#thelinguisticpoet

[thelinguisticpoet]

365 Days Without You

I always thought grief would be black and white, monotonous for the most part. Then I thought it would be grey, like the clouds, right before it rained, holding onto as much as you can till you fall apart. But the past year has taught me that grief has colors, colors no one stops to notice or understand, colors I never thought I’d see again...

Sometimes grief would be blue, like the sky that goes on without an end, it was quiet and calm, maybe a little long yet soothing despite the sorrow deep within. Grief was green, like the trees, grass, and weeds that grew on the side of your grave, grief was growth and life despite the life lost. Grief was red, like the million flowers we arranged atop your grave in hopes you could smell them the way we could, red like the anger that kept seething despite all the rational thoughts and beliefs, a little faulty and unpredictable. Then, grief was yellow, it was funny with a little drop of sunshine where you could only think to find darkness, it was proof you could smile despite adversities. Grief is anything but the gloomy, grey picture we often paint in our heads.

I still vividly remember the day I received the call at work. I had only imagined what pain and sorrow would feel like until that moment, and despite knowing the worst has happened, all I felt was complete numbness. I could have sworn I held my breath on the ride home, wishing the car to speed past traffic lights, but also praying not to reach, not to ever find out what was awaiting me at the end of the journey. I was not prepared for this goodbye despite knowing and feeling its lingering presence for months. I was not ready to let you go… 

I had so much to say and yet silence engulfed me whole for months. I could never quite put my thoughts into words the way I wanted to, I could not speak to a wall thinking your presence filled the room or think of you as an angel living in the heavens above, looking down on me. I could not simply pretend you still were here, yet I could not completely fathom your absence long enough to understand that you were gone forever.

Maybe I was a little mad, but more than anger, it was sadness in a way I had never felt before. It was in knowing nothing would ever come close to having spent decades with you ever again. It was in knowing I could never again hold your hand as we walked through the park, never again drink the coffees that you make or share your favorite strawberry ice creams with you, it was in knowing I could never again hear your voice calling me out as I walked past your room, never again having your presence in celebrations and festivities that you dearly looked forward to. It was in knowing you’d never again sing along to the songs that played on the radio, never again waking up in the wee hours to catch World Cup matches, listening to your commentary and supporting Brazil because that was your favorite team. It was in knowing you’d never be the one who takes up the spot right next to me in family portraits and birthday photographs, it was in knowing I have kissed you goodbye for the last time and put you six feet deep where I could not quite reach you the way I wanted to. My sorrow was tied to never having you again, and knowing that there is still much I needed you for in life. It is tied to the absence and void that I now have to live and make peace with because there isn’t much else to do…

I expected myself to feel lost, to go through tons of emotions, behave irrationally, throw tantrums, and spend most of my days and nights in complete solitude. Life was a far cry from what I’d imagined, I spent most of my days after your loss swamped with work and I was surprisingly good at it. And when I couldn’t breathe, I found myself locked in a toilet or curled up on the bed, holding myself together on the brink of losing it, praying to keep it together for just a bit longer. This was a huge loss for the entire family, and with the emotional rollercoaster we all rode those months, I found it necessary to keep all my pain and sorrow hidden. I made the most jokes, recalled your time with us animatedly and did what I could to make sure everyone was okay. Most days, I kept myself mentally and physically busy to the point when I hit the bed, there was no room for thinking, let alone overthinking. All I did for a good six months or so, was work, exhaust myself and sleep.

Life took a complete turn overnight and I was nowhere near prepared for a death I knew was coming and would completely shatter me.

Tell me, how does one prepare for the complete absence of a loved one for the rest of whatever forever we have left…

I am grateful for photographs and videos of you; they bring you back whole to me for a split second every time I catch a glimpse of them. Sometimes, with my eyes closed, I could swear I feel you right here with me. In the moments I spend most alone, most broken and find myself hurting and longing for your comforting hug and presence, I feel myself break in a way I could never explain. But in those very moments, I think you’re somewhere nearby, holding my hands, silently sitting with me, the way you always did. I know you are right here. 

