoughts if it can't resonate just enough to know it'll leave a lasting mark?

My knowledge is empty.

They're just words — just a hypothesis until further studied.

Just fucking words.

They don't mean shit.

I've never been the type to like the same person twice. For you, however, I'd consider it. . . and again, another name, I would. I didn't know how it happened. It was quick, as if a runner snapping off the ribbons when the buzzer had just rang. It started off with a banter — not even a name. My shoes untied? Haha, classic. Calling out my name when a funny-looking person walks by? Okay, rude. I have to admit, a part of me liked it — loved it. It was as if deliberately you were giving a space just for us two.

However, it was like a bus coming onto oncoming traffic. I had to wait. Slow. . . at a stop. . . then a sudden go — a few days, you were gone and then suddenly you showed up again. This time, though, you came with a name. It was a sudden mark that had just showed up the moment I saw your irritating face.

"There" — that's what I called you.

Because sure as hell. . . you were. . . there.

A part of me hated I liked it. Hell, even loved it. Were you deliberately passing me by? Were you really so hell bent on playing shadow that you wouldn't even leave my side? Was it really necessary you'd repeat the same joke twice? THRICE, even?

I know for a fact it doesn't mean shit. . . at least to you, it didn't. To me, however, it was the thing that would stuck out with the two 4-hours that had passed by; and when that had been my sense of normalcy for the past goddamn two weeks of second-guessing the wholeness of myself. . . hell, no wonder it meant something to me when no one could change my mind. I didn't even know your last name, nor your past. But it only reminded me of things that didn't matter and what was at hand.

I'd felt alone, if I were to be honest — and that sure as hell wasn't changing. I was left with loud thoughts for silent hours, screaming for a sense of peace. But your laugh? Your goddamn laugh! You snapped me right back to the present and gave me just an inch of normalcy I had not felt in the past goddamn two weeks thinking I was no person that deserved to be known.

But you asked me for my name, and how I was, and what my plans for the future were . . . all to hell, they were shallow conversations as fuck; but for me, it was a first in a while that someone wanted to know me more than a name.

A name. . .

"Wait" — I decided to call you.

Because sure as hell, I wasn't ready for what was to come.

It started off with a banter. . . now, why the hell is your hand on mine? "What is it?" you asked. I replied that it was warm. Again you asked, a hand pressed firmly on mine as I replied with a heat more intense than the other. "Lead me" you said, with a trust reciprocal we didn't even need to know what the others' name was.

"Wait there" — I'd call, over and over again.

I wasn't ready. Dear God, I was not ready. In the near two 4-hours that'll pass by, I was already anticipating you and what was about to. I could only laugh.

For the goddamn past two weeks I've been so stuck in the past, that how the hell did a nameless face just reminded me there was more beyond that?

But I'm not ready. I'm sorry. I know a cliche. . . classic, haha. Rude, even. You should know, I've never been the type to like the same person twice. But. . .

Wait there, I might still change my mind.

Of relationships.

Of anxiety.

Of myself.

I wanna rest. Please give me peace.

Everything I'm anxious of is my fault.

Everything I'm sad about is my fault.

Everything is my fault.

How do I live like this?

I want out.

Let me go.

I want peace.

Please.

Please.

Please.

For the longest time, I was clean, but my records have been re-written and change would never suffice to bring back what it was. Who was to blame? Was it you, my love, or the darling from the past?

Who was to blame? I could never recall the name that had started it all.

Was it Alyssa? Senillo? Kallista? Perhaps, it went even as far back as Danielle?

No.

No. I can’t act like I don’t know who to blame all for the sake of myself trying to defend your injustice but my love, you’re as guilty and to blame — I know.

I KNOW WHO.

Her name echoes in my head in times like these. The bare witnesses of my sin being only you and I. I give my testimonies, over and over again. You’ll give yours, over and over again.

But who is the guilty? Who is the victim?

Are you the accused? Am I the accuser?

Will I walk away freely with hands tainted in red while your wrists feel cold held together by sweet metal I wished were in my bedframes? Have I been charged to the point I villainize those just as the same just for sake of perjury? I know.

I KNOW.

The judge and jury look down upon me as the defendant with no artifacts or evidence, yet I stand here in the name of “innocence” — no.

No.

No?

I don’t know.

I DON’T KNOW — I KNOW.

I confess. I plead guilty. But who do I confess to? The judge and jury look down upon me, but I hold my head high and find myself alone in the stand as I re-enact for the thousandth time my felony. Was it you, my love, or the darling from the past? I know. I know it’s me to blame, over and over again. The guilty. The victim. The accused. The accuser. As I give my testimonies over and over again, I scream them louder each time to drown out the echoes of her name.

A forgery.

A fraud.

Love is butterflies, a fluttering feeling in the stomach I can’t get rid of, consuming me 24/7 with it’s late-night texts and good morning’s. The kind leaving me in cloud nine with “attention” stuck on mind as I walk the not-so lonely pavements of this godforsaken highway. Love is dressed in black – sleek and clean, a little bit of chest peeking through, the kind I’d fantasize laying my achened head on. 

Love would talk on the other end of the phone, asking me about my day and when we could meet again. And when we did, Love would meet me in the platforms of the trains on the wrong station, and despite it not ever going the way I want it to be — it was right. Even in the late hours of anxiety and doubt, Love reassured me in the now than the past. Despite it not ever going the way I want it to be — it was right.

Though, love wasn’t mine. It never was even when it wanted to be. 

In my eternal rest,

You have all the permission to let it be about yourselves.

Just as it has always been.

Im reminded everyday just how big our worlds are,

that no matter which solar system,

I will be nothing but less than a star.

It was stupid of me to hope maybe I could find meaningful conversations in you

But like everything else in the name of love, all meaning gets lost

You'll drag me along in your unknowingness

Maybe it's why I've refused up until this point,

Because I know and feel too much

Maybe if I were a bit more ignorant, we could have been together

To find that depth of being immersed in my whole being is only something I'll ever know

Before I had my first boyfriend back then, I remember crushing so hard on him and a friend was desperate to hear who it was. I didn't wanna tell him the truth and I was a witty piece of shit. His name was on the tarpaulin just across us — frankly, it wasn't even his name. Our school completely mispelled it.

"—" I admitted out loud. It was a lie.