Make Me

Make Me

parole di asillauna

As I gazed at the photo of us engulfed in flames, how they burned to ashes, painful memories from the past flashed through my mind.

I vow myself not to cry. I pledge myself to move on.

But how do you do it? How am I going to do it? If every part of you lingers in my memory?

Is it still him?

Is it still hurt?

My feelings were in stealth. We used to be the epitome of serendipity - of passion and perfection.

I want to tee off this urge - the desire of missing, as well as everything else.

If it keeps going like this?

Hell, I'll have to face my Waterloo.

Crashed. Broken.

Can we be even?

I am here crying and hurting;

And there, you were laughing.

How can you do that?

How can you be like that? How cold-blooded can you be?

Is it not enough to destroy me?

To mock me?

Is it not enough to hurt me?

I was never good enough. You are seeking the best and the top.

I used to be in love once.

I was hurt twice.

I was in deep turmoil three times.

As time goes on, it will be the fourth and fifth.

My entire flesh trembles whenever I see you.

It is too much for me; I am having trouble breathing. I may die - or not. But, I do not even want to go through this. It is devastating.

Your presence is ineffable. So as my feelings.

I am the sunshine. You were the shadows.

I am the one who dreams. You were the one who wreaks havoc.

I act as a steward. You have ascended to the throne.

You were my entire world.

Despite this, I was your nothing.

We were unlike yet wondrous.

We collide, but it all works out.

Our match is yet to burn.

The entire world was grinning at us.

Fate was joking us.

Strings were mocking us.

You, on the other hand, are breaking us.

I recall how I defined both of us, as well as how I characterize you.

Mizpah was our name. We were bound.

Hey, we had that emotional tie; or was it just me speaking?

It took me two years, five months, two weeks, seven days, 9 hours, 25 minutes, and 17 seconds to have your love - to have us.

And, yet?

It only took you eight months to shatter my heart, not even a week, two days, 8 hours, 12 minutes, and 23 seconds.

You make me feel special, but you also make me feel like a dreg.

I now see us as harboring heinous feelings and a sick love.

It is a lost cause. It is a war that we were losing right then.

I did not fire the trigger, yet you already had hoisted your white flag.

Without a fight, you are giving up.

A decisive love struggle is hopeless if I am only the person who fights.