they say you’ll never forget your first love,
which is to say,
that memory will only really last
until even your mind
begins to fail you,
but even ten years down the line
sometimes I find myself
wondering the name of the
one I had fallen in love with
all that time ago,
only to realize while this longing aches
in the way hot chocolate burns
the tongue and lingers with
that sweet aftertaste,
she was never meant to be
the one that I held on to
for something as terrifyingly long
and short as forever.

(this love, like hot cocoa powder,
was meant to dissolve too)

perhaps it’s a bit ominous to say
that the end is near,
but that being said:
the end is quite near.

right here is the last stretch
and then i’ll be bidding farewell
to something that has been
a part of my routine for
a while now.

no, it’s not a premature goodbye,
i promise,
but i suppose i’ve been running on
fumes for a while now

(a break from words
may be needed)

the strings are coming together,
woven in a way that braids
even tighter when tugged–
will not unravel even when
a knife is drawn against fibres
and fires are held to edges as
if it could singe all the strings and
make it all burn up without a thought.

you’d be amiss to believe that they
would succumb so easily to
such trivial matters when
the hardest thing those individual strands
have ever had to do was
pull themselves together long enough
to form this connection,
to form this whole that does not
break even when pulled.

(we’re testing this connection darling)

i’ll blame it on the craving.
i’m sure it’s enough,
that it’ll be a suffice reason
even when this is but the surface
of a lake that looks like an ocean
and this deep seated urge
comes with the fear just as deep.
you won’t be able to see the bottom
from where you are on the top,
and i’d prefer it that way when
you’re unable to see what
i truly mean when i say that
this,
this is exactly what i want
and you would give it to me
just because i wanted it.
oh it’s funny really,
the way the wind whispers
and makes the water ripple,
you drop a rock into the water
and the surface cracks like ice
where you swore was just water moments ago.
it looks a lot like a web when
you look at it closer.

(no, don’t try to untangle it.
it’ll just break when you do.
and frankly,
the illusion is much nicer
than the image)

you’re not looking for stars in my eyes,
not looking for galaxies that seem
like they would be hidden in black.
it’s a black hole there darling,
i don’t know what you’re trying to look for
when you’ve got that telescope in your room
and an open window just inches away.
there’s something out there for you,
but you won’t find it here
among the tall grasses and city light.
no,
you’ve got to look further,
because i promise you,
the stars look a lot better
when they’re not just on the walls
of your small, small room.

(you’ve kept your expectations low,
but you’d be surprised at how the universe
would blow your mind)

a track race:
he’s always in the race,
never backs out and always
the first to sign up.
his name is right there on the top
if you just searched for it,
but no one ever did,
they just knew he would be right there
on the track when they needed him
the most.
those competitors of his,
well, you would never see their faces.
the crowd in the stands are roaring
and his name circles like vultures
waiting to eat their prey alive.
he’ll tie his shoelaces and
look so small against
the people he faces.
it’s a race after all,
there’s no fighting to be done here
besides the question of
who will run the fastest,
who will cross the finish line first?

spoiler alert: he loses.
he always loses,
even after the hours he spends sprinting,
even if the everyone is cheering him on,
even if he’s tried so damn hard —
it’s frustrating really,
how he’ll sprint on the track
and never once wins

(he smiles.
pretends sweat is his tears.
tries again next year)

i thought for a minute,
thought for an hour,
watched these words scramble
and rescramble into other sentences
but reading what those words had
said from the start seems more like
the sort of task suited for people who can
solve rubic’s cubes in
ten seconds flat.

there’s a joke that people turn down
their music to help them see better,
so i supposed i would be the joke
if i put my earbuds in
just to mute out the sounds
of this noisy bus–
i can’t see the words properly after all

i’ll reread these sentences
over and over again,
and still get lost before i reach
the end.

(what was i saying again?)

‘how lovely’ she would say,
hiding that laugh behind a hand as if
that would stop the giggles that
escape every so often.

she tries this sometimes,
acts fancy just to see if you would
go along with the joke,
and you do,
rolling your eyes and huffing.

you’ve never been able to play the role
of strict parent before,
and she’s always managed to melt
your heart with that grin of hers,
shaped your world with that
imagination of hers.

sometimes you say that it’s simply
her world and you just live in it.
she’s got you all wrapped around her
little finger,
but you’ve learned to give where she
had nothing but an aching absence
to reach into

(you’ve been doing your best,
and she’s always been the
greatest treasure to you)

perhaps you tear yourself into these
tiny parts, like scraps of newspaper
that dance with the rubbish like
some sort of street waltz,
hoping that you’d fly away if someone
just blew a gust of air to bring you
a bit closer to the sky.

perhaps you thought that if you
cut yourself up into bite-sized pieces,
people would find you easier to digest
easier to take in,
because no, maybe they couldn’t handle you
at your full brightness,
and so you’ve learned to compromise for others,
learned to give things up because
you were never allowed to hold on.

perhaps you’re losing parts of yourself
to whittle down into something that people
could accept at face value

(you had more life when you were whole)

okay so, maybe you’re a coward.

that realization comes like a car running at 60mph and suddenly i’m crossing the road, and blam! it hits me as i’m literally melting into the concrete. sure, i should have seen it coming. but this damn car is way too fast and there isn’t anywhere else for me to run. the crosswalk is right here. i swear i was doing all the right things, but i still got hit didn’t i? i still ended up a victim to this car and you’re in the driver’s seat because no, you’ve never been one for subtlety. and yet, even when i’m out here dying underneath the burning sun, you still can’t come up with the words.

okay so, maybe i’m a coward.

in my defense: i never said i would be the brave one. there’s a difference between marching through buff 6’0 guys who could crush me if they just looked at me with a bit more menace like nothing mattered vs. being emotionally vulnerable. it’s a little like getting hit by a car i bet. sure, i’m one of those people who would get tinted windows, because really, no one needs to see what goes inside. and yes, that includes those who’ve already stepped inside at least once. you’re not getting the keys. you’d probably end up hitting me by accident. or on purpose. one of the two.

okay so, maybe we’re both cowards.

let’s play rock paper scissors, shall we? if i win, you say something. and if you win, i’ll say something. and if we happen to end up tieing each and every damn time, well then, that must be the universe telling us that it’s not meant to be. that, or i’ll throw the rock, rip up the paper, and stab those scissors into the ground. this isn’t arts and crafts. or rocket science. we’ve never been good at either of those. we’ve never been good at being honest.

want to give it a try?

(3. 2. 1)