I become extremely destructive when I’m in love. Is it even love if it’s destructive? can I even love?
People talk highly of love and portray it as this beautiful thing but it is the most destructive emotion there is. Love is like a facade you could lose yourself in. Love is just an attachment. I think, the only reason people view love as something romantic is because it destroys both sides equally. The tragedy of sharing your brokenness with someone else.
People tend to romanticize everything. That bruise on my right arm, below my elbow was marked on me by him. I press on it to relive the memory. You can write a metaphor about how beautiful bruises are, how they remind you of the galaxies. We tend to forget that doesn’t really diminish how painful it is.
Maybe people glamorize the painful things to make it bearable. Maybe because there’s nothing beautiful in the world. Maybe that’s why living is beautiful.
Paris screams your name. I wish you would answer it back. I wish you’d have a look around. Would you believe me if I told you everything I see spells out your name? I promise you I’m not lying. Turns out, you’re not only present in your city alone. Baby, you are everywhere I go and right now you are right here. Right here with me. I can see your beautiful face. That smile that captured my heart. Your small eyes, I see you squinting baby have I told you that you have the most contagious smile? Just spread your arm for me, you’re within my reach I can feel you. Just let me hold your hand.
My mom wont stop telling me about how Paris is the city of art. How there’s a museum in every corner. I told her, “without love, there would be no art, mom.” I think Paris is the city of love.
Last night you told me you kept wanting to leave me. You should leave me. Beloved, you live in a city that can barely contain you. What right do I have to make my heart your home?
You’re the most intricate puzzle I’ve had the privilege of solving. Time ticked slowly when I was with you, granting me enough time to unwind your brains and unfold your ripped corners, very carefully.
Growing up, I was the best at puzzles. I remember wandering through bookstores trying to look for puzzle books to solve during long rides, plane rides, and every possible moment that could pass. I would time myself every time and try to beat my last record at word search. You see, finding words from every direction was my favorite thing to do. I excelled on it, unfortunately for you. I’ve practiced before you came to my life. I used to think that was merely a hobby, didn’t think it had any notability. My expertise peaked with you. I heard your words before you could speak them. I knew exactly what to say. I looked for the answers that I wanted and meticulously carved a path for them to be released. You taught me to love you. I’ll give you that. I didn’t think that could ever be taught. I watched you spill out the love you have for me and in turn I took it and reciprocated it the best way I could. I saw faint words carved on your skin, your eyes, your hair. I knew what you contained. Sometimes you blinked too hard I couldn’t read your eyes, you covered your skin well that it was hard to read your movements and your hair was always tucked away, ah i wish it wasn’t. Your glorious hair.
When you told me you were an open book, you forgot to mention that your handwriting was close to unreadable scribbles, maybe you did it on purpose.. showing me parts of you making me mistake them for the whole. I had to slowly decipher every letter, find every words. but I figured them out. I read things I shouldn’t have. I found words that scared me. I loved them, they made me feel something. I still devoured that book like it was my favorite novel. I’ve always loved reading books, maybe it’s the innumerable amount of words they contain. I loved immersing myself in words, because you often left me speechless.
There are parts of me that believe I shouldn’t have let go of things that I have, things that I have forgotten, every event and character that has shaped the malformed mirage of this ever-shifting identity. There’s a desire to over complicate and over analyze loss, and worst of all; to solidify it. To make it something to hold onto, to mould into a sillihoutte of a scorned woman, of a trope that’s so simple to mimic. I am the single reoccurring fault in my life, otherwise ideal. There’s no one where the self should reside, and that is my curse; I am my own.
My silence feels like a heavy slink tied around my vocal cords. I don’t want to speak anymore. for I am afraid of what and how the words would come out of my heaving lungs. I thought it was funny how our mouths can utter words without asking permission from our conscience. How you always spoke without having to think first. Talking felt like a chore to me. I always thought ahead. I even whispered my words inaudibly to train my tongue to say them, while trying to muster enough courage to speak them out loud. I don’t need to do that anymore.
I can’t will myself to speak anymore. You never had a problem talking. “You’re pretty good with words. You know exactly just what to say.” was what I often told you. Stupidly forgetting you were good enough to take my words with you.
Remember that rooftop, bare skinned, dunked in full moon feelings? We both were lying together with our arms interlocked, star-gazing. All our dreams came true. That shooting star we saw that night was useless. You pointed at it and told me something cheesy, something that only you would say, “baby, you are the only shooting star I need.” & I know I rolled my eyes, while you looked at me, drawing the perfect smile, making your eyes look smaller than they were. I couldn’t help but smile back. I’m a quiet person, and talking is where you shine. I pointed at the constellation of Taurus. That’s where I shine. You still couldn’t see it, so I gave up trying. We ended up laughing about how ridiculous zodiac signs are and then you told me you don’t believe in them. Few minutes later, you justified doing something because you’re a Gemini. My heart smiled. I’m in love with you.
I decided to give my eyes a break and listen to your heartbeats instead. My head lay closer to your chest as I tried to decipher what your fast beats meant. I hope you love me, too, I thought to myself. Your tongue was well-trained to hide your feelings but it was your hands that couldn’t keep a secret. Your fingers covered in lust, tiptoeing over my body. I inhaled.
That night, I learned how to give my body.
the bitter taste of disdain on my lips
the lifelessness of my body
May is where the heartless reside
2nd of May is your birthday
after all these years
you still hold me captive
you occupy more than you think
my tries of burying you deep
have all been fruitless
May is for the heartless
my body has been yours since then
this pathetic weight I carry is getting heavy
with every relentless thought
just bring it back to me
just let me have it one more time
to share it with someone else