Seasons of Heartache

Love never existed there, only some pseudo emotion… Something like a blanket to keep us warm at night. This ‘love’ is like some veneer that made life a little more beautiful, but that cloak has been peeled away, and I see things as they are. I do thank you for wasting time with me. I’ve made it through the pain now, and as I emerge, you might suddenly think of me.



I spent some time beneath the surface of reality

I spent some time floating in a bottle

I spent some time in the dark

I spent some time alone

Now, you ask why I don’t smile?

Now, you ask why I don’t try?

Now, you want me?

Now, you are too late

I vanished beneath the surface

I drowned in a bottle

I got lost in the dark

I learned a lot from myself, when I stopped to reflect

I felt my eyes burn at the very thought of you, but now it’s been replaced by an icy glare. These are the seasons of heartache, as I close the door on what was. Criticized by you, judged by you, and in time, hated by you. Take care, I hope you find that love you were looking for in me.

Pretty lies

A cool feeling slips down my throat. It’s that feeling when the pendulum of desire has faltered too greatly out of order. When a lover, like a bull fighter, hides blades beneath their cloak of secrets.

In innocent words, truth is discovered. The ability to see the truth despite whatever distortion is present is both a gift and curse for some.

My eyes grow dark, lips thirst greatly for a drink. I wish it was winter, then I wouldn’t be the only one feeling cold.

Journals about you

I can still feel your hand on my shoulder, resting so delicately like a flower petel. I can feel your presence at my back, like sunshine casting warmth on a fall day. I can hear your voice, one of my most favorite melodies. I am drunk from our memories, engrossed by them, tortured by them.

I keep telling myself I need to tear myself away from what was, but I’m so afraid to stop writing about us. It’s the only presence that I have of you now. I just need some more time to accept this. It felt like a terrible dream, but each day it becomes increasingly real. I never let you read my many journals, I’ve kept them very secret, despite the many pages about you. But, I suppose that world I kept from you is exposed here, at least the crumbling bits that are left of it. I just wish I would’ve let you see that world in a happier time. Perhaps what it felt like to finally buy the ring. Or, how it felt to be madly in love with someone as wonderful as you. Maybe you wouldn’t have questioned my love. It’s a sunny day today, just like the day we first met.

Scars and monsters

Passion attracted you, passion drove you away. My many eccentricities used to charm you, and now these charming characteristics are what you call monsters. I didn’t drink much last night, just wine at the vineyard. 

When you study something or someone long enough, you’ll begin to notice flaws. But, I think that there is beauty in imperfection. Every crack or scar tells a story. They are like ripples on the water’s surface, except our stories resonate through time. Especially with you, darling. Our story, our love, will resonate throughout my life, despite you not being in it anymore. You are beautiful, every bit of you.

Looking at you

My mind goes back to a family party at your house, one of the last ones I attended. I sat outside with the ‘Chus’ as they drank and played cards. I knew it made your dad happy, but I always wanted to be inside with you. I kept looking through the window, and my eyes always found you. My world existed in that view, all encompassed in your smile. You always made me so proud. I loved knowing that you were mine and I was yours. I loved looking at you from outside, just watching the way you moved, laughed, spoke… The scene plays in my head over and over, like a bittersweet daydream. It’s a scene that makes both my eyes water and my lips curl.

I loved to study you, to fully take in every ounce of your being. Darling, when you smiled at me, my heart fluttered like a butterfly’s wings. Your lustrous eyes exuberated love as I carefully studied every lash, every color.  The proclivity I had for your lips was insatiable, my truest addiction. You must’ve grown tired of my touch, yet my thirst for yours was unquenchable.

But, I’ve lost that all now. In an instant, my world vanished, but I suppose you were slipping from my hands for some time. Rather, I couldn’t see it. Through the folly, I couldn’t see our love fading away. Looking back, had I known the last kiss would truly be the last we shared, I would’ve never let go, I would’ve happily stayed in that moment until my last breath escaped me.

Pieces of you

I’ve reached a point of melancholy, where the sting of your absence has just become a chronic pain, not so new, not so magnified by its suddenness, yet very much there. It still hurts, but perhaps my mind has developed a higher threshold, or maybe even a depressed acceptance. We spoke over text, and you seemed quite cold in your last message. Almost as if you accepted these circumstances as well.

I’m moving on Friday, so I’ve been packing. I come across bits and pieces of you, your silly bear sweater, your gorgeous purple blouse, and your necklace I got you. I’m finding fewer strands of your hair now. You no longer have a toothbrush near the sink. I really don’t have the heart to replace the middle drawer, where your ‘jammies’ are. As I write this, the sting returns, so I think I’ll be off now.

Love, a fool’s game

Love is really all that matters in our evanescent experience here on earth. It’s truly the pinnacle of everything we do, because it is the most beautiful, unadulterated feeling a human is capable of. Two souls coalesced into one beautiful feeling, a deep connection. Love is something that pushes you to do things, to be selfless, to be vulnerable. Often times I reflect on love, perhaps I obsess on it. Although love seldom makes sense, it’s something I’ve always hoped I would find. It’s strange to find someone and then part from them, knowing that you both are still in love. Madness? Masochistic? Yes, any contentment in a life without the one you love would be pseudo at best, more like a sham. But, anyone that falls in love is some type of fool, and I suppose that’s alright…