Memory is flawed.

It dredges up only the best and the worst of things, and never the uneventful and mundane. I’m sure we’ve had a lot more memories, yet I can’t remember mornings that were as simple as making a cup of coffee or just us sitting beside you in silence. I’m sure there were days where we fought just so we could passionately make up, and nights that ended blissfully, but they are buried deep beneath the darkness of the cracks that ended us.

I am sorry if the latter is all I can remember. Our legacy deserves better, but memory is flawed, and I have nothing.

*For Day 29, Our Poetry Journey Contest
January’s theme: abc’s Revenge


Take my hands, will you?
What use are they now that
I have nothing to hold?
Tuck me into the spaces
between your fingers,
where I know I’m safe.


You tell me to meet you half way,
but not one step in my direction.
You tell me how desperately you
want me, but you don’t extend your
arms to pull me close. You say you
can’t live without me, but you live
beyond the ocean, beyond what my
eyes can behold. You say I am always
in your mind, but I share that space
with the hundred reasons why I am
not by your side. You plead with me
not to forget you, but I swear
I’ll keep trying till I do.


I know that there will be days when you want to die. Everything feels heavy and your body will ache with numbness. You’ll lock yourself in your room, feel the weight of the entire world sink into your skin. You’ll text him and tell him you miss him. Your friends will make fun of how quiet you’ve become. You’ll them you’re tired. You’ll tell them you haven’t slept. You don’t tell them about the burn in your chest.. how breathing becomes a burden.. how soft death looks like.

These are days, however, will pass. The nights will still be long, but you’ll wake up feeling light again. You’ll feel your wings grow out of your back, feel the stars at the tip of your fingers.

One day, you’ll forget what all that weight felt like, what thinking of death felt like, what thinking of him felt like. Yes, one day.

*As requested by @brimart2015 for #bemymuse no. 15


There is nothing romantic about a love that used to be, a love that happened, and then ended, just like everything else in the world. People often romanticize tragedy, like the kiss that almost was, the “maybe” that could have been but will remain a “what if” forever. There is nothing beautiful about something that once was, but died. Disappeared. Ended. Failed.