You’re in every flower that blooms in my garden, in every innocent smile and laughter of every child I meet on the streets, in the black coffees I drink every morning now, and in your favorite songs that play constantly on my playlist. You’re everywhere I turn, and it is not painful anymore. It’s comforting to know the things you’ve left behind in the form of objects, routines, and habits help hold me together in knowing you’re just as much here as you were before when I feel a little abandoned in life.

It still feels like you’re asleep in an unknown, unfindable room in this house, I still wait to see if you’d come walking down the hall whenever we gather for family time like you always do, I still think you’re here whenever I turn another corner or sit on your couch waiting for you to magically appear again as though nothing went amiss, like the past year didn't happen. I wonder if I prayed long and hard enough, if you'd come right back and life would resume playing out the way it was supposed to.

Sitting here, I could tell you I did not believe I’d make it past the first 24 hours, let alone a whole year. It feels surreal, like a never-ending dream I hope to awaken from and find you laughing with me as I recall every little detail, but it all feels less probable and more an unchanged reality as time passes by. With every day that begins and ends without you, know that I carry you in my heart, know that every step I take and every single thing I do, will embody you, and it will be something I hope makes you proud.

Tell me what I missed when I see you again, tell me how much you missed me and hold me till I feel whole again, tell me all your wonderful adventures from when you were young again even though I remember every story, every word, by heart, the way I do you.

I will always hold you in my heart for whatever life and eternity there is left to live,

with eternal love,

Rose.

In loving memory of my most beloved grandfather♥️

© Raina Rose 

[hallowgracie]

writing games: find the word

Thank you to @cozy-kaye​ for tagging me! For those who don’t know, find the word is a game where we find and post excerpts from our wips using some keywords. 

For this writing game, I’m using Crystal Magic since it’s been a while since I’ve written about it on this tumblr. My words are debt, rebel, ash, mourning, and tomorrow.

I am tagging (no pressure), @thelinguisticpoet​, @morganwriteblr​, @seamajorshanties​, @annlillyjose​, @vivian-is-writing​, @written-inmoonlight​

Your words are: joy, fly, oak, river, and dream.

debt 

 “You want us to find out where they’re going, how they’re doing it, and what they’re up to,” Sorrel realized. 

“If you are able to do it, I will arrange your little party, and I may be able to even call in a few favors.” He then raised an eyebrow. “That is, if you accept my daughter’s hand in marriage as your prize. Then you would be subject to my alliances and a benefactor of the debts some very powerful people owe me.”

rebel 

“I heard that Sorrel is no longer on-world and that’s why you haven’t dropped by.” Madame Masnius laughed. “Rumor has it she left with Otsoan rebels.”

“How—how do you know that?” Mei stammered.

“Rumors fly around Otso.” Madame Masnius stood up straight. “You, Gwynn, and your mother should be careful, Mei. It’s only a matter of time before the Heirhelm want revenge, if you got into a fight with them.”

“I know.” Mei tightened the strap on her schoolbag. 

Madame Masnius’s expression softened. “I was hoping you would run by so I could give this to you.”

ash 

N/A—no ashes in Crystal Magic yet, I’m afraid.

mourning | mourn and mournful were my keywords, since mourning itself did not turn up any results

“Thank the stars, that’s a far walk,” Mei said.

“And to think, we were going to let you enjoy it,” Sorrel teased. 

“It’s getting late.” Gwynn stood up. “We should work on getting home, especially since Maman likely has a lot of cleanup work for us.”

“That’s true.” Mei’s tone was mournful. 

“Come on, let’s get this old girl out, and let’s get back home.” Sorrel grabbed the handlebars of her hoverbike and led it out through the racers’ door, and into the night. 

tomorrow 

“I will see what I can do for you,” he promised. “Tomorrow night I’m holding a small gathering for some friends of mine. Come and I will see what I can do for you.”

“Thank you.” Tedros bowed his head. “My gratitude has no bounds. I look forward to meeting you, then.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Governor Avalon now looked amused. “You’re all a bunch of kids, aren’t you? Forced into the Heirhelm’s conquests. I suppose I would want someone to help my daughters—the least I can do is help you.”

