The thing about grief is, they dont tell you its a neverending process. That 8, 13, 21 years from now on youd still think about them. You'd take an evening walk and see someone wearing the exact cap they love. You'd go grocery shopping and passed the aisle for their favourite snack. You'd achieve something big in your life and immediately want to tell them.

You'd never stop wishing they are here, with you, in this moment.

I kind of crave the feeling of being busy. I need it. I like knowing what to do because it left no room for any kind of overthinking in my brain. The clacking of the laptop’s keyboard comforts me, it grounds me. I try to keep myself busy as much as possible because I don’t want to think of you. I’m sorry you have to fell in love with a girl like me. I am hard to love. I am hard to please. I know. I think it is likely I will kill myself before I even reach 30, so on the other hand I’m kind of glad we didn’t end up together. You love me too much, too hard. This is why I could never match up with you. You are selfless to a fault and I took advantage of that. I hope someday you would find another girl who would love you like how you deserved to be loved. Honestly, I don’t even know what I’m writing but I need to get it out of my system.

Some memories just stay with you, no matter what. They haunt you in a way that no ghost ever could. Because while ghosts are intangible, memories take solid form in every little thing around you; the way certain song makes you choke back tears, the dent in the walls where his fist missed your cheekbones, or the lonely letters gathering dust inside the box under your bed.

               Yesterday I thought I saw you inside Lawson and my breath caught inside my throat. That damned beanie you wear everywhere, the swishing of blonde hair, a pair of dirty converses, it froze my steps. It’s like I’m 15 all over again, my head on your thigh and cigarettes’ ash clattering around us, the sound of your laughter echoing in the room where we fuck and love and hurt. I hate that you still have the same effect on me. How my focus zoomed in on you and everyone and everything fades but you. God, you were my everything and I was your fling. But it wasn’t you perusing on the snack isle. It wasn’t you. Something inside me broke and reformed and when people asked why I seemed duller I smiled and drown out images of you playing guitar on my patio.

I hate him for making you cry. For trapping you in this awful toxic relationship that doesn’t seem to have an end. Fuck it. That one time you fought with him while I was thrown out to the living room was nerve-wracking. I felt like I just drank a litre of triple shots espresso. The frantic jitter of my fingers shook the table that I gripped. I wanted to kill him. If you so much as scream or yell my name, I would come bursting through the door with a knife and gut him. Funny that I deal with my anxiety by making origami. Such a delicacy done with morbid thoughts swarming inside my head. It’s painful to see you hurting and not being able to do anything about it. Powerless. Helpless

You say he is your VIP card to freedom and happiness. You say he is you dream catcher. Visiting places you never got to see, a good night sleep without nightmares lurking. It’s impossible to compete with him. All I can do is to draw you a Baku and hope it will eat all your nightmares. Try to be a good company in the small confines of your room. Try to make you laugh as much as I can. I hope when you say you like spending time with me, you meant it. Let me be your comfort after a long day, and I promise I won’t ask for more.

This thing between us is getting dangerous. I don’t do feelings and all you’re doing are feelings. I’d hate to hurt you. The lines are getting blurry and sometimes I catch myself daydreaming about a solid future, marriage and babies and picnics. It’s unnerving and disarming. You should stop calling me baby, or honey or sweetie or any other variation of it. It makes me sick. I don’t even know what I feel for you. It’s something, but it doesn’t mean its guaranteed love. I need to cut things off, but I need you. You are the only anchor of reality that I have. And losing you sounds like losing my balance. Like someone pulled the rug under my feet that left me grappling for something, anything.

There is something undeniably lonely in the future of human assisted by AIs. One day, when we have somehow got over the uncanny valley, when AIs and humans have no distinguishable differences, will we be content then? The broken hearts one, would we find comfort in the fabricated affection those zeros and ones provide for us? I can’t imagine something ever catching up to you, your brain and personality, laugh and skin. But if there were, would I be content with having them in my arms and not you?

I often replay this moment in my head. It was the morning of our first sleepover at your house. We were sitting comfortably in the dining chairs, hairs unruly and I could make out the random marks on your left cheeks from the crease of sleep. You looked so soft. Happy. I was trying to convince you to make us some toast. You smiled playfully and I wanted to reach out. To touch. Not to tease, not for lust, just to feel your skin. It’s comforting to be able to touch you. Real. Here. And I think no AIs can ever replace that.

No wonder you are so out of my league, and no wonder I fell in love with you. You have a wonderful way with words. You have a wonderful mind and personality. All over again, I’m in love. Your mind always amazes me, and I’m proud to get to know you, at least for a while. I don’t know what happened to us. It could be my awkwardness. It could be our schedule. I just wish things could end up differently. I wish I am still your friend. I miss you. I miss you so much. I want to be the person you could talk to. I want to hear your stories, your jokes, your sadness, ambitions, fears. I want to be your support system. I want to tag you on memes and dog appreciation posts. I want to hear book and fanfiction recommendation from you.  I want to hear your laughs, get your hugs, take a bite from your plate. I miss you. I am in love with you, but we were friends first, and how come we lost that. I miss you.

