insnync

[insnync]

Now, I can finally see why I choose to be with you. You never tried to cross any of my boundaries, never asked any personal questions about me. Not even once. All you did was to wait for me to open up, bare myself naked to you. You always manage to divert the attention whenever the topic goes way too much for me to handle. Was it because you’re not that interested knowing about me more? If yes, then I’m into that. I guess it’s because of the familiarity that you gave me, the push-and-pull assurances, little to no attachments, and also the hot and cold responses. I love the in-betweens, the solid affirmation that this won’t last— I’m craving for it. I like to wait for everything to fall apart— that’s why I’m clinging to you— you gave me the slight forthcoming of how this heartbreak will make me cray. I love to see how you will ruin me.

[insnync]

and i guess what they left in me was anxiety.

there wasn't a specific reason why people always leave us with their excess baggage. half-assed apologies. burnout letters. hopeless promises. abandonment issues. have you left with that? well… mine was— i am left with constantly thinking if i am worthy enough. i always seek for reassurance, i thirst for safety. because none of them truly see the depths of my wellbeing. i am tired of crying every night just to lull myself to sleep. they said i am worthy of love, but why i am only receiving goodbyes at the end?

[insnync]

it was like everyone that i've met was just a character development for me. yes, i did have eighteen lovers and flings… when i reached my 18th birthday. my friends asked me how do i keep up with it. i only answered them with, "give your everything."

give your everything to them. love fiercely, let them feel your burning passion, and they'll eventually leave. not because you're too much, but because they can't reciprocate the same intensity that you will give. first, they will try their best to be deserving for your love. trust, promises, and assurance—they'll give you that. little did they know you'll notice that they can't be consistent, their promises will turn into ashes, trust to doubts. this time, these words will slip into their lips, "why me? do i deserve you?"

and of course, after that, you will take all the blame. you will question yourself if you are too much for them. or there's something wrong with you. slowly, you'll be in pain—your new realization with introduce you to self development.

was loving too much is a mistake?

fuck. i don't care anymore.

[insnync]

today, i forgot how to breathe. it wasn't that remarkable for i tend to forget every single thing about living. but today was different. my breathings were fast paced like i was in a sprinting contest, it was faster than any bullet train. lost and rushed. yet my fingers were unconsciously guided to my starred emails— unorganized mess, the exchanging of fake formalities disgusts me. but on the second thought, i found your message. sent around the salty betweens of May 2020. the message goes on like this:

hi, the most forgetful person that i've known. you make me go cray, did you know that? but lucky you, you have a thoughtful girlfriend. i'm just here to remind you that you have to take your meds twice a week. save this email before you reply! and, take deep breaths. slowly and relax yourself. don't think about anything else. you have your own time, take it easy. wo ai ni. bye-bye!

…and that's when i realized that you left a huge space in me. the regrets and what ifs were already gone, i no longer yearn for you. no longer comparing your warmth to all the people that i've talked to. gratefulness seemed to stayed. what you've left in me was a lesson to cherish, a character that needs to be changed in a good way. and i guess this is my last prose written for you. gladly this piece didn't end in a bitter way.

today, i forgot how to breathe but it was different. because the person that i thought i'll hate forever saved me without her knowing.

and i will never be in rage forever.

[insnync]

they flinched—mumbled chaos, demise, and mist when she wondered once what it meant to be infinite. we realize that they don't grasp what's going on. she has the capability to take reality and wreck quasars, as well as shatter asteroids and transform empires to ashes. her rage, hidden behind her perfectly aligned profile, has the capacity to balance the realm. in your nerves, wind and glaciers collide. you're trailed by distraught rumblings of Jupiter. it has to do with higher dimensions. and there is something about her spontaneousness that appeals to me. the glow she carries is more suitable for her than the haze. she's served in a sapphire martini glass. i praise the naysayers and raise a glass of stars and embers, truths and falls, to the theists. she is timeless. you painted galaxies between the void of my thoughts, my cosmic star.

suddenly, all my prose are about you. // to qlaira, the maiden who stole my sanity.