“Thank you,” Sorrel said. “Thank you, Your Governorship.”

[thelinguisticpoet]

Summer Breeze

Morning sun blazing through the window panes, curtains that flutter against the summer breeze, butterflies settling on my sunflowers awaiting a dehydrated death as the climate and my forgetfulness; both, deteriorate at the worst possible time.

The faint scent of musky cologne, the brightest streaks of gold in your brown eyes, the ever-growing stubbles of your heart desired moustache and beards of November, your breath warm against my neck, the leather jacket, scuffed denim jeans, classic Vans and the endless songs that run on my stereo are just some of the things I never seem to forget about you.

After all these years, you'd think it'd be easier to wake each day and walk these streets like it was never faulted, like we were never wounded but we marked these places. Every corner I turn, every step I take, every place I go, seems to bring you back afresh in my memories, undead, alive. So, I notice the cracks on the tiles instead, the mundane colours of the bricks, the overwhelming aroma of coffee, and cigarettes, and some other men.

The sky, the way it goes on, never-ending, but somehow different from the day before and will be the day after. Where do the clouds go, how does the sun sustain its own heat, does it get lonely high up there, what does it feel like to fly and why did you leave me here alone? Questions, I never seem to have the answers to. Questions, you loved asking and wondering, your mind, vast like the sky and ocean, never bound by limitations and regulations.

Days have gone by and everything around me has changed, everything except me. I try to explain a love I hold within myself but no, such precious things cannot be put to words. They may ask, but they never could understand. So, I left them thinking I'm clueless and empty, hurt and withdrawn, desperate and wilting but only the world left inside of me knows how I thrive every second of every day when I get your thoughts, the millions of flowers I'll plant thinking of us, the brilliance and words I'll pour onto paper creating illusions for those who'll love our stories, the melody in pain that only I'll understand for years to come and seeing you in every single thing that I do is not a chore but choice. It's serenity.

Summers have gone by and you're not coming back, the ship that set sail for a thing never known to be found - desire, was what had you lost. I understand, this was a journey you had to make, to yield more than you gave, to take what was not yours, to comprehend things left as is, to boost the flames and burn yourself whole. Sometime, not long ago, your soul found its way home and I feel your warmth with every step I take. These steps are heavy but fret not, with the strength of two, I'll make us whole again. So I tried setting sails for a journey I knew led to torments and afflictions, stopped myself half a mile away from paradise, from you. What I needed was something I'll never find. And what I might find, will never be what I need or want. That summer breeze took you whole and I had to let you go...

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

The Essence of Time

Time is defined as an indefinite continued progress of existence and events of the past, present, and future regarded as whole. How wonderfully ambiguous is that?

I’ve not known another person more bothered by time than myself. Maybe, because I lost plenty along the way, I started running alongside it, trying to jump onto the next thing before whatever was before was ever done. And maybe, I didn’t care, as long as I could run and keep up, it didn’t matter. But how does one run without failing and falling? I set myself some of the most absurd and unrealistic expectations in life and I’ve come to understand why it’s been so difficult, why I’ve struggled so much with pretty good results and absolutely zero satisfaction. Maybe finding that answer was perhaps the best thing I have ever done for myself and it’s crazy because it’s something I have always known, it’s common sense, and yet I’ve been ignorant.

A professor who is very close to me once said that I had a void that needed filling and every time it was empty, I sought something or someone to fill that space. It sounded presumptuous, completely ridiculous and at that moment, even though I listened to her, I did not quite take it to heart or mind at all. Because it’s so much easier to believe that we are without faults, that we are not the reason for our own downfall and imperfections. So, I let myself believe what I needed to, that I did not have any such voids in my heart that needed filling. The thing is, she never told me where this void was, so why did I believe it was in my heart and not my head? Because I knew better and I’ve always known, that I have been a little more broken and empty, but it hurt to admit that aloud, let alone be told by someone who knows me a lot less than my best friend. It only makes sense for her to be wrong even though she was completely right.

