Heartache - Blog Posts

Dear Harvey,

I never thought that I’d have to write a goodbye letter to you. I guess I just thought that we would end at least as friends, but it’s been two weeks since our conversation and I wonder if we just said goodbye without saying goodbye. This is the part where I start to wonder if the last ten months ever meant anything to you and if it was all just a moment in your life you’ll never think about again. Strangers to lovers and back to strangers again. I never was one for saying goodbye. Even if I see you ten years from now, I think my heart will still feel heavy. I think a part of me is ready to let go. To let what happened between us rest. Holding onto you is starting to hurt, and love should never hurt.

I do love you and the thing is... I’m only seventeen. And seventeen is a really inconvenient time to be in love with someone. I hope you know though, that I don’t blame you for anything. Sometimes people hurt other people and things like that need to happen for people to grow.

I think maybe we did belong to each other just for a slight moment it felt right. I’d like to blame time; she is an awful person to some. I don’t think she has ever liked me.

I’d like to blame those stupid books I read. The true blasphemy of literature is the romanticization of romance. They make it beautiful—all soft words, and elegant lines—and enchanting, with magic sparkling in the margins. And you can feel it in the depths of your soul, an unexplored ocean of laughter and tears and dreams all melded together. The yearning for a kiss that brushes against the steady and so so warm pulsing beat of life—against the smooth skin of a lover's neck. The desperation to touch another being and feel that they’re alive, right there next to you—right there, and never leaving. To love and be loved is a jewel among treasures and all that we each seek—all that we each desire.

It burns and it burns, and it burns. The never-ending ache of love and sorrow. Perhaps in some other life I could have refused, could have torn my hair and screamed, and made you face your choices alone. But not in this one. You would sail to Troy, and I would follow, even into death. But I'm afraid we have reached the end of our love story. I’m turning to the next page, and you’ll stay on the one behind. Only to be read when my daughter who in twenty years will cry to me about how she loves a boy so much it burns her. I did too. I still do.

“I never meant to hurt you”

but you did.

the most.

I knew a girl once.

who was so in love with this one boy.

that when the world turned upside down and burnt inside out.

God seeked her out. He knelt to her and asked.

“Tell me my child, one choice only. who do I save? you or him? him or everyone else?

with no hesitation the girl screamed on her own last breath “HIM. SAVE HIM”

she’s a very different girl now to who I once knew.

I pray one day she understands why God chose to save her instead.

it takes a certain kinda soul to see the beauty in someone’s darkness. Perhaps the truest kinda love is loving the darkest most ugliest parts of someone, and understanding that you might not be able to change them, but you’ll love them anyway.

love is understanding that he brought back the light in me, and I created the light in him. Even if the story ends with us shinning in different rooms.

the more I grow older, the more I realise, poets are liars. missing someone is not a romanticise ghost that haunts the corner of my room. It’s not remembering the smell with the flashes of good memories resurfacing . it’s hearing someone that sounds like them and your throat catching and then suddenly you’re unable to speak. It’s smelling what they used to smell like, and an uneasy amount of home sick rises up to your stomach and all of a sudden it pours out. It’s going to bed with a drowned pillow because the moment you close your eyes, they’re there. Picture perfect, as clears as day. the way they felt burns your body from the inside out. failing in love with someone is like the loving the devil, you’re lucky if you’re anything but a pawn in his silly little game.

healing….

When the world turns quite and the sun fades away and there are no distractions to spare my heart the thought of you, and the only thing to be heard is the whistle of the wind or rain as it gently patters against my windows, it’s easier. I understand now why you left and I’m slowly accepting the fact that you won’t be coming back. I don’t choke or lose my breath to the idea of you with different women, but rather happy. Happy that you’re happy. stay safe out there buddy, I’m rooting for you always. 

I hope he knows that it’s him I love most. That from now, in every life, I’ll search for him. It always has and always will be him.

sometimes the people we want forever aren’t always the people that want us forever, and that’s okay.

for all the girls that were given price charming, but fell in love with the villain.

and tonight when you’re out with your friends, and you find your way into a girls arms, and you kiss her. I hope you pause, remembering the last words you said to me. I hope after that, you tell her you can’t go on with it anymore, and I hope you think of me, and you start to wish things went differently. And maybe that is really selfish of me and cruel to rather you miss me than be so good at forgetting, and maybe for the first time in my life I don’t care about being selfish, because all I care about is the thought of you with someone else and how it tears my stomach into pieces.

maybe it was the fact that nobody has ever made me laugh that much, or maybe it was the way I was cold and you gave me your coat and scarf, sacrificed yourself to the cold just to make sure I was closer to the sun. maybe it was the way you touched me and it felt like a magnetic force, maybe it was the way my safety was a priority to you, “please be careful on your walk home”, “call me as soon as you reach the door”, “be careful on the train, call me so I know you’re safe”. Maybe it was the way you healed every other heart ache. How you told me you were lucky that I was here. How I was so sure it was me and you forever. Maybe it was the way I forgot this was teen romance. And Maybe it was the way I forgot that any teen romance hardly ever makes it out alive. Or maybe it was the way you would say forever, and that whisper at night would be the lullaby that sent me to sleep. it’s more of a scream now. It used to make me feel so safe, so warm. Now it’s an ache in my stomach to hear, a catch in my throat that stops my breath. Maybe it was everything that turned into nothing. maybe I’ll never know. Maybe these words and these poems just have to be enough for now. Maybe it’s time to let go and say goodbye. But maybe I don’t want to.

