A Contemplate

i don’t write any poetry these days, word is too slack. 

i lose hold of it, i am either gripping my fingers too tightly or too loosely.

i can either hold everything in my hand or nothing at all,

the universe is either gathered or it is terrifyingly dispersed.

 

today is perhaps the thirtieth straight day of unbearable pain and cloudy skies, at least for me.

today, as a remark that i miss you so much to the point that i feel physically sick, sometimes it also feels like an overwhelming failure.  

there were days when i prayed for you instead of myself,

there were nights when the pain was unbearable, the time was ticking slowly while the memories burned me out.

each day i am still begging God to help me get through these heavy feelings behind, because the scars were too deep, and healing was painful.

the reality hits me like a huge wave, smashing my dreams and leaving me struggling to breathe.

sometimes i wonder why you did it, made me feel loved and cherished, only to tear it all away. 

but somehow, i came to realize that maybe we were just never ready in the first place.

we had never foreseen a love like this, the kind of love that is too strong, too much, to the point that it was unbearable, exhausting, and heartbreaking. 

turned out, this pain became a constant ache in our chest.

i clearly remember how that night was, when i bravely allowed you to see the uncovered me, unguarded, no hesitant, and no thoughts about what storms that coming next.

i remember how careful i was with the words, remembering how strong their impact might be. 

but with you, i felt safe to tell you everything, and i remember how it was so hard for me to tell you those three words, simply because i was scared that i was unable to stop. 

and here i am, cursing your name and telling God how much i need you here. 

it is tearing me apart knowing that everything we had was almost pure. 

we could've almost worked things out together, we could've almost chosen us, we could almost touch and feel each other,

but it's always almost and never finally, never certain, but just almost.

i realized that perhaps, we were destined to be an incomplete symphony, a melody that got lost in the silence between notes.

and as i write here, alone in the reminiscence of what once was, 

i can't help but wonder if it's better to have loved and lost, or to have never loved you at all.

5th of October