words

god. i am starting to like you.

do you even understand the implication of that? the absolute fuckery you've done to my precious, precious heart that has long been bitter-filled?

i tried not to. trust me. i really did. but you say the right words. you do the right things. how do i save myself from that?

what have you done, you stupid fool?

recite poems to me. make me your muse. take my photos and stick it on your walls. send me love songs, tell me they remind you of me.

but the joke only ever applies to him.

every time he delivers another doom-ish line, something along the lines of this-life-is-not-worth-living-at-all, i would give him the inevitable "same," like any digital native would. what always happens after, however, is, i get—and let's use the internet's misused/overly used therapy word—"triggered" by it.

my mind would echo with his words "i hope i die tomorrow..." over and over again until i'm chanting it to myself. i would respond to a shitty TikTok he'd send with an equally shitty meme that would make the both of us do that infamous exhale sharply through my nose but not really laugh thing.

and after the conversation has gone quiet, i would find myself curled up in my bed, doing that whole staring at the ceiling thing that people who are lonely do at 3:10 a.m., going over, once again, for the billionth time, the steps i would take before i do in fact execute what cannot be undone.

i will first write letters. to my friend, as we have joked, told me i should at least write him 2 whole pages of a letter. so i will do just that. 2 whole pages just for him. then i'd write to my parents, probably 5 for each of them. my siblings, maybe 1 for each. and then i'd write on my sticky notes that i never seem to run out of, and i guess would never run out ever, my passwords, to my phone, my bank, my social media accounts. i will also delete my history, so they could at least remain to know me as i've shown them and not someone with an extremely wild imagination and very much so down bad for a fictional character.

then i will tidy up my room, give it a thorough clean. i will wipe down my book shelves. dust away the cobwebs that appears a month after cleaning it off. i will organize my desk. throw out things i don't need to keep. fold my clothes. change my bedsheets. scrub down my bathroom and make my windows squeaky clean. that way my family wouldn't need to clean it out. or maybe they still will.

i will kiss my dog good night.

and of course, i will not deprive myself the opportunity to die pretty. i will wear this blouse that i needed to buy for a university event and pair it up with the flowy floral skirt that i really loved.

the thing is, what my good friend doesn't know, and i guess, never will, is, i already have a plan. i have it all mapped out in my head. how i would do it, where i would do it, when i would it. and it's such a stupidly funny thing that that phrase "you don't really know what's going on with a person" could apply to me, his self-proclaimed best friend. and as far as the best friend thing goes, we are supposed to tell each other every thing, right? we tell each other how our parents are so annoying because, well, they're parents. we talk about how we can rent an apartment together and live like two best buddies would. except, well, i don't tell him anything. he does all the talking. he tells me every single thing, from his first girlfriend, his first car, his solo trips, annoying meetups, to his insecurities that i don't know how to help him with.

my misery has consumed me in ways i have never thought it would. i always thought i would be able to punch my way out of it, crawl if i had to. i didn't realize that the floor would be slippery and made of thick cement, something i definitely cannot punch or crawl my way out of. my fingers are bleeding and my knees are bruised.

i'm tired.

i woke up today and made a toast. i closed my eyes and savored the crunch and the peanut butter. but i was trying so hard not to stare at the forks that seemed like such a good skin scraper.

i took a hot shower and breathed in the steam, trying to be numb to the fact that i want to burn my skin off.

i took a walk and passed by the park. then i crossed the street so i could get to the bookstore. keeping a steady smile on my face as i made sure not to look both ways before crossing.

i entered the café. i took a seat by the window, ordered a hot chocolate, and took out my book to read. i pretended i didn't see the bruises i placed on my thighs.

i want to pull out both my earphones so i can hear you as you talked about the way birds flap their wings as they take flight. pause my audiobook and listen to you sigh.

i want to make a u-turn and drive 1.5 hours back to your place because you forgot to give me my gift. do not come to me. i will come to you.

something about nothingness that's excitingly inviting. this rage i've clenched in my hand like a child would his favorite doll, all scrunched up and deformed.

it's always a bit too muddled, my thoughts. always trying to grasp something, just running and running and running and running. i've no relief even in my sleep.

i turn up the volume to my music. hard-hitting base and loud melodies. the whispers of my mind reign supreme over the lyrics. please, quiet down, even for just 3 minutes and 25 seconds.

i'd pull up some videos while i eat my breakfast. but my train of thought would pull me back into the complexities of my inner monologues, a screaming match between me and me.

i long for a quiet mind.

i'd ask why she always seemed to be on her toes, but she'd always laugh and give me her best smile, "my heels are on the floor. im not going anywhere."

she always seemed to sit at the edge of her seat. she would often shake her legs as she bit her nails before stopping altogether and clearing her throat. i'd give her a tap on her shoulders and give her tea, "you're fine." her fingers would brush against mine as she takes the cup and a shiver would run down my spine because why are her fingers so cold. and she would look at me for a second, her eyes shimmering.

she's teetering at an edge, wherever that edge is. i'd see her pinch herself until bruises have formed on her pale arms. she'd smack her forehead because the dark circles under her eyes were getting darker. she'd tie her hair up tightly, and then pull at them again to tighten them more because she'd start to pull at her hairs until they're all over the floor if she kept her hair down. she would close her mouth as a tune starts to come out because the room is too quiet and her voice felt loud and nobody wanted to hear that.

she was staring at me when i wasn't looking, i can feel her asking herself the question over and over again, is it okay? is it okay? is it okay? is it okay? is it okay? i would turn to her, her mouth slightly open as if getting ready to speak, breath held, legs shaking, and then she would smile. turn back to her work and give herself a soft chuckle.

you're so beautiful my heart burns for you. i walk the day in constant daydream of your hand on my hand, a slight brush of your fingers to put me at ease. i taste the sweet taste of your sweet coffee that lingers on your lips, etched onto my tongue i could taste it even when you're not around.

but when you look at me, your tender eyes are dazed with an image of a home faraway. it's not our home. everything seemed perfect but you weren't looking at me. at me. just me. you glance at me always with an afterthought of a first love. you graze my hand with a lingering i wish it was you.

but when you finally sleep at night, you'll see me as you face me, your hand tucked under your head, blankets warm your legs, your eyes swimming with sadness. you're finally looking at me. just me. and then i'll see you and suddenly things aren't as sweet as they were when we're playing pretend.

so i’ll just recite again, stay safe, because that’s the only aftertaste in my mouth.

so i’ll just type again, stay safe! because there’s not any other sentences i can form right now. i’m sorry.

i tried to move myself the way an ocean would, just, still, loud, ravaging, but still just a body of water.