What if we forget it all?

Wearing my slippers at the balcony and staring into the horizon…I wonder whether it’s true that everyone is in control of their destiny. I sip on vodka in the glass and gulp slowly…feeling it slowly stream down my throat.

What if we will never see each other again?

What if we forget to meet at Chicken Inn or KFC or our favorite cafe in the heart of the street?

If we forget the future we can still make it up to ourselves. We can get creative and build it with our hands, you know, like use clay, or carve a statue out of wood like we used to do in Art and Craft.

But what if we forget the past? What if our memories become ashes and the next time we see each other we don’t feel anything at all?

I do not want to feel nothing for you. I can’t even imagine you as a stranger. I can’t imagine walking by you indifferently; not holding hands as we’re used to.

I do not want to think that we will eventually ignore each other because there’s nothing worst than ignorance. What if all those precious memories we created go down like a house consumed by fire?

What will remain of us is just ash and melancholy. I do not want our love to become apathy. We were us. We were special, so alive together.

I’d become lifeless without you.

Okay I know what you’re thinking and yes, I have three hundred and fifty fears, but oblivion is my deepest one. Nothing like forgetting us attacks my lungs so unforgivingly.

I do not want to forget our moments of escape in paradise.

I do not want to forget all the pictures we took together. I delete some from my gallery but they keep on regenerating, why?

We had a reason to be so perfect at such an inconvenient time. And I do not want to let it go as I envisaged the best coming out of it. I am not ready to disregard my intensity of our short, vivid instants.

I am afraid to forget your sweet mellow voice and that you will forget mine.

I am afraid to forget the fervor I saw in your eyes when we met.

I am afraid to forget your sense of humor and hearty laughters.

I am afraid to forget our love.

I am afraid to forget the pace of our love, your smooth hands caressing me, goofy faces, wagging your tongue at me at a distant when we in public, and the quick glances we used to exchange only after a few hours after not seeing each other.

I am afraid to forget the late night and early morning conversations over the phone.

I am afraid to forget the cosy and comforting feeling of sleeping and waking up with your warm tender body wrapped in mine.

I am afraid to forget how intimate we can get.

I am afraid to forget that I said I’d be loyal and only belong to you.

I am afraid to forget all the songs we played and listened together and the fights of who was playing the next one.

I am afraid to forget all our first times.

I am afraid of how dolorous our goodbye has been.

I am afraid to forget how liquor tasted so better when we had it together.

I am afraid to lose myself as I lose memories.

I do not want to forget how the intensity of our love made me feel alive again.

I want to remember. I want to be able to recall those instances that made me fall in love even when we were gone.

Even when the pain is too much to bear, I want to feel you one more time.

But again, maybe I’m lost in my world alone, dreaming.

Tha Dreamchaser.

Via Fidash

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The Unbecoming – I Miss You.

There are times when I miss you terribly. Your familiar laugh. Your familiar voice. The feel of your arms.
There are times when I just want to talk to you. When I want to tell you all about my day. How my stomach hurt so bad from I don’t know what. How I have these plans to buy an apartment but I barely have any money. How I have laughed and laughed about my horrible weekend and how it made a great blog.
There are days when all I miss is company. That warm, cosy place where I felt like home. Not just any other person or friend. You. You right next to me on the pillow. You walking beside me by the roadside. You just teasing. Laughing. Playing.
So fool that I am, I looked for you. I heard your voice and it broke me. Instead of flaring up all the anger I felt against you, I just wanted to hold on. I just wanted you to keep talking. About anything. About any damn subject. I hoped that you would feel my desperation on the other end of the line. That you would just say, “baby I miss you terribly. I’m coming home.”
But of course you didn’t. And a second later… silence. The line is already dead. And now I’m holding onto the phone, begging myself not to call you back. Begging myself not to succumb to this weakness. Because you don’t care. You don’t care enough.
All I’m left with is this beautiful song in my head, that I can’t shake off. This melody that I can’t share with you like I used to.
“Darling just put your soft lips on my lips… we will just kiss like real people do. Darling just put your sweet lips on my lips… we will just kiss like real people do…”
A ballad that is so wonderful it has me twirling by myself with my eyes closed. Drifting back to the days when the melodies played for two young things just locked in each other’s arms, swaying silently. Blissfully. I smile because it’s like you’re here… for those few minutes, it’s like we’re back to the way it all was.
But as the last chords gently float in the air, I feel you slipping through my fingers. I open my eyes at last, and I am all alone.
And I don’t know whether to be at peace or in pieces.
Via Clover

Dear Future Husband

I wasn’t entirely sure why I want to write to you, but now as I start, I realize that it’s more of an apology than anything else.

When I was younger, I always believed that meeting you would be so soon, it would be so immediate; because I always thought that my life belonged to you and would be defined by you.

Of course, I fell in love with the first man that swept me off my feet. Fool that I am, I was so wrapped up in my fantasies and dreams that I couldn’t see everything that was wrong with it. I couldn’t see that this was something so twisted. And every time that it hurt, every time I cried, I told myself that all I needed to do was hold on tighter; fight harder- even if that meant that my knuckles bruised and my heart bled.

See, that’s the type of person that I am. I have never been afraid to love, and when I do, I just dive into it with all that I’ve got. I don’t know how to play games. I don’t know how to limit myself. I just give with an almost insane desire to just wrap one’s world in the light of mine.

This in itself, is so freeing. To submit to love and the fierce will, it exerts upon man. I read somewhere that few are ever strong enough to allow love to inhabit their souls like that. Few are ever strong enough to surrender control of their lives to this force.

Yet I don’t know if this makes me strong or weak. Because while I know what unconditional love looks like, or at least, just a bit of it, it is also this same thing that has caused me such agony. For love, I have felt pain as real and thick as a person, living and breathing in the inside of me. For love, I have been broken, consistently, repeatedly… but I never seem to learn.

But as I sit here, fighting to not be bitter, I realize that with every broken bone, my heart turned a bit darker. With every stab, the light in me went dimmer. With every cold rejection, the little girl in me dies.

I always wanted that the woman you meet is pure, inside and out. I ever imagined that the moment I met you, I would just know. You would only do. And from that moment on, everything would be perfect. Not because we are perfect, no, for how can there ever be an ideal kind of person. But because we would both be wrapped in a perfect sort of magic that would echo the song in our joined souls. That we would walk, no longer two, but 1 being. (Maybe I watched too many movies.)

Now I fear that if you ever find me, it would be this being, half alive, desperately holding onto grace but falling ever deeper into the abyss. Now I fear that if I ever find you, you won’t be the man I always prayed for and dreamed about- and I have no idea if that will be acceptable to me. Now I fear that perhaps you don’t even exist, for how could you be, but the Universe let the other side of you weep and bleed..?

Perhaps my most significant apology is that slowly I feel myself turning into what this world has made me. A skeptic. A cold soul. A hopeless spirit. My biggest apology is that if you show up, I may be sucked in too deep into the darkness, that I may not even recognize you at all. I don’t know if that’s the worst tragedy really. Oh well, such is life I suppose.

Via Clover