[insnync]

for a long time, we were deafeningly quiet. my thoughts whirled around in my mind, chasing each other. my emotions swayed up and down like a lover's body. before I tried to do something else, I willingly waited for the whole fiasco to resolve inside of me. my amygdala had been slaughtered to ashes, so fuck the heart. she didn't have a core, and I doubt I did either. a whirlpool of loops and left and right twists which I traversed had nothing to do with us. hear my mournings. it shouted your name… bawling to be heard. this is intoxicating. your love hurts me so good.

the fact that the heart does not want to feel something does not erase the certainty of which it once felt and continues to feel.

[insnync]

You may indeed be significantly happier now, and I may be being greedy if I say I need you. But I need you. I really do. And simply living without you gives me pain every day. Months had passed, but whenever I shut my eyes, I envision you walking down the aisle; hand in hand, kissing your temples. It happened every night, but my pulse is gradually withering away, like the leaves on fall. You are slipping away.

[insnync]

People know our love died with me, but it didn't completely die. It began to take root in me like a vine, and no matter how much I resisted it, it grew and grew. I really loved you. I hardly ever said. Maybe you mistook my heart stopping for death, even though it was just for a brief moment. Perhaps you thought my love died when I strangled it over a hand, my lungs taking their last breath; oxygen's no longer powered my deteriorating consciousness. Maybe, just maybe, your devotion has turned to hatred, and you can't see the vines choked me.

I would conclude that pulmonaria bloom from my lungs like a disease, like an outbreak, and that their bluish hues have poisoned my bile. Lungworts, loyalty, and the all-too-often-forgotten bliss. I'm committed to you, and you were committed to me as well. Before.

I can show that my steady heart bled crimson from the chrysanthemums flower, that every drop that dredged from it like a cut stained the petals, and that the beauty came from my demise. So this is what we're up to now? Do I have to bleed these blooms for you without expecting anything in return?

There are some things I haven't said. Maybe it was greedy. Perhaps it wasn't. And, despite anything else I am, I don't believe being better for you is among them. With my love like poisons and petals yanked in my throat, with my agony like spikes trawling my flesh under your stern gaze, I don't think you're right for me. I don’t believe we’re good for each other, and it’s such an ironic part.

[insnync]

I like your face, but not just that, you see, I had pictured the riveting individuality of unique imagery, every contour and form of your face. A woman who had came into existence. And beyond your charm, resided a sincere elegance; which was more than just the amount of ethereal, tangible pieces. Needless to say, even though dressed in an unflashy house sweater, created by your seventeen-year-old self, you were still radiant in a way that put several ladies in the shadow. I often thought that you were scared to open up, restraining the nature of a being, but those were the factors that make you fragile and pure. Your uncertainties and flaws were focal point of something I like about you.

An unsent message.

[insnync]

Researchers believed that our souls need to experience every aspect of life. They need to reincarnate as both male and female. My soul has a choice to reincarnate into different experiences, but I would choose to experience being in love with you in my next life, again.

They say that a particular soul belongs only to a certain person… and I think you already have mine. In my next life, I would like to love you without restrictions. Where I could freely express how much you mean to me. In my next life, you would try to hold me closer without minding the opinion of others. Maybe our promises will last. In my next life, you would probably stay. You would probably choose me in a heartbeat.

My soul has no caste, creed or religion. It is something which is selfless of any worldly possessions and it belongs to you. My life today is too short to love you. Maybe in my next life you would choose me, bravely. Just like I did today. I hope you'll do the same too.

An eternal promise, which every love deities cannot stop. // 'Til our next universe.