I love you. It is selfish of me to want to be your friend again just for the sake of being close to you. Because you are fine now without me. Your boyfriend is your long-term crush since ages ago. I heard he is kind and smart. You have great friends. You are doing great with your psychology major in one of the most prestigious university in our nation. You are doing amazing. It is selfish of me because I just want to be part of your happiness. Your little circle of affection. I want to have more time with you. I don’t think I can ever move on from you. Really. And I don’t mind. Being in love with a wonderful person is a great thing. I miss you. My heart feels heavy right now. I am sorry for all those times spent that I didn’t appreciate. I wish I took more memory about you. I wish I can remember more vividly our moments together. Because now they are fading away, leaving me with a yellowish tone of longing. Splotches of colours that don’t do justice to the real person.

I fell in love with your mind. It was morning of our first sleepover. You were sitting in your bed with blankets bunched up around your waist, cutely rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Something about that moment struck me. I think ive been in love with you for a very long time. Probably since i saw you in my classroom. Lolita by vladimir nabokov on your hand. Or maybe when you were laughing monstrously over a joke on our physics teacher. Body shaking and crumbling beside me.

Im in love with you. You are everything i want to be with, everything i want to be, everything i want, everything.

You and him look cute together and i cant even bring myself to be bitter about it

Hey boo. Today is your birthday but i cant even muster the courage to go to your house for a surprise. Im not sure if im still qualified as your best friend. If after everything i still have the right to do so. Your hair has gotten longer. I like it. I think it suits you. I am glad to see on your instagram that you are having a good birthday. I just hope i was part of the crowd.

God i miss you. I miss you.

The monster i fight everyday is myself. Take the razor. Dont take the razor. Slit your throat. Dont slit your throat. 

I like the bruises on my knuckles. Blooming in splotches of blue purple green and red. A sickening combination of clogged blood. I could see my scars stand out amongst the bruises, those shining welts look almost silvery in the dingy lighting of my bathroom. I have a penchant for violence. 

You've gone for so long. A week and my heart still wont fill up the cavity. I miss you and i worry about you. Last night i dreamt of the police knocking on my door. I miss sharing chicken skewer with you. Today i walked down the road to that sketchy diner where you poured your heart out. I wasnt planning to come in, but the owner saw me and smiled. He asked about you. I smiled and said you couldnt come because some force major. My smile didnt reach my eyes.

Sitting there without you felt lonely. The place just seemed more depressing without your laugh. Those chipped walls made me wanna cry.

Please come back. I cant promise to shield you from everything bad out there. But i could promise to be beside you, if not in front of you. So please come back. Your space beside me is getting cold.

At times like this im grateful to be alive. I fought my demons. Sure, its not that heroic like in movies where the protagonist stood up and fought the villain. Not like a deaf girl who fought a psychopath. Or a wife slicing her own hand to get herself out of a cuff. But its something right? I fought. I live. Im alive. So i will smile at strangers for no reason. I will pet every dog i see, and wave at every kids on the street. Life is too short, half of it i spent fighting myself. So when death comes carrying a hourglass, at least i can save myself from regret. I give the other half for happiness. 

To the boy with cherry blossoms as feelings

Hey, this is for you okay? Thanks for always being there. You are worth it. And to know someone as wonderful as you like me, this shitty human being, its amazing. It keeps me alive. You worth more than ill ever be. And you are literally the person i think about when those suicidal thought came up and seized me. So thank you. You kept me alive by mere existence. Thank you. You'll never understand this, but i owe you my life. 

It hurts when someone you love cries, sure. But its another kind of hurt entirely when you accidentally caught them crying in the middle of the night and seeing them smile. Like even when everything falls down they still try to reassure you that everythings gonna be fine or even worse, that everything is fine

The thing about family is that, no matter what, you will always love them. It doesnt matter what kind of vile, disgusting human being they are. You will love them. You will hate them with every fiber of your being but that longing will never subside. Never. That feeling of wanting to reach out but dont know how to. Of laughter between bites of food. Its awkward at best. And painfully unbearable at worst. But you love them. And thats where things become complicated. You love them as family. As children. Lover. Parents. But you hate them as a human. You know they are not good. You know what they do out there. You know they are hurting other people. But as much as youd like to hate them it just wont work. Thats just how it is with family. It is a curse, as it is a safe heaven. A net to make sure even if you fall to the deepest pit of hell there will be someone at the bottom that will hold your hand. Cry for you. Whimper for you. Hurt for you. Its love. Its there. I wish it werent but god. I want to be strong as much as i like being weak.

I want to hurt myself again. I want to cut my skin, tear it open. Im angry. Pain helps distract me. It relieves all the tension in my body. And its oddly satisfying, to see the red oozes out. Drops after drops. Maybe if i slice deeper enough it will drain me. So id stop feeling angry. Stop feeling anything at all.

I want to die. I want to run away from home. That place suffocates me. That place makes me feel unhappy. I want to run myself over a truck. Or sliced my wrist. Or overdose my self with whatever pills i can get. I lost track of how many times ive killed myself in my imagination. I want it so bad. Please. Please. 

They say that when someone dies, they take a bit of you with them, and leave a bit of them with you.

You didn't take any when you left me. Not even a piece. Only the wrinkled sheet of your side of the bed as the single evident of you ever being here.

They say it's suppose to feel empty, a gaping hole in your chest and the lonely toothbrush on the shelf that remind you constantly. They say things about loneliness that turns into acid and the deafening silence taking it's place.

They say a lot of things that sounds suspiciously similar to bullshits.

You left as if you were never real