As much as I write about how breathtakingly gorgeous our young love was, I despise the person you are, or who you try to be. I’m willing to believe that this is some act, some role-play and that you’ll admit it was a stupid joke. I despise the way that you neglected all of my affection towards you, even though you couldn’t stop talking to me. You didn’t ‘just’ leave, you shook the ground and earth to make it look like I made you leave. You turned the tables to set yourself free from the guilt that stroke upon you. I recognize you in the bitterness of my morning coffee, the one that looked so good. Cause that’s the whole point isn’t it? You made it look so fucking good. You made it look like I meant something to you, whilst you we’re just messing around. As a bored child you looked for something entertaining in that rotting life of yours. You rot with al the compost of dying flowers, the ones that ‘they’ gave you, your lovers. Your heart must be deteriorating throwing lovers away as if they were skipping stones. Fine. End up alone. End up with a list of blocked numbers because you couldn’t handle talking it through. You were such a brave girl but dear god you knew how to ignore your problems. I still despise you for that.
Tag: poetry
#80
It feels as if nothing really matters anymore, all these moments I can’t share with you. It just sucks, knowing you’re out there, but you stopped listening to me long ago.
#79
I wish you would have been here because you eased all the pain that was inside of me.
‘yours’
It wasn’t about being ‘yours’ or calling you ‘mine’. It was about sharing a bottle of wine at noon because time was only an illusion. It was about sharing our biggest fears underneath a van Gogh starry night sky. It was about admiring each others strength to cut loose from past relationships. It was about giving each other nicknames and being silly about each others weird habits. It was about laughing at jokes, laughing at embarrassing stories, laughing in general. It was about being grateful when someone paid the check, being generous with hugs, being careful whilst running through an orange stop sign. It was about complementing the little things, the way she tucked her hair beneath her ear or how I’d write her letters. It was about casually slipping lovely words to each other and reaching for each others hands. It was everything. It was. It wasn’t love, that I could tell. She was just trying to be nice and I was trying not to fall for her. But I did. I never became ‘yours’ and she never became ‘mine’. My heart is still trying to understand that.
10 things I should have done;
10 things I should have done before you left;
1. I should have turned around and kiss you one more time. 2. I should have noticed the way that you slowly let go, the way you cut loose, silent. 3. I should have told you how much I loved you. 4. I was supposed to have better arguments, I didn’t give you any reason to stay. 5. I should have told you how beautiful you were before you stopped listening. 6. I got defeated so easily, I was to weak to fight. 7. I should have fought, I should have tried to make you stay. 7. I should have send you all those messages I typed for you, I should have had the guts to tell you how I feel. 8. I should have confronted you with the truth, I should have told you that it wasn’t all my fault. 9. I should have kissed you. 10. I should have loved you better, more, I should have loved you more when I had the chance.
#78
‘But she was so pretty and I’m never going to see her again’
not so ordinary boy
He was so merely fascinated with the words that came out of my mouth. As he asked more and more questions he kept looking at me. He kept patiently looking for more secrets to reveal themselves. But those lines that stumbled out of my mouth had never been secrets, I never had anything to hide. I was never dreadfully mysterious or unexpected. I was an open book and nobody took the effort to read it. I haven’t met numerous people that found my honest answers so fascinating.
He kissed another blonde girl on the cheek, I got reminded by the fact that he wasn’t into me. I knew his kindness towards me shouldn’t be mistaken by affection, that was never his intention. Conjointly I never had intentions to meet his parents or to kiss his cheek. But he was into me at a level that he was more interested with the matrix in my head rather then the revealing ripped jeans.
I didn’t understand what made him different. Why did he care to look at me for more then numerable seconds. He had been educated for longer than necessarily. But he had a drive, an idea, he knew what determination was. He knew what it felt like to be all in in or all out.
He said he never met someone like me, I didn’t feel offended, I knew he wasn’t trying to be negative. And when he asked me about her I looked down and I couldn’t bare seeing her photo again. He noticed the way that my throat burned with her name. He noticed the way I couldn’t handle talking about the fact that she left. The not so ordinary boy said; ‘You really loved her, didn’t you?’
The overthinking 