I Call Myself A Writer But All I've Ever Written Were Elegies For The Love I Used To Feel For You But

I call myself a writer but all I've ever written were elegies for the love I used to feel for you but died tragically. It died tragically after you left me with open wounds that won't mend; bruised me with words way too abusive, they make me shake uncontrollably even now. And your memory, the face that resembles the moon, it haunts me. It haunts me that I run away from the crowd like I'm losing my mind. The cacophony gets louder and your voice, I hear it over the hubbub swallowing me. You call me like you still own all of me. Oh I confess, you still do my darling, you still do. Though I claim that my love has died a long time ago, it throbs with the heart you occupied.You scarred my skin with your name so I will remember you for eternity. And I will surely remember you. For you gave me so much to remember.

I know you're gone. But my pen just can't stop writing about you. So I write another piece...another cold work of art. For the twenty seventh time, here's to the love I want to shower you with but has to die because you left before I can even offer my heart to you. Now here I am, staring at a blank space that used to be our home.

Oh darling, why does love have to be so cold?

-For all the things that refuse to die,

Katie, 20:00

If I can transform

Into a liquid

I want to be the tears

That fall from your eyes

And wash away

Traces of loneliness

From your heart

So you can smile again

After I'm gone

I am willing to disappear

From your world

If that's what it takes

For you to be happy

Forever

(I just want to love you right.)

-Transform into a tear,

Katie, 24:30

There are times when I refuse to go home. Home, I don't know if I still have one. Wood and concrete, dead souls and winter nights, these are warmer now... way warmer than the place I used to call home. So tonight, I'll linger in the streets, in the empty and quiet spaces of the city. I'll trick myself to believe I have someone waiting for me. I'll sip my cold coffee, tell the wind to stop humming songs. For they only make me long, long for a place I no longer belong...

-empty and quiet spaces,

Katie, 21:30

Fourth of July, 2019 ❤

I am not writing enough. I call myself a writer but don't stain my notes with words as much as I ought to. And tonight, I sit on my bed and stare blankly at the empty piece of paper lying cold on my coffee table. I write the word "He" and stop; unsure if I am now ready to pour out my thoughts. I let out a sigh. If I let my guards down, there are lots of things I can associate with the word "He".

//

"He"

Is what wakes me up every morning, an alarm clock screaming. The light that bathe me with euphoric thoughts that come rushing in a long queue the moment I stir from slumber.

//

"He"

Is the aroma of coffee that fills my head, reminding me of the last time we're in my favorite coffee shop, listening to songs, trying hard to ignore the rhythm of our hearts and the spark we created when our hands accidentally touched.

//

"He"

Is the good morning texts I get, those innocent messages I refuse to read because I am scared to uncover something beneath; say a gift I am not prepared to unwrap but dying to have.

//

"He"

Is the movies I watch, the songs I hum and listen to, the gentle chuckles that resound in my head, stirring emotions in me that are long dead.

//

"He"

Is what paints a smile on my lips, the reason why I beam in the midst of a curious crowd. It's insane sometimes, but I feel like floating on cloud nine.

//

"He"

Is the thread that ties me to sanity. The only thing that makes sense when all I can see is chaos and the cacophony is just too loud for me to contain.

//

"He"

Is the journey and the destination. The good night texts that pop on the screen of my cellphone the moment I get home.

//

"He"

Is the home and the love I run away from, thinking I may only be dreaming because reality could not possibly be this mirthful .

//

"He"

(In spite of myself) is the arms I wish would welcome me when I am done running at the end of the day.

//

-He,

Katie, 01:30

What am I supposed to say? Stay? How would I make it sound like I am not begging? My love, I don't know how. I'm not good at this. So if you please, just sit with me. But if you want to leave, just go. Right now. Run far away. Don't look back so you won't see me breaking gently and change your mind. The worst that you can do is come back not because you love me but because you're sorry. In the name of the love that I bravely professed and all the poems that I ran in my head, leave me with my pride and sanity intact.

-If you have to leave...

Katie, 16:00

I'm glad that there's a home I can always run to when I am tired of all the world's foolishness. It's you love- my quiet space in the midst of chaos, my hiding place in this world of sorrow.

Katie, 13:00