realist

The irony is, I crave for meaningful connections. Yet, I feel this instinctive need to shelter myself from you- and you seem to do the same. Small talk irritates me. Who cares about what I’m having for lunch?

You are like the last dart that sits in the wrinkled remains of my last pack. With each inhale, I tell myself it’s the last time I will poison my insides

but ‘one last time’ is a myth… it never comes.

you contained her in a kaleidoscope. you held it in your palms; these very palms that were begging for her to come out, start anew. you looked at her through the glass window, that she had spent years staining with opaque paints of lies and false promises of a ‘together, forever.’ you drowned out the life that was waiting for you, for the life you had planned with her. like the patience of a desert waiting for rainfall, you sat ever so still. a single move and the hues of the skies would darken. she would begin to rattle, and the noise would ring in your ears like the painful silence that follows an explosion. all this pain, endured just so that her eyes would meet yours, one last time. one last time. one last time.

when one last time came for good, when it was that you were freed from your addiction to her, i do not know. but the kaleidoscope is home to another now. it sits in my palms; these very palms that are begging for a fate that is kinder to my heart. i look through the glass window, they’re foggy; I see hues of blue, and the signs of struggle for a freedom uneasily attained. you rattle so often, the silence has found a resting place in my ear drums.