You’re so beautiful yet so broken.
I keep piecing you back together
but one broken piece keeps disappearing after another.

You don’t want to be whole again
because you’re so used in your broken state
that just the idea of getting your pieces back together
means one day you will crumble again.

But here’s the thing:
you can keep hoping it doesn’t happen,
believe in the hope of staying whole
or just trust me to put you back together again
if you fall apart once more.

Why aren’t we together?

All this space between us? Unnecessary. Like letters completely ignored by the French yet still stuck in words and still making sense.

How do you not realize how difficult it is for a child to spell the French equivalent of Onion.



And probably a misplaced letter I. Do they ever question the unpronounced letter in there? No. But they grow up to accept that to make sense of that word, that letter has to be there.

Thats what this space between us is. Now, the real trouble is growing up and accepting its existence.

i knew.
i felt how scared you were.
for her to find out
that someone else, inadvertently,
had taken a piece of your heart.
a heart that she knew was hers.
claimed as her own. completely.

be that as it may,

you have two hands.
holding hers in one,
and mine in the other.
and I could see your fingers,
loosening their grip on hers.
was that a sigh?
was it relief?
because you knew I was that girl.
the kind who fascinates you.
the one from a different league.
the person who made you ask
all the ‘what if’s’ in life.
you knew, you had to.
how explosive we’d be together.
and so did I.
and it scared you.
but it made us brave.
the life was back in your eyes.
you felt alive again.
while I slowly, delicately died.