So, I let that fact slide even though every single time I made another mistake or close to one, needed something more than calls and texts, every time I couldn’t differentiate a friend for something else, I remembered my void. I tried filling it with music, with gardening and books and poetry and sleep and every damn thing I could get my hands on. But I’ve been just about broken as I was and maybe there is no fixing this. Maybe, sometimes, you can’t fix everything and that’s okay. Maybe you’re not supposed to fix everything. And sometimes you need to tell yourself whatever helps you sleep better at night, right? It bothered me a little too much and once I started acknowledging my void, I started to realize I had tendencies; things I did because I thought I should, things I believed defined my existence and gave me purpose. And these things that have been hurting me were things I did to myself, things that have tortured my very soul were of my own doing. And I’ve had a hard time letting them go, but no, it isn’t a perfect fix because I don’t know how to fix myself or anything broken about me. I don’t know how to put myself back together without tape and glue that showed I’ve been broken before and scars and wounds that won’t heal sometimes so it always looks like I’m fighting a war on my own. I don’t know it all but I am trying.

It’s like this, for as long as there is soil and water and sun, plants will grow even when the pot may be broken. It’s amazing how they thrive even in the most excruciating weather and maybe I grew so accustomed to the weather and conditions that I let my survival depend on constant fear, pain, and paranoia. It’s been frightening that even when everyone let my reigns go, I couldn’t lose control, that I had to keep running and chasing the next thing without letting myself breathe. And I’m worn out, I’m exhausted so I slept every waking hour of my life these past few months. The irony of that sentence… 

I did, I slept every moment I got enough time to breathe, because I didn’t want to think anymore, I didn’t want to care anymore, I didn’t want to interact or exist. I just needed to stop running, and sleep. I was tired of time and how it never seemed exhausted of chasing it’s own tail over and over again every day. So, I took the clocks off my walls, I stopped wondering when the morning sun settled into afternoons and when the moon came up to greet the evening sky. I simply did not want to think about the time that was running out, I wanted it to stop, I needed time to standstill with me. Because I couldn’t go on anymore. But what was I running out of time, is something I’ll never know, but it was the feeling of losing faith, wasting days and precious hours that’ll never quite come back. I was getting older by the hour, and I hadn’t done that which others may have and I was in this insatiable competition with absolutely no one and I was exhausted. I gave up.

In sleeping to forget how the world moved on without my presence, I missed quite a lot. I missed all the quiet mornings I used to wake before the world where I had coffee and was alone with my thoughts and words. I missed the many sunsets that colored the walls of my room in deep shades of amber. I missed the smell of my books, the kind of subtle hints of fresh print and maybe a little bit of mint that tells you just how old the pages were. I missed the way my pen felt in my hands when thoughts flowed and turned into words on every page of my journal. I missed losing the voice in my head and when everything got really quiet every time I sat on my own at the park, mesmerized by the million lives that unfolded around me where I existed enough but not too much. I missed the rain and how cold it got with every breeze and watching the raindrops trickle down my windowpane, it was simple yet fulfilling. I missed things that made me, me. In running alongside something I could never control, I lost control of the things I had. The world seems different now that I’m awake but the chaos that existed within seems to have subsided. For now.

I got so consumed with a lot of things and maybe I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I chased that which I couldn’t have in hopes of avoiding a void I knew I couldn’t fill. I let myself believe otherwise, and I’ve looked away from my shattered pieces for a long time now that I don’t quite recognize my own reflection anymore. I’m learning, still growing and maybe I am broken, and maybe there’s nothing I can possibly do to fix that. Maybe the time I’ve come to hate so much will never change for me, maybe there will always be a void in me even when I’ve had much to love and do. But in this very moment, I’ve learnt to live with my void. That’s the only thing that matters, not time, but this moment right here. Stay in it, dwell within this moment and everything that’s to unfold will eventually happen but this moment will never come back. This moment here is all that matters and that is the essence of time.

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

The Black Mustang

Something familiar caught my eyes across the junction, and how I wish I didn't remember. It’s such an odd thing because you’d think spending time trying to forget it and having done a decent job at not remembering, would amount to your inability to recall a certain past. However, that was very much untrue today.

