Every time I'm with you I think about how you never tell me things because I'm probably not worth knowing.
Not worth knowing.
Then you share your news of good fortune with me,
But wait-
Wasn't I not worth knowing?
So why now?

Suppression

It's when I lie to myself and to people about how I think I have feelings for someone. How I pretend that they're the kindest and the gentlest and the most thoughtful (they actually really are) and all that. And how it's that little perfect flaw in them that makes them so appealing.

But it's not all gold, because it isn't true. They could be kind and nice and all that, but it just gives me a rather convenient reason as to why they're just right to fall for. The fact that I've never let out who I've truly fallen for just shows how much I have to strive to keep this in; suppress it, and continue to pretend.

It is strange to say I cannot pin point where it all started but maybe it could have been the way you said my name. Maybe how sometimes you'd look at me in this way I can never describe. How sometimes we'd cross each other's paths and regard each other with a nonchalance so deep, it'd cut me through. Maybe that's how I knew- that it would hurt if you ignored me, as much as it would hurt if you didn't.

I saw how lonely you were but you were so caring in this tough love, cold manner of yours. How well you listened whenever I spoke, and the detached, yet strangely attentive way you heard me. You were nothing but a contradiction, unto yourself, and unto the effect you had on me.

I cannot pinpoint when I found myself unable to stop thinking about you. But I can remember how stark it felt. How it hurt so, thinking of your waxen complexion and your frowning mouth and your hard-to-read eyes hollowed me out with an aching desire and filled me up again, creating this awful cycle.

It confuses me so, in all honesty. You disarm me with your charm. It's evident, I fall for the jerks.

Hollow

You know what's funny is how when you fall for someone, there is this hole in you that opens up to accommodate them. The deeper you fall for them, the larger the hole gets, creating this illusion that you are welcoming them in. You don't ever realize until it's too late,  that the cavity is hollowing you out, ripping you apart from the inside.

Sometimes I look at you and I wonder how is it that I fell so hard. All those poems and furious torrent of feelings; the happiness then the sadness and the disappointment. Then the rush of emotions- the chasing and the giving up then the half hearted chase to keep you close.

But after all that, I guess it was because I was just terribly lonely. I'd fallen in love with my own desolation.

This year I don't want people to remember my birthday. I don't want it to be some kind of obligation for people to go up and say "happy birthday" though they wouldn't mean it.

Besides, what is there to look forward to? This year I turn 18, which I am absolutely dreading. Being 17 wasn't anything significant to me, except for the fact that I liked the number rolling around in my mouth. 17...older and wiser than 16 but young enough to have fun before 18- a way too old age.
Apart from that, the fact that I age every year is pretty depressing. Every year I come closer to death, and the scariest thing of all is how I might not even live through my next birthday. Death is inevitable and so is the fact that I will never know when I'll die. I'm not prepared...I am so so far away from faith and far from being prepared.

I don't see a meaning to birthdays anymore. It used to mean a lot when many many people wished me happy birthday, made me feel important. But now I guess it only really matters when you get to spend the day you grow older with the ones you treasure the most. That is all that matters.

It was just supposed to be for us.

Here's to holding on

Sometimes, when you try so hard to hold onto something, you don't notice it slips out of your hands; you open up your clenched fist and realize you are but holding on tightly...to yourself.