The walkway I typically take reminds me of the time
when you just walk next to me.
How I do not see the crowd ahead of me
as I just tune out everything but the sound of you.
How your eyes light up, like the lamps of the road
I normally take to get home.
When I catch glimpses of the moon
that I keep saying you were similar to it.
The sight of two persons with hands clasp together
was like the ones we did.
And now my palm feels emptier;
the ghost of your finger stays to haunt me.
Any song and lyrics I come across
your face fills up my head. And it pains me to endure it.
To try not to think of you. To try not to yearn for you.
Because my feelings were too raw for you who had too much.
I cannot not be reminded. I cannot not think of it.
That the same old places I ventured alone,
overwritten by the memories of you.
How eventually my heart seeks you
but your heart doesn’t seem to seek mine.
Not with how you place this distance between us.
Not with how you keep me at arms’ length.
Not with how your messages are short and cold.
Allow me to ask, over and over again:
Am I special? Do I make you feel?
Because with the way things are,
and if in the future they’d be,
I’ll always ask myself:
Is this what Love supposed to be like?
In the end,
the attempt to detach is as heavy.
Because for the rest of time, until then,
I’ll write about you.
My thoughts of you. My yearnings of you.
My raw feelings for the one who is – as I finished composing this – breaking my heart.