The shiny black Mustang. There it was, after all these years. I didn’t have to check the license plate to know it was yours, but I knew it was. Maybe I expected it to look a little older, more broken and faded like me, but it looked almost as good as the day you first pulled up into that parking lot, the day I knew you’d be the death of me. One little, visible scratch on the bonnet and you’d spend hours buffing it out. Yes, a little exaggeration there, but maybe those are the little things I missed about you most when you were gone. The way you frowned when you were upset, or the way you kept pushing your glasses back up your nose, the way you wore your watch a little loosely, and the way your hand always found mine to rest upon even while driving.

This could only mean one thing, that you were finally home. And that implied another thing altogether, that I didn’t exist in your thoughts anymore.

I found myself walking closer to the Mustang, and the closer I got, the more I remembered. This wasn’t just a car to us, it was a home on many days we didn’t have a place to go. We’d spend hours camping out with food and movies, sometimes with coffee and books. I remember the way your car always smelled like the pages of a book well-loved and used, the ones with many lines of bends on its spine, the ones with plenty of dog-ear pages that we never quite went back to finish up, and the ones that were always comforting and maybe a little tragic. After all, we remember pain better than happiness.

On good days, we spoke about anything under the sun and found solace in the simplest yet abstract ideas. It felt as though we were unbound, vast yet small, and inadequate in comparison to a world we knew so little about. On bad days, we had songs to fill the deafening silence and drove for miles in search of a destination that never quite came. Words could never fill the void quite the way your music did.

This car was the birthplace of our dreams and in the end, the very death of it too. How I wish I’d taken the usual way back home today. But today, I felt adrift, out of place, and heavy-hearted. I felt strange and I couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but I saw it all staring back at me in the reflection of the very car I loved as much as you. Because its appearance each day meant you were here and that you were gonna take me home, it meant we were gonna laugh till our jaws hurt a little, that we were gonna share a huge cup of coffee and have endless conversations. It meant that you were finally with me and that made each day worth surviving. And its absence left me just as devastated as yours did. I waited many days hoping for the familiar squeal of your tires that never quite came, I kept faith that only faded each day I was alone again.

It felt peaceful remembering you and everything about us, but it shattered me a little more. It felt like the path I was walking on had given way and I fell into the depths of an abyss, traveling in complete darkness and at the mercy of your saving, all over again.

Maybe I wanted to be lost and trapped and hurt and bled. Maybe I’d hoped you’d walk this way right now, in this very instant, and see me standing right next to the thing we once cherished. It could always go south but why did I enjoy this pain you kept bringing down upon me? It was as though I wanted to be wounded, like it didn’t matter even if I was hurt. I wanted to know what you’d choose; to embrace or ignore, to love or let go...

I guess the devil finally came out to play and in that moment I saw my deepest desire; I wanted to see you one more time, even if that encounter was bound to hurt me. Somewhere between remembering and thinking about all these things, my legs started to give way and I had to sit on the curb. Looking a little homeless and a lot broken, I knew I had to go.

As much as I craved your presence, the familiar scent of your cologne and aftershave, the tight embraces after a really long day, the way your lips curled as you whispered my name, the way you were my sanity and I was your reality, was all nothing but a dream now.

I still walk home the other way just to see if your car is still there, some days it’s gone and my heart aches a little and on other days, its presence gives me a strange sense of comfort.

Maybe it’s a twisted game, maybe the car isn’t yours, and maybe one day you’ll be there with it. All I know is that somewhere in the space between the walls of my heart and the empty lots of that parkade, you exist. Your very being fills this place with soul and maybe I need a little bit of that. And that little bit will give me every ounce of strength I need to carry on with life. Maybe one day it’ll all be gone and I will go back to my mundane routine, but I’d never stop looking for you, for us, in a crowd.

Maybe one day it’d hurt a lot less thinking about all this, and maybe one day it’d be just another black Mustang and on that day, I’ll know I made peace with a past I no longer held. Just maybe…

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

I write this in hopes you’d understand one day, I write this because I cannot speak my mind, I fail to express myself in the right way, I plan to say a million things but when I speak with you, somehow I seem to lose all sense. Even right now, I thought these words will flow out of me easily, but I struggle to string them together. I have always been good with words, I’ve always been able to express myself, at least enough through my writing, but now, I can’t even seem to get that right. For the sake of us both, I’ll try.

