#spilled everything

My love for you is just like the weather. It changes based on the seasons we go through. But it will only ever get more intense.

As the leaves colour change and shades us rain or shine. I know that I want to be with you in all times.

Every storm you feel coming is another profession of my love. It will never go away.

When Franz Kafka said;

“It would be better if you didn’t come, since you’d only have to leave again.”

But our very own Ahmed Faraz wrote;

Some nights

the silence feels louder than anything,

and the tears come before you even realize

you’re thinking of them again.

You replay the ending

like a wound you keep touching,

hoping somehow

it will hurt less this time.

But it doesn’t.

It hurts in the way losing air hurts,

like your chest forgets how to breathe

the moment you remember

they’re gone.

The person you pictured forever with

became a memory

in a single moment,

and ever since then

everything feels like it’s been falling.

You start believing

maybe that was your only chance at love,

that maybe love came once,

held your hand gently,

and then walked away

without looking back.

And now you sit with the ache of it,

wondering how to move on

when your heart still lives

in the last day you had together.

You revisit that goodbye

over and over,

as if changing the memory

could somehow change the ending.

But it stays the same.

They leave.

You break.

And the world keeps moving

like nothing happened.

That’s the cruel part.

Wanting love

while being terrified of it.

Wanting someone to hold you

while wanting everyone far away.

You crave connection

but fear abandonment.

You want to love again

but your hands still shake

from the last time

you gave someone everything

and they let it fall to the ground.

So now you stand

between loneliness and healing,

between missing them

and trying to survive them,

between wanting to be alone

and desperately wishing

someone would stay.

And maybe that’s what heartbreak really is

not just losing a person,

but losing the version of yourself

that believed love would stay.

I love obsessively;

If it cannot wound my soul then I would rather starve; I want no part in it.

Skin deep pleasures bore me,

If your name doesn’t ricochet inside of me; doesn’t come like a knife wound in the gut or bullet fragments in my veins or a void in the pit of my stomach that only you can fill, then what’s the point in saying it?

If anyone else looks at me the way you do and it doesn’t feel adulterous then it’s not worth my affection

If I am not the river you would drown yourself in just for a sip of my waters in the madness of your thirst then it’s not enough.

I refuse to speak the language of yearning hands

Desire and I share a similar font.

We were carved from the same stone; born from the same earth.