[insnync]

He said afterwards that he really wanted a fierce, wise, profoundly confident woman who'll desire him instead of needing him, who somehow supports him, who encourages him to be himself, and who could probably stick through the toughest of times. However, he still have to understand that a truly brave, successful woman doesn't really wander through living with her heart completely exposed. To attain her supremacy, she had to create boundaries to hinder negativity. From such a history of passing game against threats, she is cynical and still on guard. She's going to be slightly dispirited, a bit sarcastic, and a bit worrisome, because those traits come with the effort to have the influence that'll sways you. She might question your noble motives because it has become her impulses of resiliency which have led her to grow. She is not an object of blue skies. She hides her drawbacks. She got a long history. She does have her forces of darkness. She realizes everything deeper rather than letting go of her dilemmas, just because you convey an interest in pursuing her. You've got to prove your validity to take part of her life. She will suspect the very worst of you because the saddest has transpired. Prove her wrong when you want her to see differently.

Woman, no matter what is based on the values of men in this world, that you were tricked into believing. After a prolonged struggle, you are not a possibility, nor a luxury or a comfortable spot to rest. You were intended to be loved. Once you can wrap yourself around the concept that you are something remarkable, then you can stop excusing your inner soul's degrading measures. You are not trained to remind someone to embrace you. You are better than Disney princess' bubble cheeks, even those typical anti creams—coating every single spot through setting sun—that has so far made its way to your facial skin. You are more than simply reconfiguring who you are to make people satisfied or hoping for a message that never arrives, and all the lies created by men who don't even know how to handle their own hands. You are more than all the stuff that this universe throws back at your face; even if you give all of it and get nothing in return, while a guy offered zilch and the world drifts at his fingertips. You were supposed to be cherished. The only person in your life who truly deserves a special spot is the one who mostly never causes you to feel like you were an alternative in their life. Woman, you are enough.

An effortless gift for my special girls in my life on 14th of February.

[insnync]

I avoided engaging in fortune and condemned the whole concept of fate. That perhaps I was one of the wretched people, who never believed anything besides striving for someone that I'd never get. But then you appeared.

Your moles are like coordinates that I like to track with rugged but frail fingertips on a worn map, acknowledging the ever heat exuding from your words. It's just so warm, almost like stars, and I'm always frigid, like a wide, hollow vastness of space. Holding you is going to burn me, you could make an impact on me in a completely different way than others, but somehow I would still map your fibers and the reddish nerves functioning underneath your skin. You do have your own combats with that inner self of yours. I understand exactly you are doing the blame game in your very own head. You see yourself as flawed and atrocious. You were at the edge, utter impossibility. Excessively complete for a young lady, but you were becoming lovely and oddly endearing. You can't stand any misgivings at all. But you're still not actually saying you had been in love, because you've never been in love yet. You assumed you were, but in various instances, it was apart from this moment. I am not here to bestow upon you the exceptional compassion something you've never had for yourself. I'm here to adore you, with my own behalf. So that you'll see how special you are when you glance into my glass eyes. I hoped you may even see the way I view you.

I apparently wrote a hundred paragraphs and each one attempting to call you my sanctuary, in a thousand varied contexts. My mind raced through plenty of emotional reactions. Vast majority of them expressed the same message, merely three words stitched together so well that it would be more of a stereotypical soft cheese or overused to tell it, and yet they still had purpose, despite how often times they had been mentioned. Although, I wished I could guarantee that it's going to be alright. You know that even the brightest stars would indeed begin to ignite, and so the huge waves will further splash at the northern shore endlessly, or that the light would mostly dominate the dark, each and every day, pound after pound. But I only have myself, gazing here before you, so I can hardly assure my heart, yours irrevocably to stay, and which I will defend throughout and always for all this compassion you already have caused me. I seem to only function and simply feel my existence when you're around me.

a love letter for a girl that once picked a broken piece of my shattered heart; in another lifetime, i guess.

