Reason.

I’ve always thought that people enter your life for a reason.

That they wouldn’t exist in your immediate surroundings if they weren’t meant to teach you some kind of epic life lesson, as though each person tells a new tale, and weaves themselves a chapter that makes the entire story beautiful.

The good, the bad, and the ugly; it’s all meant to be.

And that’s why it hurts, because agony is merely a treasury trove of memories and happiness is fleeting but the people who cause both will forever mark your heart.

They remain inscribed inside the crevices of your heart, forever tiny little letters that cause you to skip a beat every time they are said out loud.

People are merely a passageway to your ultimate exhilaration, to a happiness that’s forever and a settling that you can only dream about.

Yet we give them too much importance. We forget that everyone is indispensable, a sort of trading system; in with the old, out with the new. And just as you recycle yourself, new people fit like puzzle pieces and leave you moments you can never forget.

They do not make you. You must remember that what they do or say to you, hardly makes you who you are. It’s never who you are.

You make yourself. Nobody else can take that away, and nobody else should, it is a right that has been burnt into your soul. Never let anyone take away who you are.

Stop destroying yourself to make everyone happy, it’ll never bring anything but despair.

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Staying.

i’m often undeserving of the love my friends give me. so completely unconditional, filled with such deep warmth that i cannot imagine how life would be without them.

i’ve learned to always pick carefully when i want to have people in my life. that knowing they’re the ones that’ll constantly guide me will be enough for my heart to fill part of it’s emptiness. i’m sure enough that love isn’t always what i think it is. it’s always more than just romance.

it’s like a deep connection, a bond that may or may not eventually break into two. but the memories you share, the worlds that you make together are always there, floating in the air, making it easy to reminisce about the days you spent crafting each other’s energies into one.

i know that this may not make sense, but when a friend leaves, the hurt will always stay. the hurt of a breakup will fade, but when a friend leaves, it’s like a small part of your soul has been chipped off. like the universe is carving your soul into something but the pain of the incision will always remain.

they go so easily, you see. disappear like they never meant anything to you. you see them around sometimes. you really don’t know who they’ve become. that’s the funny part about all this, the fact that when they leave you, you have no idea how they could change so much.

i imagine that broken friendships drift off into another universe. that there they prosper, unlike they did here. some people are toxic, so we raise the roof with joy that they have left us, but can’t help but feel a twinge of pain every time they’re mentioned to us. it’s almost funny how the same thing happens when you hear the name of an ex, who seems to be happy and you seem to… well not.

it’s always full circle, that’s what life is. an up and a down, a loss and a gain. you always lose someone to gain someone. i have lost many. but those i have gained and those who have stayed are those my heart will forever be indebted to.

that’s what love is, i think. staying.

Recovery.

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I realize that the love I deserve is much larger than the love you reluctantly hand out. And I’m tired of compromising, I’m tired of telling myself that it’ll get better, because I know that it won’t. I have searched for the answer in myself, and I know it.

I should’ve known the moment I saw the way you look at her.

She won’t pick up your pieces. She can’t fix you, you are broken beyond repair and you look for surrogates to hold your pain but you will never understand how it feels to conquer the sinking of your heart. She can’t help you, because she won’t. She doesn’t care. She never will.

I refuse to sit by and watch you allow yourself to be captivated by a lost cause because she is. And you are.

I am in awe at your ability to break those who have faith in you. Those who would go to the end of the world to save you. Those that would never doubt you. I am in awe at your ability to spite them.

You refuse to think of consequences, life is just a game, and you don’t know what to do or what to say. I’m not the only one that’s tired of your need to break those who would sacrifice for you. I am stranded with the ache of your confusion, and I know that my heart cannot contain your restlessness.

However, I’m shocked at my ability to feel the need to rescue you. Forget rescue you, rescue myself. Being around you was enough to make me let my guard down, to give up all thoughts of sense, to give up every emotion I had worked so hard to compress.

Why am I not capable of understanding that you can’t fix me? It’s not just you. No one can fix me. I cannot allow you to be a stepping stone to the goal of my survival. I am not a half that needs to become whole. I am already complete.

Everyone I’ve ever loved has been a way for me to fix myself. I have seen my pain as a beautiful tragedy, and love as my bitter remedy. I’ve realized now that if I keep my heart open, the price I’ll have to pay will consume me. Even the broken pieces of my mind and soul will turn to dust eventually. And after years of searching for the answer to my emptiness, I know it now.

You cannot be wrapped in a whirlwind of intense amour if you aren’t besotted with the complete being that you are.

Fallacy.

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I’ve been wondering how you have the ability to recklessly judge my character,

When you know my world revolves around your opinion,

When I’m ready to beg at your feet;

You tell your friends that you don’t want to be with that type of girl,

And I was confused because I didn’t think I was anyone but myself,

That I was some sort of reckless fallacy,

But you did.

