here lies the love you no longer wanted

hello, how are you, my weekly dark feelings

i trust that you are well.

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recognize this?

it sounds like myself breaking apart and awkwardly putting together every afternoon

it sounds like tentative laughter at 3 am, hands covering eyes and secret knowing smiles

it sounds like breathless nights, shaky legs against blanket, a festive tune alone in the dark

it sounds like blunt fingernails dragging on skin, and ribs cracking and tiny unformed sobs bubbling in a throat

it is yours. take it back.

“em có đợi tin nhắn tôi không?”

có nực cười không khi mà trà của tớ bỗng dưng nếm vị nhạt nhoà, và tớ đổ lỗi cho cậu?

tớ muốn tin là tớ sẽ ổn thôi, và tất cả những gì đã và đang diễn ra sẽ phai màu vào quá khứ như một tab chrome bị lãng quên,

nhưng mà cả hai ta đều biết chuyện này không thể xảy ra.

thôi được rồi, là hai ta khi trước. và bản thân tớ thời điểm này.

tớ buồn lắm khi nhận ra có thể tớ chẳng còn là gì với cậu, và đại từ vốn thuộc về tớ trong từ điển cậu mất cả đi tiếng “cũ” bên cạnh danh từ cũ kĩ “người yêu”. cậu là điểm đổi thay của tớ, và tớ chỉ là một gương mặt mờ nhòa trong vô vàn con người trong đời cậu.

chủ đề này nhàm chán quá rồi đúng không. suy cho cùng thì toàn bộ vấn đề đều nằm ở đây. tớ không thể tin tưởng vào ai ngoài bản thân, tớ sợ phải gắn bó với một thực thể khác, mọi thứ sai trái đã và đang diễn ra đều là lỗi lầm do tay tớ làm nên.

tớ chẳng biết liệu lời xin lỗi của mình còn chút giá trị nào không.

tớ không hay khóc vì cậu nữa.

tớ vẫn đứng đó, chỗ cậu đặt tớ lại. chênh vênh giữa mặt hồ tù đọng.

tớ nhớ cậu và nhớ chúng ta, và đã có lúc tớ cất tiếng với mình, “i can drop my whole life to come to you”,

nhưng đó là điều cậu căm ghét nhất, đúng không?

cậu à,

“đừng đi”, “quay về”, “tớ yêu cậu”,

giờ sẽ là “đừng ngoảnh lại.”

tớ nghĩ tớ không thể đuổi kịp cậu nữa rồi.

there are days when living isnt work

and then theres today. and last weekend. and maybe some days this month that surely have to follow a pattern im not seeing here, such as pms behaviors or the weather being so sour,

and its not actually a chemical imbalance in my brain that makes everything a mixture of black and blue.

hello, we have met before.

im sorry for the fact that you and this self conscious narrative perspective have been beaten to death. i dont mean to keep calling, so if you do sneeze, rest assured its not another cold coming up.

you take care of yourself. perhaps thats good. no, its definitely good.

it is startling to think that i can just step outside and experience the world too.

we both know all ive been doing is toeing the line, and rolling around in my own hamster ball of comfort. indeed there have been volunteering and making new friends, but lets keep it real, i never make the first move.

(that time was an exception. best one ive ever made.)

yeah, no, i did not apply for that columnist job. it was about travel, and food, and all the wonderful things i wish to like. but the impersonal view that comes with it is too distasteful for me to swallow.

i want our thing to be sweet and mellow, cozy like a reading nook on a stormy night. i want everyone who is present to feel the same thing im feeling, however hard it is and however inept i am at putting it into words.

(does that mean they too will will their head to rest at night, trying to get our last songs to quiet down?)

today ive realized, again, that you are not who you were. i am not who i was. we constantly stay in motion and love includes all those changes and all the while, ive been overwhelmed with a static image of you, and of us.

love also means i am ready to meet the new you.

(but maybe, just maybe, love means me letting you live.)


it is midnight, you promised her not to stay up this late.

your skin is clearing, you are moving to a home with souls you love, you are cleansing yourself of tar dutifully collected, and you havent missed one class except that one which doesnt even count into the credits

hopes are held up high; maybe you are getting fine



your hands find the keys like theyve been engraved under the consciousness of your fluttering fingertips,

the initials of his name still ringing desperately true and impeccably loud

“he is the one, he is the one, he was the one-”

your mind knowing itself, takes a different image of some other boy, some other meaningless boy

and put it onto his skeleton of a brain.

would he hold like this, would he kiss like this, would he fuck like this

would his arms be like grape vines, would the words from his mouth be like ambrosia, slurring your tongue with irresistible poison like he always did

take him apart and put him together again, what could you see god, the insides of his thoughts unguarded, heavy dreams pulling him off his throne, drawing figures of long forgotten titans hidden so well

and the memories start chewing up the space

and you relapse into binging on emotions

and heras seed starts sprouting on muddied promises,

that maybe, maybe it was all you, it was you all along


you wish you could be as stoic as your cheeks right now, still staying void of tears

but he is worth all the falling.

he is worth everything.