[insnync]

I could envision and hear my heart, which was once overwhelmed with your persona, your assurances, your humor, your upbringing, and your passion, slowly filling with the tone of your rage and the earsplitting absence that you would likely give me—something which I knew I certainly deserved. As a consequence, I collapse in the side alley where I once imagined you embracing me.

And I vomit on the glitter from the butterflies in my chest and the hysterics in my mouth for you. For far too while, you were my fortress, and now I fully grasp that humans cannot be dwellings. If homes (like you) may also leave, it is no longer a home. Homes are everlasting, but you're already out of my life… out of my place.

As a natural outcome, the season went by fast, and a new dawn started. With nostalgia of both you and me on the sofa, in the pantry, in the garage, in the backyard, and in every room of this home are vivid and pure in my memory, the loneliness and isolation usually was nauseating and intolerable. I want to get out of here as early as possible. I have to start figuring my own solace because I have no one else to uplift me right now.

[insnync]

I saw you today, I do not think I notice immediately, for it took me a moment or two to fully digest your refined features. You provoke a certain degree of desolution within me. Verily, why should I not admit it? At that moment, my heart was breaking.

You crossed my thoughts, the ashes of junctures of intimacy fall into my heart, my mind insistently belch them out through my lungs. The ashes emit an eruption of utter grief. It blocked my true perception of love. My sight is distorted to value and truth.

This feels like the death of a huge part of myself, three whole quarters gone. But I long for this pain, I’ve got nowhere to go, nothing to do; I’m echoed into the sphere like a sycamore seed spinning into the wind. I’m burnt-out and my heart is fragmented. I can’t withstand to listen to music. Every time I hear our song I suffer emotional pain, just to hear the tune is unbearable, it reminds me of what I’ve lost—what we've lost—but I want this pain, I need this to live and be human.

I'm glad you gave me pain wrapped in love.

That's why I'm not going to lie, I just love you for the heartbreak. I only love you for those misguided reasons that might convince you I did.

[insnync]

No, I don't need another lover to experience love again. My love for you has instilled me about pain.

Tonight, I'm writing for you. I'm writing you my misery because I supposed you didn't go through it. You've gashed my heart, left it to bleed out. And I was ought to just function like nothing happened. Like it didn't felt like going to death's door. I stood wordlessly, under the frigid sensation of downpour, and watched myself get soaked. As all of my despair permeated onto me. No, it did not wash away my sorrows. You fill my chest with yearning agony of both yesterday and tomorrow. I often question myself, what's worst? To lose your own self or to lose your own reason to thrive?

You see, Science taught me with valid affirmation that my heart was secured in my rib cage, but you shown me apart from that. I've always felt a lacking somewhere nearby my diaphragm, a pain that occupied the space of something impaired. The day that you left, that was the time I started to feel this intolerable torment. They say, there's a point in everyone's life where they realize that in spite of their grandiose efforts, they have no choice but to let go. That holding on will only bring them more pain. I don't think we can deliberately avoid these points in time. But I want you to know that I'm not utterly there yet.

I knew that the heartache I felt was here to stay. In multiple silhouettes. Through countless nights.

[insnync]

It's been months since we've talked. I avoid hearing the sound of your name, no longer mentioning you in every conversation with my friends. Months of silence, months of wondering what was your last thoughts before you gave up on me.

I remember waking up, exhausted, waiting the day to end, and being slap by the harsh realization that you left. I wish I could call you stranger; I hope I didn't know that red was one of your favorite colors, that you have two brothers, or that you wanted to be a teacher. I wish I could go back to the beginning, for I would forget everything about you.

I wish we never met, so I wouldn't feel a part of me is empty. I've spent days pretending I'm not plagued by your memory, of what could have been. Yet I still think of you; still wonder what I could have done. Spoken firmly, or maybe just less, cut my toxic personality into bit sizes. I wonder what I might possibly have done differently to make you stay. To be honest, I still look for you; chase the love you let me feel in every person I talk to. Most of all, I'll take back those wishes I said— I regret I didn't begged for you.