All you could tell me,

All you could say was that my actions were a bullet in your heart,

Yet you knew it was you who shattered my soul,

And I believe that you would take me back if I stopped giving my body away,

But you never did.

 

And the irony was that the same boy who would beg for my body,

Would hate me if another did,

And that somehow I was at fault for being promiscuous,

That what I did with my body was for society to determine,

But it’s not.

 

And so now that you can’t look me in the eyes,

Know that my body was never yours,

And it never will be;

Because I’d rather be a fallacy than deal with your never-ending tragedy,

And even though I loved you,

I think I know better now.

Keep.

I can’t seem to shake you. It’s been years, and the ghost of our memories haunt me like they want me to feel for you, but I’m left with nothing inside.

I can’t bring myself to love you again. Not because I can’t, not because it’ll break me, but because I don’t want to. You are no longer what fits into my definition of love. You haven’t been for a long time.

You see, I think I kept holding onto you because you gave me everything when I felt like I had nothing. You gave me purpose when I felt like mine had been tossed out to sea.

And now, you give me anger. You give me drunk texts and sordid pleas for help in finding someone to love but you don’t realise that no one I can give you will love you. No one I can give you will love you like I did, because no one can.

I say this with the strongest conviction, because I’ve learnt that every love is different. You see, you haven’t been my only love. You haven’t been the only one I can lean to when I’m in despair. In fact, now, you’re probably the last one.

Each love shapes you. It builds you and breaks you in ways that probably didn’t even exist before you met them. In ways that probably wouldn’t exist if you didn’t let them. The way I loved you, will be miles apart from the way the next girl will. She will take you and make you into a new being, she will give you everything I couldn’t and more.

But you’re impatient. You’re erratic and irrational and you want me one day but the next day you don’t. You refuse to realise that I’m not here for you anymore. More so, I’m not here to be your resident matrimonial guru or easy sleazy booty call, because I can’t. Because I don’t want to.

You ask me for things that bring me pain, say words that resonate in my mind for days to come and then apologise profusely as though it would counteract the ache that runs through my veins.

Some days, you don’t apologise at all.

People wonder why I let you back into my life constantly. I wonder as well. I’m beginning to think that the “soft spot” I have for you is just an excuse for me to walk back into the fleeting happiness you gave me. I can’t keep doing this anymore.

I can’t keep you anymore.

Impulsive.

He’s too shy to tell you. He’s got a heart that blazes for every inch of you, but he will never tell you of how his mind is seeped with thoughts of the sweet nectar that you speak, of the waves that ripple through your hair, of the love that he wants but is too afraid to ask for. 

He’s never going to tell you. You look through your conversations as if this time he’s going to tell you that he loves you but you know those words will never leave his soul. He’s trapped in his own worst fear, and you solemnly acknowledge that even if you say something, he’d never say anything back.

We’re all too scared to tell the people we love how we feel. We’re always hesitating, as if anything bad could ever come from giving love to people instead of the hate that is prevalent in this dismal world. 

Rejection is our only fear, it is the only barrier that keeps us away from bliss and it is tiring. It’s tiring that he won’t tell you how he feels, or that she didn’t kiss you when she had the chance, because what if we stop being friends? What if the whole world finds out?

It’s as though letting people know our happiness is a disaster, but it seems to have become so, and there’s nothing we can do. As though life could end if people found out about the truth, as though there’s a death wish in being passionate. 

There is nothing and no one that can discount your feelings except for you, because when will you realise that love is fickle but it’s meant to be, and if you don’t say something now, you probably never will. 

It’s never been difficult to be impulsive in anger. Why should it be difficult in brazen, unapologetic and beautiful love? 

It shouldn’t. 

Accepted.


I’m tired. The world simply is no place for someone that seems to dip into the lows more than highs, that seems to wreck herself and salvage the pieces all in one night.

The world is too strong for people like us, who wither and wilt at the first sign of danger. We’re not ready for what’s about to be thrown at us. I doubt we’d ever be ready.

There is little worth I can bring to my own life. I am stewing in a pot of my own misery, waiting for a day to come by where I’ll get saved.

Yet, I fail to realise that I am my own saving grace, that no knight in shining armour can ever exist and that the world is a deep vat of agony but if I stir long enough, it may change into acceptance.

We’re not always going to be this way, you know?

I think the thicker skin we build, the harder it becomes for people to break our walls. We are nothing but a wall of opinions that we have created by establishing ourselves as slaves to the needs of others.

And I confine myself to these sordid ideals, refusing to own my heart and wear it on my sleeve. Devoid of any emotion.

Haphazard thoughts are the only constant I have left. Maybe, I can understand myself if I think less, talk slower, walk quicker. If I do what they want, I become what they want. I become what I want.

Accepted.

I’m tired. The world is no place for someone who refuses to fit into a version of perfection.

The world is no place for me.