When my study nights ended up with a poem-writing session,

I knew my life has caught up in an illusion. Somebody stir the wound open, and tossed my hopes to the sky, aching. Analogically left all that was left dying. Through all the grief stages, something burned. Burned the bridges, you turned into a paradox that's finally haunted.

I can see you washing dishes, alone, all night our laughter in the red lights dissipates only to turn into an echo. All of the unsaid unnecessary things are about, that night I found your back amongst hundreds. To see you laugh, oh to reflect everything I've said about what happened in retrospect when all I wanted is to do nothing but embrace every single memory.

My own songs played in the background. I drive alone, again, through the pouring rain, quietly thinking about fingers tangled and your pupils dim-out with regret, 'causing yet another question remarks of my worth all those times, all those hide and seek between what we know a mission to unite. And between the days you kept asking for years, but forget to live a day we still ate ice cream under the sunshine.

Thirty kilometers of core-memory making when I stared too long at the back of your persona, imagining your future's point-of-view, letting my own hopes sink, cursed cursed cursed the decision every middle of nights, oh to just living in a painfully epic scenario.

And I'm sorry I went out too soon, weirdly felt it was not the right thing to do, to erase it too soon with the help of others' yet confusing plan. Hours after hours passed but the 'I know you' moments followed me around. I know you dislike those dishes, I know you'd be angry if I said this, I know this weather would make you cold, I know you.

The library knew it all, I ran too fast, knowing we collide. I'll be flying high, leaving, and maybe at the end the longing becomes too short to even be worth the attention. Perhaps sunshine collide the day I started pretend it didn't hurt, shining upon our different paths. Let me just look for the way out so it doesn't hurt, being the almost.

Here in this room, the fingers danced as the words keep flowing, and the cardigan keeps playing like when you kept it over the table and brought it around. Overgrown something like that, the little ones, are the hardest when you cherish them the biggest. 

Peter losing Wendy

I knew you, leaving like a father, running like water, I.

I knew I'd curse you for the longest time,

chasing shadows in the grocery line.

-cardigan, Taylor Swift.

written beside my window, March 25.