cat in a box

the ground you've stepped on

the words you've spouted

another week, another day

questions on why I stayed

too tired, too cornered

every week I just folded

no voice, no choices

I shouldn't, but I can't help it.

When the little things you loved are gone.

When the silly jokes turn into uncomfortable silence.

When the quirks turn into annoying habits.

When hugs become a responsibility.

When kisses become customary.

When you're seen but not acknowledged.

When you're heard but not listened to.

When you're together but feel like worlds away.

When you're both the same but totally different than yesterday.

When goodbyes feel like a happy sigh,

there's something excruciating

when you make an admission

of the bitter truth to yourself.

for even if no one is aware -

with a sense of gratitude for sure -

it pains to learn of your faults

of admitting your pain

of looking at the harsh reality

of containing tears

of holding your resigned sighs

of keeping your wails silent

of accepting of loneliness.

it's a different sort of heartbreak -

one that consumes your thoughts

and one that keeps those thoughts within -

of not having to lay them bare to others

for these are your burden to carry.

How are you? Lame, scratch that. Let me start over. I hope you’re doing well there, or as well as you can. I’m not sure why I’m writing to after all these years, but I am.

I’ve been stuck with my thoughts for some time now, and realized it’s been years since I’ve wrote them down. You’d be proud, no tissues have been inked and left in some corner table in a coffee shop. To be honest, I haven’t been to in a coffee shop in a while. I haven’t been anywhere in a while.

I’m still here. Last we met, we never got a chance to talk. I was struggling. Not just with my kitten, but with myself as well. Maybe life in general. I don’t know how I am now. It’s funny, since I was reading your letters and my replies to you. I find myself wondering had we made different choices, would we better off now than before?

It’s intoxicating to think of what ifs. And I find myself thinking if I still fear the same thoughts I had before. If I get to live inside my own head, would I? It was a frightening, and almost maddening, idea at the time, with our heads a jumbled mess. But now, I’m not so sure.

Clearly, if it means to escape this hell of a reality, would it be so bad? What do you think?

Writing at 2:27AM,

grand gestures are lies,

only fuel to keep the dream afloat.

the crux of the truth is found

in the little things -the lonely dinners,

the turning of backs in bed,

the abrupt coldness,

the snide remarks,