Fuubutsushi

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Wintermelon-flavored milktea, your dark gray sweater, those poems on my journal, those poems on your spiral notebooks, yellow and orange post-it notes, the short notes, the long letters, blueberry oatmeal cookies, red velvet crinkles, my earphone splitter, Mayday Parade, our playlist, the messages, the pictures, the promises, the love, the heartbreak.

Regret

I hope one day you’ll realize how much you miss me. I hope you’ll remember the warmth of my hands, the softness of my voice, the way I talk about metaphors and rhymes and how I correct your punctuations and grammar, the look in my eyes whenever I see you and the sweet smile on my face whenever you are with me. I hope you remember the me you have let go of. I hope the memory of myself who loved you so much will haunt you. I hope one day you bump your head and suddenly remember how much I meant to you and how much more you meant to me. I hope you remember loving me, and, on top of it all, I hope you regret letting me go and letting us end like this.

L’esprit de L’escalier

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How are you?

I am not okay. I’ve never gotten better since the day you left. I still cry every night thinking about you, about us and all the what if’s and could-have-been’s. I still hurt. It still hurts. And I still miss you, and everyday I wonder if you miss me, too, or if you ever think of me for a split second. I still ache for your hand on mine, and your voice calling out my name. I still wish you would come back to me, and tell me that you’re sorry, and that you still love me. Because I am not okay, and I still love you.

I’m fine.

Querencia

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I always get that feeling of security whenever I am with you. It is like even if a storm hits or an earthquake shakes the ground or a volcano erupts or even if wars wage, I will be safe as long as you are holding me. It is like I belong to the place where you are, and there is no other place I can feel any more comfortable in than on a couch with your arms around me. You are my haven, and it is with you where I feel and know that I am at home.

Cherophobia

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There are very loud thumps on my chest whenever I see you. They make me excited and nervous. There are also pricks whenever you touch me. They tickle and sting. There is also a distinct sound whenever you say my name. It is music but defeaning. I am happiest when I am with you. But it scares me. It scares me because I am floating, and you can drown me. It scares me because I am too consumed, and you may just leave me.  It scares me because I am too happy, and you can devastate me.

I am so scared.

Brumous

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I am like the grey sky. There is no sunlight, and I am lost in the darkness, and I do not know if I want to find my way. I am alive, but it is very dull and boring, and sometimes I do not know if I wish of more colorful clouds or I prefer the comfort of the dark ones. The clouds look heavy, and I feel the weight, but I do not know if I want to let go or keep holding on. All I know is that anytime now, the grey sky is going to burst.

Sillage

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I can still see him sleeping on the pillows where my tears landed on those nights I cried for him. I can still taste him on that Cadbury chocolate bar we used to share. I can still hear his voice from my earphones when I listen to every sad song. I can still smell his perfume on my shirt like he just cuddled me seconds ago.
But it was three years since then. It was three years ago, but it feels like it just happened now. I can still feel him, and I can still feel the pain it left me. It is the exact sting that hurt me three years ago. It hasn’t healed at all. It’s still how I feel even after all these years – like he just left.