I seem to be dead even while alive, it is a little morbid to start it all this way considering how much life you’ve poured into me. Truth is, you surround me even in your absence. You’ve painted my walls in colours I didn’t realize I’d fall in love with, I walk meadows filled with flowers that were once a memory, I hear songs of a love so forbidden and I write eulogies for the lost souls of this world. What have you done to me? All the things that were once filled with love, now stands empty, a dying memory of all that used to be. It is an understatement when I say it hurts, because you used to be such a huge part of me, and then suddenly, we both lost each other and I’m still picking up all these pieces that were supposed to be mine, and I hope you’ve found yours. I didn’t mean for this to break, I didn’t want to make you cry. It’s the first thing I promised you when we met, that I’ll always find a way to make you smile. Now, I stand stranded with an empty promise of mine.

I am sorry, for all that we’ve lost, for all that could have been and for all that we’ll never have. I wanted to do right by you, so I moved away, I created this distance because you always knew what to say. And when you said those things, I knew I’d go running back to you, to where we drove each other mad in the name of love, only to break apart even more, even messier. I cannot predict the future, nor do I have ways of knowing how it will all end for us if we tried again, but right now, this seems to be the best solution for us both and if you blame me, I accept it. I know you never would, but even if a small part of you is mad with me for all of this, then understand that I assent it. I do not walk guilt free, I am not the only victim here, and you are allowed to hate and loathe and despise me. This was never going to be easy, and all this pain I’ve caused you, I wish I could take them away from you and turn it all into smiles.

I am writing this because our conversations never go the way I imagine them to be, I keep telling myself to be as friendly and nice, and easy-going and kind but every time you come close to me, I lose all sanity. I can’t stop thinking about the way your lips curl when you say my name, I can’t help but think about the thoughts that wander your mind endlessly, the things you do that makes you, you, makes me miss you more. I am sorry for being rash, for being uptight, for being unkind, for planting doubts in your mind and heart, for breaking my promise and for letting you go.

I hope you find all the love and happiness this world has to offer and when solitude seems to come easier than the rest, don’t blame yourself either, we thrive better when we’re alone. Don’t cage those words in your head, put them down on a piece of paper somewhere, you’d thank me one day. Give all those rom-coms and love stories a break, but if you don’t, because we have a favorite genre here, make sure you catch up on as much adventurous and thrilling movies, because you can’t survive this world with just love. You’re kind, sometimes too kind to a world that hasn’t been very kind to you. Remember, you’re your own person and no one gets to push you around, be humane but don’t lose yourself while being benevolent. Sometimes, things we do hurt people and the things people do, hurts us, but don’t overthink, don’t shy away or skip moments to avoid that pain, because pain, my friend, ‘pain demands to be felt’. And who better knows that sentiment, than us…

With love always,

Rose.

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

Every morning I awaken in hopes of finding you under the covers, perhaps on the other side of the bed but our reality keeps us miles apart. I can't help but wonder what coffee tastes like on your lips, if you'd like them silky smooth, or bitterly burnt. Every inch of the day closes in on me, keeping you a constant in my thoughts. Every breeze carried by the wind has a hint of whisper, giggling your name. I long for a warmth I've never felt before, I ache for the touch of your skin, for familiarity, to truly know you. I wish I could come up behind you and hold you close whenever it felt like the world was too much for me, to savour the smell of your cologne that’ll keep me company while you were gone. I wish I could curl into your arms every single day and night, seeking refuge in a love never before seen, to lose myself in you, to lose myself with you. I like to imagine we belonged together in another lifetime, perhaps even one of the past, I like the way we think together, the way you complete my sentences and oftentimes, me. I think of nights spent drinking wine on the streets of Italy and Paris, getting lost in places between the allies and perhaps, in your eyes. Whenever I’m alone again, consumed by the thoughts of us, I hold myself together, praying no one else gets to touch and kiss you the way I do. The way I would...

I like our odds my love, I truly do. 