I’m so desperate for you it’s embarrassing. How did this happen? How did we go from promising each other the world to hardly talking at all? When did all the laughing turn into shouting. I love you and it’s killing me. I love you and it’s hurting. I love you and I don’t know what to do with myself. I love you and it’s torcher. Do you miss me? are you ever thinking about me? Wondering if I’m okay. Or if I up screaming and crying. I’m still sleeping in your jumper. It’s like having a ghost that you can touch. I close my eyes and you’re here and I feel your skin, your kisses, your hugs. I close my eyes and I relive the whole moment. From very first day I knew of your existence, to the day we first met, and how you greeted me. So tall, so confident. The first time I heard your voice in person I almost crumbled. Please come back, just come back, come back, and come back. I’ll say I’m sorry and you can say it back and we’ll forget the whole thing and start again. Promise me you won’t forget this? You won’t forget when I was me, and you was you, and this was us. I love you and it’s killing me. I love you and it’s torcher. I love you and it’s hurting. I love you and I don’t know what to do with myself.

The raging impulse that love gives us. The thump and creeks of the hallway floor as I ran after you. The drum of my heart had never been so loud.

I stood in front of you, pleading for your love. “You’re hurting me, but still I want your love”. There is no “I love you” better than the way you say it.

If having you meant to be hurt then so be it. Destroy me, burn me to ground and forget about my ashes, love me but love twenty other people at the same time…at least you’re still loving me, right?

I love you, but you don’t love me and I don’t know how to cope. So I’ll bleed a thousand words until love doesn’t feel like choking anymore.

On June 24th at 16:53, you messaged me for the very time saying “heyo” and we made some jokes. A couple days later we somehow ended up sharing the music room together at school.

You played the guitar and I glazed my fingers over the keyboard, too nervous to play, too scared to fail you. Music moves so smooth when you play it.

We spoke all the time after that, until we didn’t anymore and you went away.

I remember the way you sang that night at your house, how you told me I was beautiful after you saw me in a way no human ever had before. How it felt believable coming out of your mouth.

It was a different kind of love this time around, you made me feel… different. I don’t know where you are now, or who you’re in love with but I hope you’re happy. And I hope that in some way, you think of me the way I think of you.

lemon boy...

She was covered in flowers, blooms of every scent and hue. Yet, she was so alone— the kind of loneliness that could kill. Imagine tombstones, not of the forgotten, but of the murdered, adorned with flowers of all sorts. People had spoiled her with flowers.

What's heartbreaking is, that some don't even understand the love they demand and desire to be given and this has tremendously led to more oceans of sorrow and unbearable pain.

The problem was perhaps that I existed, and you existed. We could not overlook each other, yet all we ever offered one another was pain and bitter memories.

Is it human to destroy hearts in the seek for love ? Why isn’t it immoral not to love as you are loved ?

Love can be mastered. Days as they surpass each other love can grow where it never was. Though, the art of loving yourself is surely a hard seed to plant, grow or finally harvest.

All the romance. All the dreams. All the love. we thought to give but never did, at some point fades away and we are left to settle with anything that works. In the end its only what we never wanted to become, to have, to reflect that we cheer with.

Am an empty lot anything can fill yet, am so full of nothingness for something to fit in. Am in a state of despondency that nobody can revive my forlornness, am greatly agitated with myself, thus get scared for you my love when you say that you love me.

art by @kmcvisuals

A dangerous you and a confused me met, what would the results be ? A match made from hell.

Now move, mate !, what has happened has happened to a twillion of them then and it will happen to a zillion of them in time to come.

fate again.

The heart goes cold.

The heart grows old.

The repetition of moments be it trembling or joyous.

The heart loses it all in the end.

art by @kmcvisuals

Permanent Holes.

Mirrors lie, outlining shapes that mean nothing.

Mirrors horrify, penetrating into brains and forming unrealistic images.

Mirrors, they influence us into beings that burden us to be and after the energies put into the transformation

a deeper hole is drilled in us instead realizing that it needs not a mirror to clearly see our portraits leaving us as nothings and as people of no belonging.

@lifepath25

Things don’t work like that. Things aren’t seen in eyes not yours. Things are not forced. Things are things and we know not who’s right or wrong until mistakes are made.

The heart goes cold. The heart grows old. The repetition of moments be it trembling or joyous. The heart loses it all in the end.

There isn't much of me that can love. But it is all that is left, and I promise to love you with my remnants.

- reign

Pardon me

My heart aches tonight

With recklessness

Your, mine, combined

- reign