A friend breaking your heart always hurts more than a lover doing so.
I wore black today. I thought wearing black would be appropriate as I was mourning the death of our friendship. Black dress, black ribbon, black shoes, even black underwear. I removed my sparkly earrings and wore a black necklace instead, with the word ‘Karma’ hanging from its center. It burned like a hot blade against my skin. I refilled the vodka flask that I spent the night before emptying, with black
coffee instead. I had to stay awake for the funeral. I had to “mourn my loss.” But that’s when it hit me. That’s when I realised that it wasn’t a loss. You see, death usually implies something that was taken from you unwillingly. Someone taking something from you without there being much of a choice.
You had a choice. You had a fucking choice. But you decided to kill our friendship anyway, because it meant nothing to you. It was a murder. Cold blooded, blue murder.
I should have worn red instead. I should have worn my set of white pearls and donned my darkest shade of red lipstick. I should have laughed and clawed at your corpse. I should have thanked you for showing me that we were never friends to begin with.Trust and loyalty meant nothing to you. You were right when you said “I’m not like the others”. You are far worse. The others never had the heart to do what you did. The others cared. The others were human. You were different. You were the worst. I only wish I had known sooner.
I hope one day, karma finds home in your arms. I hope one day, karma scratches its name in to your skin. And I hope you remember forever how it feels, to trust someone, only to find out that they threw everything away with just a snap of their fingers, without a care in the world. As if you meant nothing.
Dear you, this is the end. I would ask you to Rest in Peace, but I’d be lying.
I know it’s tempting and I know its exciting. I know it gives you goosebumps and I know it also makes you feel alive. But you can’t keep playing with fire and expect not to get burnt, every single time. You can’t keep cutting yourself and expect not to see blood, every single time and you can’t rip your heart out of it’s prison cell and toss it to the wind, hoping someone would bring it back. You’re not invincible. You’re not fire proof. You can’t keep doing this over and over again. At some point, you’re going to have to choose yourself.
Like a pendulum
I watched my sanity swing back and forth
Hitting the four corners of these hypnotic white walls.
With each thud and each bang,
I heard it echo through the crevices and dark alleys of my mind
Passing whispers and taunts
Egging me to take one step closer to the dark.
I felt the last strings that held bits of me together,
break off and snap, as easily as I pictured my own neck would
on the nights when I saw my 10-year-old self
holding a doll in the corner, humming a tune I was no longer familiar with.
I wish I could hold on and stay for a little while longer
I wish cradling the past didn’t become a habit
I wish you were there for me.
Despite what they tell you, despite what you’ve heard over and over; two broken halves don’t make a whole. Two broken halves never quite fit back the same way, even with the world’s best glue and tape. There will always be missing pieces, missing fragments that got swept under the sofa or lost between the floor boards. And my darling, we had lost so many pieces, growing up. We had lost so many fragments and pieces of ourselves in corners and clenched fists around world, that our two halves, never quite made a whole.
There’s this thing about loneliness. Once you get used to it, once you get good at it, it’s hard to go back from that. And for that, I am sorry. I could never be your whole, despite you desperately wishing that I was. Despite you desperately wishing that I could be.
You see, despite the lost pieces, I had made a whole by myself – gathering up pieces I thought I needed along the way. Gathering up pieces I didn’t think I needed, desperately trying to fix my own puzzle. When you came along, I thought maybe you were a missing piece, but you were your own puzzle. My darling, you were your own puzzle, desperately trying to find your missing pieces. And it killed you, that I wasn’t one of them.
Your name rolled off my tongue
smoother than a bottle of 35 merlot
You were all smiles and charm,
Smart words and longing looks.
Your arms; all built and mesmerizing
Vowed to hold me up like a tower
That was never meant to stand on its own
Like a tower that could easily collapse.
Your glazed glistening eyes
Would torment my moving lips
That desperately tried to form words in to clever sentences,
But ended up being strings of broken cobwebs in the wind
And stronger than the force of that wind,
I was blown over when our hands touched for the briefest moment.
I was the teenager with a rebellious streak
And you were trouble with a capital T
Holding a board with my name. In bold. Underlined twice.
I notice little things
a little too much,
I notice the smallest things about a person
a little too often
Like the birthmark at the corner of her neck
isolated and perfect,
my empty hand already writing stories about it.
I notice the jagged lines and dents on his forearm
creating valleys that I wanted to get lost in,
as he stirred his black coffee.
I memorized their rhythm
and just like a snake;
I was fixed in a trance watching his movements.
I notice things like
your off shaped tooth
or the funny scratch on your eye brow
I notice when your eyes twinkle
and when they go dim
I try not to on some days though.
But most days, I enjoy noticing things
I’m far more skeptical than I thought.
I’m sitting here in an empty room
Thinking of reasons why you and I will not work;
Thinking of reasons why I shouldn’t feel this way about you;
Thinking of any reason to stop this.
If it had been any other person
Who didn’t show half the interest you did,
I would have convinced myself to the moon and back
That he was the ideal person for me.
Even if he promised to rip my beating heart out and toss it away for the birds,
Even if he vowed to grip it so tightly until the last thud
Even if he did everything in his power to break my bones
I would have convinced myself that he loved me.
But with you,
My darling, with you,
I seem to be looking for reasons that don’t exist.
I seem to be looking for reasons to tell you no
To push you away
To not be yours.
I am not convinced.
I am ruined.
I am damned.