With love,

Rose

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

Liberation

[thelinguisticpoet]

The thing most heartbreaking about it all is falling in love again. It's insanity wanting to repeat the process, taking chances and trying all over again despite the failures and pain, now that, that has to be heartbreaking. To think you've dealt with the worst thrown at you and to crawl back out from under the sheets, with wounds only healing, barely being held by stitches you made half awake in pain, maybe drunk. Why would you want to do it all over again?

To be brave enough to put your heart back out on the line 'cause the last hit and run didn't kill you. Yet. To start a conversation with men who could care less but of course, you manage to convince yourself otherwise in the name of hope these days. To drive yourelf crazy whenever they don't respond or when you get stood up or when you make a comment and that worked before but didn't now and you look stupid for trying. When you do your best to really just be loved but God, they make it so hard.

You get a little more mad each day. Waking up, thinking that the day ahead will hurt less than the day before but we both know that, that statement dissolves away everytime you see him around the corner, creeping into your thoughts and mind with things and words and places that remind you of him. You lose pieces of yourself over time each day and you can barely hold it all together, but you still try anyways.

Then, one day, God gets tired of playing with you so he sends someone your way and just for a bit it seems okay. You don't lose your mind, you start trusting him (because loving wasn't enough) and you tell him things that made you sad, that hurt you, you speak of your demons and pain, not to garner sympathy but in hopes he understands better, in hopes that he will know better. Eventually, you lose track of time and the days drift by and all you do is smile and fill your days with his presence. Slowly, you start falling in love again and when you're completely losing yourself for him, he pulls back without hesitation and now, you're falling, unbound when you should have been held. By the time you realize that you're broken, he's gone, God's laughing and you're back to square one with nothing left but a bleeding mess we call heart, a broken one in fact. Too broken this time around.

So no, the worst always comes after the heartbreak. To be brave enough to try and fail again and maybe there's a beauty in that but it is insanity, really; doing the same things over and over again all while expecting different outcomes. It is heartbreaking. Love is heartbreaking...

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

You were the song I used to listen to on repeat, knew every beat by heart. I felt every high and low, every key and note, every word and tune and I could tell when you'd end and begin.

Soon, I started getting happy during certain parts, excited even. It was all so good that you'd make me smile just humming you to myself, you'd make me happy playing on repeat in my head.

You were the song I knew I loved, the moment I heard you, and you were the song I knew was close to heart, that I played it for that one special person I spoke to all day and night.

Then one day, he left, and I couldn't hear you the same anymore. I knew it was going to be bad so I stopped listening to you, because I didn't want to associate those feelings with you but that's exactly what happened...

You were always on my playlist and I didn't mind listening to you when you came on the radio every now and then by accident. The sweet memories would last for three and a half minutes before vanishing the same way they'd appeared.

And that's the thing, I wouldn't deliberately play you on my own, that would be too painful and knowing the feelings attached to you, I couldn't possibly punish myself in such a cruel way.

Soon, words that were once meant for happiness, turned sour and I didn't want to dissect the meaning of you other than what I'd already interpreted in my head before.

Now, I hear you once in awhile and maybe it doesn't hurt anymore but it still doesn't feel the same as it did before...

You're the song I once loved, was intoxicated with, knew by heart and you will be the song I'll never listen to again by choice...

I'll never choose you again...

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

It's a choice to be in love, as it is to be hurt by the ones we love. It's often those we love, that hurt us the most, because we've given them the ability to do so. We let them have special places in our hearts, prioritise them, their needs and wants, maybe get a little addicted to their company with more time and similar routines and let ourselves merge as though the process often completes us and makes us whole. Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't. But it is a choice, all of it is. And as much as it hurts, that's the beauty in love, to choose to be vulnerable with the ones we love, to give them the ability to see us whole, to see us naked, for all that we are, the flaws and beauty, saints and sinners. We choose to be in love knowing it might just wreck havoc before it's all over. We choose love over and over again, because despite the pain, there is beauty in vulnerability, there is beauty in being hurt by love, by the ones we love. This was our choice, to love and to hurt.

