YOU WERE AND THEN YOU WEREN'T
I am laughing, not because there’s something funny happened, but I am laughing for what’s happening—is very ironic.
Remember how I used to write poems about you? You were my first subject poetry, you were the first reason why I built a foundation on writing, you were my most painful idea, and the most beautiful one at the same time, you were the broken phrases that stayed on my broken verses, the broken verses that remained on my broken lines, you were also the blood that ran through my veins, the sunshine upon my face, you were the butterflies that flew around my belly, the thoughts roamed inside my mind. You were my pens and words and ink an paper, the music in my ears, you were the sorrow I wanted to deal with, the labyrinth I never wanted to escape from. You were my heaven on earth, and the earth on my system, and the system on my way, and the way in my life. You were the guilt on my liable obligations, the shivers that lingered on my spines, you were never just something amazing to stare at, you were the air I used to breathe in, you were the only one who kept me alive.
I am laughing at these things on how I still speak so highly of you, as though you did not stab me in the back, as though I am the one who left. I am laughing, on how you are asking me now, for a help—a help I, long ago, needed. A help for a lovely poetry you’ll offer to someone you love. Ironic, isn’t it?
I am laughing on how you are enthusiastically asking me to help you for a poem I am hungry for you to give me. I am laughing on how you have the guts, really, to ask me for a help. I am laughing on how you asked me, 3 in the morning, exactly the time I am writing about you.
And I guess, you are still the knives that push and pull in my back, the fire inside my freezing heart, I guess, you’re still the agony that swings in my mind, the guns that willingly pull the the trigger itself to kill me. And I guess, you are still my most painful poetry.
— Jazper Zaguirre
