at the moment, you have no regret about your actions whatsoever but there comes the next morning. it often feels different. the temporary calm has faded and reality settles in. what seemed like relief the night before may be replaced by regret, exhaustion or a renewed awareness of the emotions that were never truly resolved. the mind is left to confront both the original pain and the consequences of the attempt to escape it. where you look at the mess you’ve made and feel complete disappointment and disgust towards yourself. at this point, nothing anyone will tell you will change the feeling you have towards yourself. so u begin hiding your scars scared for someone to look at you the exact same way you looked at yourself that morning after.

self- harm may become a repeated coping mechanism. overtime, the cycle is difficult to break. what becomes appears to be a solution gradually deepens the very pain it is to seek relieve turning the momentary sanctuary into a cycle that is difficult to leave behind.

then comes the insecure stage. you begin overthinking every small thing. the tone changes, delayed replies and the jealousy disguised as care leaving you wondering if your still wanted the same way you were in the beginning. but still knowing you’ll forever love her.

the love starts showing it’s ugly side. the unpleasant words said in anger, the silence used as punishment during and after arguments. the real overthinking begins. you keep rethinking everything. you realize you drifted away from everyone and are unable to run to anyone just because of how you made your world revolve around her.

although you keep fighting for it because you care and even if her love burns you you lie to yourself you like the pain just because you can’t imagine losing her which will lead to losing yourself too, just until caring starts to feel like your carrying it alone. next, the love feels one sided. one person begging for softness while the other gives distance. you begin feeling lonely right besides the person who still calls you theres. it feels like your holding onto what she’s already let go of. it becomes so draining you begin to lose yourself, even before the breakup.

but the most cruelest part of it all is the breakup. you don’t just lose a girlfriend. you lose your best friend, your routine, the fantasized future you built in your head and the version of yourself that only existed when she loved you back. and even the most ordinary things start to hurt. songs, the jokes only she’d understand and the hours of the day that belonged to her- where you’d spend talking the entire time. knowing you could never hate her even if u wanted to. and the breakup lasts far longer than the relationship itself and healing feels like learning how to live without missing someone who is still alive.

but there was a time.

what makes it sadder is that wlw love can be so tender, so consuming and so beautiful intense that when it ends it feels like a cannon event. you will forever grief not only the person but the safety you felt around her.

but the truth no one says enough is this: sometimes the end of a love like that gives you back the parts of yourself you abandoned to keep it alive. you eventually learn that love should feel like home, not a place where u have to disappear to stay.

sometimes the saddest endings are the ones that leave you heartbroken for far longer than they loved you teaching you to choose yourself before losing yourself in someone else again while you slowly heal from what takes forever to let go.

oh how perfect we could have been, how good we would have looked together, how our hard launch would be insanely good. this thoughts linger through my mind 24/7, keeping me up at night wondering what we could have done differently. were we in a rush? WHAT REALLY HAPPENED?

i’d like to think that we let our minds think about how things would look for us later once we got together instead of thinking about the present form of connection we were dealing with at the current moment. we rushed into placing our minds on the future without working on the present. the future dates, future pets FUTURE EVERYTHING.

you say it was timing but i say so did the fear of building something solid.

there are some people who do not leave with noise. they leave quietly, but somehow remain louder than everyone else who stayed. you were one of them. not because of what we were, but because of what we could have been. what we almost became.

it will forever haunt me, not as a heartbreak but as potential. as the version of us that never got the chance to exist. people like to say “right person wrong timing” just to ease themselves or comfort themselves, but with us it felt painfully true. we met when our lives were too messy and too busy, when feelings were real but commitment was not and when school was in between. but i’d like to believe that there was a spark but unfortunately it arrived before the foundation did. and that’s what hurts the most.

it was there, the ability to talk openly, the laughs, the deep conversations, the weirdness, the confidence in sharing things we kept hidden from others without judgement and knowing we’ll get assured, the advice we gave each other. but what for? we let eachother and opened up just to split up.

maybe you got bored. maybe i was too much. maybe we were both fighting demons in our minds that neither of us knew how to explain which resulted to this. i know for sure i had my own issues, fears, walls built so high that sometimes i feel trapped inside them but i was slowly trying just to see where this would go. i tried opening up. i wanted be more softer and better. i wanted to be able to accept love esp if it was yours which felt so calm. i was willing to put my guard down.

but you did not stay long enough to see that.

but i mostly blame myself for filling up my mind with delusions about us knowing how this will all end- you’ll either end up leaving me for another girl or you’ll get bored of the idea of me, but i still gave myself the benefit of the doubt. “maybe this time it’s different “ yet again, same ending. unfortunately you cannot read the same story and expect a different ending.

i acted like i didn’t care. like it never hurt me. like i could just move on and act like nothing happened but the truth is that i cared so much but not enough to lose myself again. which is confusing because i was, almost in love with you. but was i falling in love with you or with the potential? i also realized i cant love you into loving me back. but how i knew my fantasies were coming to an end is when you kissed my forehead.

