“I want to make the most of the day. Maybe sit amongst the wildflowers and stretch my legs towards the river, and gather strength from how it can’t flow back to where it came from anymore. While I’m picking flowers pretending to know how to make wreaths, I’ll just give into the moment and let myself be crippled by the thoughts of these insects sticking onto me. After I’m done finding the branch which has the least amount of ants clenching onto it, I want to sit and think less about about how fearlessly I’ve loved, but more about how much I’ve been loved. I want to compile all those conversations that made love grow like dandelions in my heart, gather all those moments hd once ran into these dense forests to sit beside me. I’ll start to write about how his compliments always look good on me, about my need for security and belonging. I’ll swing on branches of hope, and when I pull back, I’ll replay all those happy memories of vacations with my family, and when I rise higher looking at stormy skies I’ll hopelessly hold onto it like a child clinging onto the metal chains of the swing. I’ll walk on extensive patches of a green lawn, in my favourite summer dress realizing how I’ve fenced this emptiness with lush green. And when I return I’ll make a monument of all the memories of my first love, rejection of new love,the roots of hurting, the misunderstanding, old home, and bless the monument with holy tears that cried for attention. I’ll promise myself to visit this monument on 30th of February of each new year”
Grew up, trying to convince my mother I can sustain myself, with that candy she refuses to buy me, trying to convince my father, eating that scoop of ice cream will actually not get me a cold, little did I realize while convincing them about sweets and ice creams, I grew up convincing myself I could sustain my appetite for love, with that tiny miniscule drop of love you once offered, I could kill hurt by hurting more. Now, I like my share of sweets after a full course meal, and my scoop of ice cream on a warm sunny day. But wanting you is like wanting to kill myself on a cold winter night by waiting on the streets without a sweater, and telling myself I’m fasting, when I’m starving.
“If we’d have one last conversation, you’d do all the talking. Wouldn’t you? And if it was the last time we’d get to exchange love, you’d be the only one giving. Wouldn’t you?
For every word I’d say has already been heard. And everything I’ll ever have, Is already with you. And if yet you have no words to give, wrap the words that fell out of my mouth with melodies my ears long for. And love, If you have none to give, remember I’ve given you enough for the both of us”