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

When you've gone through all sorts of alcohol you could possibly consume, when you've danced to every song on repeat a million times, when the walls start to close in on you, when you've kissed twenty different girls and still feel like shit, call me. Call me so I can bring you back home. My love, every journey has an end and even if you've set course for the wrong ones, come back home. Here, we love, we forgive, we fight and maybe drive each other crazy, but here, there'll always be love. I'll always love you despite everything you've done, despite every reason you've given me to fall out of love with you, to hate you. Come back home, it's been far too long. Come back home because my heart breaks a little everytime I see you with someone new. It breaks because you're looking for a remedy you already have. Just come back home, and we'll make this right again...

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

I've ran from you for the longest time, rerouting, changing every course of action, planning, doing and undoing myself a million times in hopes I'd never have to see you again. But after 4 years, there you were, resting amidst the peaceful scenery, shadowing over me, taller than ever, my worst fear came alive again, right before my very own eyes, as we drove past you that night. They don't understand the fear I hold within myself everytime we meet, it has only ended in destruction. Your aisles and walkways were lit dimly as the evening sun set in, all the colours eventually blending into one, yet with all the breathtaking beauty, no one will ever know your darkest corners the way I do. I dwelled in them for the longest time, letting myself suffer without knowing your intentions. I was ruined. A thousand reasons and excuses but I'll always know it was me, it was my mistakes and wrongdoings that led me down the black hole. Amongst my walls and shelves filled with pride and beauty, you and I put together, will always be my greatest disappointment, simply heartbreaking. Wounds and scars I thought were healed, now bleeds through the night, getting rattled by your memories. Morphine, codeine, prescript me something I should intoxicate myself with to forget you, because no matter what I do, all these pain and endless thoughts are fighting the last of me. With every avenue shut, and nowhere else to run, I hope and pray, may I never seek refuge in you again...

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

How I wish we didn’t part ways. You remain completely intact in my memories and sometimes I wish I could forget you, because it is impossible to think of you without feeling all the pain that came along with the love I once felt for you, and perhaps still do. All it took was one night, a mere six hours and I knew I’d never be the same again but I lost you as soon as I found you. It’s like feeling beautiful and complete one moment and then completely broken and lost the next. How I wish we didn’t part ways because now every time I think of you, I cry without feeling sad, I wince in a pain I do not feel and there is this emptiness in me and I feel so numb, engulfed in the darkness. Your name on my lips feels wrong, your messages don't make me smile like they used to before, your gifts seem like they were sent to me by mistake and everything keeps trying to undo itself while still being a part of me. Like they want to be set free, as though we don’t belong together anymore. Now, it feels like I have to let go even when I don’t completely want to. I fell in love and there wasn't an alternative, you walked away and I didn’t have a say, now all that’s left with me wants to quit and I won’t be holding them back either...

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

I marvel at the mess our life is now. We used to be perfect even when we didn’t have enough, even when we didn’t have anything. We were a family and that’s all that mattered. Now, we have pushed the pictures off the walls, we are breaking down the pillars, walking over shattered glass, bleeding and staining everything we touch. We are drifting apart all while staying together. We wish we weren’t a family, we don’t think we are. It is miserable being tied to people you don’t quite love anymore. We don’t see eye to eye anymore, we can’t talk without raising our voices, we don’t listen to our hearts trying to speak above our voices and everything we once cherished together, is now broken and empty. Our rooms are always kept shut and we reside, locked away from each other, by heart and at home. I tried, so hard. I rearranged the pictures, painted flowers over the cracking walls and pillars. I am holding onto every single one of you despite being pulled in different directions but it’s all shattering now. I wonder, if it is perhaps time, to finally let go...

© Raina Rose.

[thelinguisticpoet]

It would be a lie if I said I didn't try. Maybe it was late, but it was worth saving. You were worth saving. And sometimes you have to walk away, even from things you love most so that you can save yourself before anything, or anyone else. Is that selfish? Perhaps, but I can never be selfish when it comes to you. So I walked into the forest, danced through fire, breathed air that felt like poison, drank lies, mostly the ones I told myself, slept in cold, lay myself bare, only to find you. And I found you by breaking myself apart. It would be a lie if I said I didn't try...

© Raina Rose.