Strong alone, Powerful together.

I want my wedding gown to be made of the sky and a million of stars.

I want my smile to be the brightest sunlight to my outfit.

I want my light to be reflected on his eyes and form two moons instead of one.

I want to embrace him and tell him, “that even in our darkest of days i will be there to make sure we make it through together”.

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.

Consciousness slipping.

It’s like dipping my eyes in the ocean

as I look up to the sky;

white crystal lines

swimming on the surface of the water,

but these are more circular

colliding with one another.

If I focus enough,

I can hear them whispering,

lost between their words and mine,

completing the gap with the sound of passing cars.

Staring at them as they get closer,

luring me in some kind of trance,

as if I am in need of anything that takes away

what is left of my consciousness.

How many do I need to smoke to burn…?

Chain-smoking.

A new hobby, a habit.

How many do I need to smoke to burn my lungs?

How black are my lungs now?

Are they black as my soul?

Stained by all of the sins I’ve done and will do?

How will I describe them if I ever dissect myself?

Black as charcoal?

Black as midnight with a few popping stars that faintly shine, indicating some kind of existing hope?

How many do I need to smoke to destroy my lungs, so it can shut-down my heart?

Why do I need to indirectly damage my heart?

Why don’t I just get a knife and stab it already and get it over with?

Why all of this dramatic slow suicide?

Ah, yes.

Forgive me, I seem to have forgotten.

I don’t want them to directly look and know that the problem lies in my heart.

I don’t want them to find the name carved within that bloody muscle.

I don’t want them to blame you.

I don’t want them to find out about all this love that I am saving for you.

I don’t want them to find the painful sufferings and point their fingers at you.

I don’t want you to know that these are my true emotions towards you.

I don’t want my strong self to be crushed by this weakly that I am now.

I want the love I have in this beating muscle of mine to be hidden from prying eyes, including you.

I want to burn it along with my soul and leave no trace of it in this cruel world.

So tell me,

How many do I need to smoke to burn my existence from history?