10.25 pm

It was a rather unpoetic morning. The rain was melting on my shoulder like a thousand rusted nails falling from my stained rooftop. It reminds me of how my childhood best friend used to paint the tip of her fingers white and call it art, cheap vanilla milk, and the taste of your lips after a long hell of a trip. The way the sun shone directly through the blinds that day forced me to bring up memories of how your laugh sounds in between pillows. I missed you, that’s for sure. It felt like there was a herd of moth trying to fly out of my stomach. Followed by an intense kick of a world champion boxer straight to my gut. I didn’t know how to react. So, I let my body become an empty vessel, a target for those pain inducing crash.

Whatever it is that we’re going through right now is probably a sign of loneliness. A slow verse of a repetitive siren song. Frantically sung in the middle of a tropical jungle, at night, while your tiger eyes are hunting their prey. Maybe it’s just pure tranquility while we’re busy diving through the caves of famous oceans. Slowly separating our ways by swimming against the untamable stream. I remember buzzing around your sleep that night. Counting man-made marks on the side of your body while listening to my ancestors’ spell inside my head. Humming impossibilities and forgiveness. I tried to shut my eyes, but your warmth was too precious to not be felt consciously.

I like to draw pictures inside my head. Painting figures of you sipping your drink in the corner of the room, chain smoking cigarettes while reading your made-up philosophies before I go to sleep, and even tucking my head under your chest before storm comes our way. I understand that wishing for you to paint the same picture is nothing but a hopeless dream, but the very thought of that twenty percent possibility is enough to keep me awake at night. There’s no amount of sleeping pills and alcohol that can solve the maze inside my brain. I’ve tried to wipe you out, bring you down, bury you, lock you away from my claustrophobic space. But you seem to always find your way back in without even knowing it; just like those kisses that fell on my shoulder like rain.

They told me it’s natural for me to let go because you’re the ocean and I was born to roam the forest and not to dive the sea.

But they forgot to remind me that some specimens are amphibians, and my gills are starting to dry under the sun.


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