Shadows of your sins do not appear in the dark.

For a while, I lived in the dark.

He came, and I only knew how to threw punches to the air.

He came and wrapped me with his love,

His smile was enough to light up my way.

He extended his own light to open up a path for me.

Just as it started to become so bright,

I look behind me to convey my gratitude,

To see him sit there, drained, bruised, with half a smile.

His smile was enough to light up my way, but I realise

Why he couldn’t use that anymore; why he had to use another source of light.

In the dark, I couldn’t see where I was punching.

In the dark, I thought it was only air.

And he was the air that I was breathing- Oh.

Always give them the benefit of the doubt…

I look into our past conversations,

And I feel like suffocating.

I wish I knew before, that the worst enemy

You can ever encounter

Is yourself. Your mind. Your eyes.

You play tricks on yourself.

And others get blamed for your blindness or your own manipulation to yourself.

And everyone suffers.

You tell yourself a story to justify your rage,

Your hurt, your feelings of betrayal,

When barely anything of that story is true.

The facts have been twisted for your own liking.

I look into our past conversations,

And I find my side of the story of how things went between us invalid and unclear.

Dodged a storm surge, and only faced a cold wave.

Ah, the curse of a breakup’s anniversary.

The time a human will reminisce

And revisit memories that were locked up in pandora’s box, commonly known as the subconscious.

Just when snapchat’s memories feature was about to lose its sting.

A moment that can be described as a hit from the ocean’s wave,

Filled with emotions that belonged to the past.

And the state of being currently wet from the salty water,

That refreshing feeling reminds you how the good times were… fulfilling, overwriting all the bad shit that went down,

But that saltiness fuels that regret of causing so much damage to him as you tried to heal yourself within your mind’s chaos.

Then the sun kindly dries you up, and its warmth hugs you all over,

Sending rays of reassurance and hope, that it’s okay to be alright, and that he’s better now.

I believe I am cursed with a rewind button.

Why am I confused all over again? It is as if I am destined to repeat history with every person I meet. My intention is not to play tug of war with your emotions. So, I think, I’d rather be quiet and keep my feelings to myself. If our story has not ended, and if I was committed to go past the obstacles I have in mind, then that time will come but far away in the future. For now, I am thankful you’ve allowed me to stay by your side.

There, that twitch of a smile

There
That twitch of a smile.
When you remember those times
Of pure stupidity and foolishness of the past.
The kind of past that when mixed with the present
It urges you to hope
Rather than haunt you to misery
A history that you still have diaries about
That you couldn’t even burn their existence
Reminding you of some of the idiotic and childish mistakes,
That you’ll be protecting your kids from
The kind of mistakes that you spent hours laughing about yourself
After just reading the first page.
There it is again..
That twitch of a smile.
That reminded you of the sound of his laugh,
How it paired up perfectly with the opening of his mouth,
Showing his imperfect teeth,
That you just loved regardless.
That reminded you of his droopy eyes and full cheeks,
As they meet each other with that grin of his.
That reminded you of his smart ass attitude
That bad boy persona and dirty talk.
Yeah, always had a thing for trouble..
And there it goes again.
That twitch of a smile.

Awake or Asleep..

I lay back, close my eyes, and float in the rhythm of my dreams..
And when once my dreams were an escape from reality..
Reality has come to haunt me to my bed,
As it has graved itself at the core of my subconscious.
Now I cannot tell between being awake or asleep..
The pain feels the same in both worlds..
The guilt tastes sour, choking me.
There is no relief, but heightened stress..
Drowning by my own misery, my own history.
Is there a writer out there..
Who could rewrite my yesterdays
And glamour them with sugar-coated lies?
Maybe I could be manipulated that all these dreams and reality
Are the stories of a character in a book..
A sad old dusty book.
That has nothing to do with me.
That I’m just a reader of my story.