why is it confusing? u ask, because here i am on the edge of losing myself for you when i promised myself id never do that again. it’s quite embarrassing, losing myself for someone who wouldn’t mind losing me. it hurts to know i barely exist in your thoughts while you consume all of mine. but i learnt yearning is not logical. maybe the memories we have are probably ordinary to you, but to me i hold them close. and if i were to be with anyone else there would be an enteral pit in my heart yearning for you.

you were not mine but you were close enough to leave a mark.

i’ll forever mourn on what we could have been. the routines we never built. the consistency we could never maintain . the foundation we needed but never knew how to create. we had emotion without timing, desire without direction. we tried. God knows we tried maybe that’s all that matters but trying isn’t always enough to save something that’s already breaking.

but i still cannot help but imagine what we could have been, how perfect it would have looked if we met later or earlier. if we had healed first. if we had thought better. if we had not given up. if we had known how to stay. we had all the signs of love except the discipline of it. there’s clearly a reason why we keep getting into each others lives but also a reason why we keep getting taken out. but just because it didn’t last for long doesn’t mean it was a waste of time. i was GENUINELY happy and enjoyed each moment. even if i know the best choice was to separate, you made me so happy and i don’t know if i’ll ever be able to let go of that.

i hope we find a way back to each other, if not ill always have you in my heart forever.

i just want to be the one you turn towards without thinking

i’ve learned how to wait. how to make myself small enough to fit inside maybes, how to call patience a virtue instead of a wound.

people say love comes when it’s ready

but i’m already here. already open, already holding all this love without anywhere to set it down, already ready to love. always have been.

i wait in quiet corners, hoping to be chosen, hoping to be held by a love that finally stays but yet again, i’m just left hoping.

i just want someone to want me like i want them. a relationship full of redamancy, not just longing. i don’t have to be the first, just enough.

i yearn for love. deeply, honestly and quietly. not the shallow kind that comes and goes but the kind that sees the corner of my soul no one else notices. the kind that understands silence, the tremor in my laughter and the scars i try to hide even from myself. and i wait holding onto the hope that someone sometime, somewhere will meet me in depth, recognizing the same yearning in their own chest.

there is fire in waiting. a fire that does not consume but illuminates. the ache proves that im alive enough to feel fully and to love without an apology. each quiet night imagining what could be a lesson in patience, endurance and in keeping my heart open when closing it would be easier because of the supposed love i got. to burn while waiting is not weakness but prove of being fully human.

Jeff Buckley’s words echo in me. love is fragile, fleeting and often late. and yet even in absence it teaches . yearning is not emptiness, it is presence. it is the pulse of hope that refuses to stopped, the quiet courage to remain tender when the world insists of closing its doors.

waiting is both painful and sustaining. it stretches the heart, sharpens the desire and shapes the soul to recognize love when it finally arrives and not as a sudden gift, but s something my heart has been patiently preparing for all along.

i wait and i’ll burn. i wait with open arms, unguarded and faithful because to wait is to hope, to hope is to live and to live is to fully remain capable of burning quietly, deeply and beautifully until love finds me in it’s perfect timing.

because speaking isn’t always liberating. speaking is its own kind of dying.

to speak is to open up and place your heart in someone else’s hands hoping and praying they won’t drop it. that they’ll hear you, not just listen, understand not just nod and help you if possible. but the truth is, most people don’t speak your language. so u spend your life translating your emotions, feelings, your love and fears into a dialect they might possibly comprehend. you round your edges, explain and explain and explain and still, something gets lost in translation EVERY DAMN TIME.

and with loss something in you shrinks.

“i hope you find someone who speaks ur language so you don’t spend your life translating your mind and soul” because translation is tiring. it drains you in ways silence never could. you begin to wonder who u really are if no one understands your language let alone ur mind. you speak, the words come out broken. misunderstood. misinterpreted. just like the broken telephone game. no matter how loud you scream, at the end of the round your words won’t be what you interpreted. so u might as well have just stayed silent.

thats the quiet violence of it all.

and then theres the other side, silence. the ‘supposed’ safer option. you keep it in, hold your tongue, bury what you feel so deep that even YOU begin to forget what it even looked like in the light just because of being in the dark for way to long. you convince yourself that it’s strength but really it’s self-abandonment in disguise. your keeping in things that your soul really wanted out, heard. silence is a slow death. it doesn’t tear you apart in one bit. it wears you out until theres nothing to be worn out anymore and all your left with is regret of everything you NEVER said.

to be alive on the outside but decaying on the inside. to walk through the world unseen, unheard, un interpreted.

then theres the cruelest part of it all: maybe your not ment to be fully understood. maybe the myth was right. maybe we were once whole, split into two and cursed to spend our lives searching for the one soul that mirrors your own. and the odds of us finding it is one in eight billion. and you stay searching forever ALONE. so we keep speaking to the void, hoping someone somewhere no matter how far, will hear what we ment not just said.

so, is it really better to speak or to die?

i don’t know. maybe both are forms of dying. maybe the real question is “what kind of death are you willing to endure?”

because silence will kill you slowly without showing it and without a scene. but speaking, speaking might kill you faster. it might break your heart or also might not. but the slightest chance it won’t. and maybe, the chance however small, is worth everything. worth every dime.

because if you must die, atleast let it be for the truth of who you really are. not the version you portrayed that was never once heard.

so the question changes, what death are you willing to endure?