You told me of love and what it does to your heart
and how your heart wants to see me and love me alone.
But it is too hard. A harder task than you imagined it to be.
You loved me for my silence, for my grace of letting you go,
and for the tears in my eyes
always, only for you.
You stand outside my heart, filling my insides with
your shadows, with your hopes.
Becoming my only light.
Asking me to step out of myself,
asking me if I am up
for another search of your heart-
that you have left behind
in someone else’s heart tonight.
You kiss my hand and tell me
you like this better-
me being your hope, your home
rather than being your wretched love-
the love that that leads you to your worst face.
I close my eyes
I try to forget
what I wanted you to be,
what I hoped you would be for me.
I try to forget the wretched love you have become.
I could no longer taste
the nameless fruit
that I held in my hand,
that I hid in my mouth a moment ago.
I fled from one home to another.
I sewed my heart to another
even when it pained.
I tried to find myself back,
pry out my heart from the cage of love
even when I was happy.
I wanted to miss someone.
I wanted to call out a name,
so that my life may not feel empty.
Since I had many names on my lips,
I came to know that the emptiness of my life
came not from the lack of people I loved
but by the lack of people who treasured me back.
So I let the fruit fall to ground.
I let my hunger gnaw at the my own skin.
I forced myself to think of myself,
by hurting myself,
by asking myself to forget.
It has been ages
since I wanted to sleep.
I feel tired and exhausted.
I feel an urge to dip myself
in cold cold water.
So I could get rid of this heaviness
in my soul.
I feel like running and crying
and speaking all the stuff
that make no sense.
I do not remember the last time
when I wanted to sleep.
I sleep because I have to.
I am not short of sleep
I am short of hours and minutes
to live my life.
I want to stay awake
and see the clock ticking by.
How pages of book sound different
when turned at the silence of night.
I mean to read poems all night
But I never seem to read enough.
Just a little.
to remember how vast this void is
that I’m trying to fill.
How impossible this task.
How less the time.