A cold comfort gambling with lust
Holding fort for my lover adjust

Concurring thoughts of intimacy robust
Blurring lines of a lovers fuss

You were my world, you were my all
Forgive me little one, you had to take the fall

All my what-ifs and all my could have been’s are you
All my open wounds come back to you
All my sins, all my shame,
And all my guilt, are for losing you

Her love is true, however taboo
Forever true, she lost you too

Shunned by the world’s gun
Slammed by the modest runs
Grieving the loss of a life
Is an undeserving wife

The world isn’t all that
You’d have known, have we met
You’re not missing out, at least not yet
Forever in debt
Your loss set

Every time we lose a constant connection in our lives, we take time to find the pieces we lost in them. Feelings aren’t refunded, nor is the time. One of those times I wish the “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” wasn’t just fiction.

My fragile heart, it wanders and wonders.

Been surrounding myself with darkness except for that hint of light piercing my window as the sun comes up. Sunlight hasn’t touched my skin in days. I’m not pale, or sad. I’ve been sad before, this isn’t sad. This is defeat.

Keeping myself busy with strangers who will listen to my tales of you, hoping that I miss you a little less with every passing day. I don’t have the energy or the time to keep missing you.

I tell myself I’m fine. I tell myself it doesn’t mean anything now. Like a band-aid, you ripped yourself off off me, in slow agony, leaving a mark of where you once used to be.

I shall not cry. I shall not weep. I shall not reminisce.
I tried my best.

Fooled myself into thinking someone out there could look past my flaws. My flaws are no longer flaws, they’ve become parts of me. And if you can’t love them, I will love the hell out of them and get me the life I deserve. All I needed was you to hold my hand while I got where I wanted to be.

I’m wired to my independence. I’m wired to making the right choices despite constraints, and that’s the only way I know how great a deal this person means for me. Instead of letting me make my choices, having to mould into their idea of perfection would only confuse me. For me, I don’t do well in boxes. It’s not the cutting people off precisely but the whole idea of being restricted. I do better in freedom. I believe in freedom instead of labels. Letting them roam, and hoping they find their way back to you, over and over, every day, forever. That is my idea of love. And if they lose their way, they won’t be the person for me. But the whole idea of suffocating the other person to choose you, won’t sit with me. I have been there, I won’t be there again. Maybe my flawed idea of love is evolving into even a more liberal version.

And for some this may seem like my un-willfulness to compromise, I think it is that I’ve refused to put myself in a box. I need more faith and trust from the person I decide to give my all to.

Did I just give up on something that could’ve made me happy?

I lost myself in my past relationship, I won’t lose myself again.

Helpless in the face of love. Love might not be for me after all. My guess is the past several relationships have flawed my idea of love. And I can’t help but look for what soothes me. Something effortless, something that falls around my body like sheer lace, something comfortable, transparent with a hint of mystery and light, but also looks so good on me.

Since none of my past relationships have been ideal, how do I identify the amount of work that might go into the right one? How do I let something consume me when I don’t know just how much it contains? I just don’t know anymore. Finding someone who makes you laugh and a million other things just isn’t enough. There’s all this baggage I carry that no one should deal with, but I’m finding it hard to declutter. Will no one ever love me for me, for all the things my past lovers have made me? For all my scars and all my flaws.

Falling shortly behind my lover devout, I wish I knew why. Perhaps, not everything is meant to be understood. Perhaps, love just isn’t for me.

Or if I’m really lucky, it’s all in my head and everything is fine. Or perhaps, only intense therapy can fix certain patterns.

How I wish things were simpler.

What’s done is done. We’ll continue to live with our scarred selves and do the best we can with whatever’s left of us. That’s all we can do.

It’s not easy being with someone who carries someone else in their heart. It’s even harder when you know a part of you often thinks of another too. But despite all, we’ve both made commitments to one another, to see whatever this may be through. As we keep going, there are days where I feel like yes, this is it. And then there are moments of uncertainty where I’m like, what if this isn’t. What if this is another journey that will end, what if this is another stepping stone that will help us get to our destinies but without each other. What if this isn’t meant to be. What if we’re both barricading our fates by being caught up in something so momentary. Life is anything but predictable – every twist and every turn taking us to and from desires of intoxication. Yet, here we are taking chances on each other, praying it takes us away from our past lovers and to each other.

You reek of my pleasure, darling.

Your claws in my skin, my thighs on your rim.
Whispers of sin, for the longing since.