everywhere i go, everything i see and do, it all comes back to these three 4-letter words: hope, home, love. all synonyms for your name. how do i unlearn this strange vocabulary now that i have run away from the home i burned down to ashes with my own hands? how have i turned gentle love into such devastation? such greediness? But then, if it was meant to be, if we were meant to last, it'd have felt enough right? you were a dream, then a reality, now a memory. the kind of memory that pulls me down and chokes my breath and paints me blue on public transport, by the window on a quiet morning, on my bed while staring at the ceiling, by the kitchen sink. but also the kind of memory that fills me with warmth (from the fire i set to my eulogies) and my ears with the sound of your voice whenever i see a rose (full of thorns). i foolishly allowed my heart to beat to the rhythm of yours, and now i can no longer count the space between my heartbeats without being flooded by the memories of us. do you ever think of me when you look at fallen leaves? do you get the urge to step on them, the way i used to? i can't eat my favourite chocolate without thinking of all the wrappers of the ones you gifted me, stacked up in my box labelled 'tokens of love'. everything brown reminds me of your eyes.
still. still i can't make myself hate you to make letting go easier. i've always held onto things, even when they made my hands bleed. my fingers bleed blue from the love i hold all the time. i don't know where to put it anymore. (all i do is bleed, all you see is words)