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18 y.o. | |
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not knowing not crying or neither smiling
a haiku for you
your words softly comfort me my heartbeat slows down and you wash away worries
my favorite pair of jeans are under my bed and my left boot is under my desk and my right boot is in my closet... like my room... my mind is a mess. a mess of thoughts filled with uncertainty and worry... will it all be ok? Remember when you used promise me that everything will fall into place, everything happens for a reason, and most especially, it gets hard before it gets better. now I´ll even be glad to receive a hello for you. funny, because now of all times, I need you to tell me... it´s going to be ok. no matter what. life goes on. like i´m trying my hardest move on without you................................. because after everything, all these tears aren´t worth it anymore. you aren´t worth it anymore. I cant even recall what made you worth it.
The truth is... you can´t come back. But I´m in denial and I´m trying all kinds of things and methods to bring us back. But I´m never going to your first call anymore. Even if you´re still mine. It´s true. It´s so much easier to be angry than admit you´re hurt. So here, I´m doing. I am hurt. two things
At this point, I know you must be ticked off about all these nonsense messages I send you. What do you care about this, that, or him, right? The truth is, every time I open the new message window I only want to tell you one thing: I miss you and especially the way we were. Instead of telling you the truth, I'm filling your inbox with nonsense and trivial stories. When knowing you, you'd rather hear about the real things I'm doing here and not what I'm drinking or whom I'm crushing on... I just want to say I miss knowing what you did every single day... I miss the way you'd greet me every day... I miss telling you things. I miss you. I guess it's the price I pay for this experience and this education. Someone told me that the people back in Manila will move on without you... but you left them first. I can't expect things to be the same... but I want to know that you still care even a little. ___________________________________________________________________ I get it. Your life is hard. You don't know what to do. But bitch, I am not your fucking punching bag. Shut up. SHIT. Give up. Go home for all I fucking care.
You asked me "do you ever get homesick?" and I replied with a quick "yeah, of course. Sometimes"I lied. I am always incredibly homesick. |