It’s funny that I always find myself wondering about your well-being.

Things like, “Have you eaten? Are you sleeping well? Have you been getting sick? Do you still text while driving?”

Be safe, damn it. Be safe.

Fuck…you don’t even deserve any of my love or care. You put me through hell and back, but you know what?

I made a promise that I’d care about you no matter what.

I hate myself for making that promise, but why did I make it?

Because I knew I would always care. I just knew I could never hate you the way I wanted to, and…well, I’m starting to hate myself for that too.

I have come to think that people are like puzzles, not because they are complicated — but because they are handed to you with missing pieces. Pieces that someone took that your pieces will never fit in. And that’s the problem sometimes, that no matter how bad you want to make your pieces compensate for the one’s someone else took - you can’t. You’re a different scenario, a different shape, a different thickness, a different person and you don’t fit them. You can sit there and carve yourself into a different piece that fits or you can accept it. 

And sometimes I can’t accept it but I can’t get myself to shape myself for you. Not because I don’t want to, but because it wouldn’t change anything. I am not your missing piece, I have come to terms with that. And let’s face it, your pieces will never fit into mine. 

I’m just trying to let you see the bigger picture, even with some missing. And I don’t know if my goal will ever be filled or if all it’ll be is just a clue to something better. That’s the thing, life is also full of mysterious scenarios and it leaves us in the dark.

You’re a puzzle with pieces missing, pieces that won’t return, pieces that you gave away, pieces that are worn and torn, pieces that will never fit into my own missing spots. You’re a puzzle I want to figure out, but you’re not letting me.

“Because you kiss my hand at random times.”

It is with your hands that you perceived the physical world, therefore it was only just for me to kiss the very tools behind your metaphysical character.  The skin on your palms was enriched with countless tales of your various quests before me; I learned much of your past relationships and struggles for they are the same hands you used to hold your past lovers.  Your hands were like and endless database of broken hearts and dreams — it was your hands that would speak when your lips could not.  With every kiss that I’d bestow, I erased the virus-infested files past lovers left behind and remedied your database with our own memories; those that remain fresh on your mind are the files that are irremovable.

The spontaneity of the kisses were to merely refresh your mind of my ever-lasting love.

“Because you look cute when you’re sleeping.”

These brown eyes could not bare a second without your irresistible imagery; they morphed into a self-activating mechanism and immediately shut when your presence was not in sight.  Often I was forced to drift into and uncalled for slumber where the image of you would reappear in the most soothing dreams.  They say love makes you blind, and I am more than willing to lose my sight if it means that I will never lose your image in my dreams.

With eyes shut tight and body motionless, the mind takes control. While sleeping, what flashes through those shut eyes were either fragments of your imagination, meaningless images or is it a story that happens to be something you have drawn out from beginning to end? Or maybe it’s what’s buried deep inside yourself that only comes alive when you sleep? These dreams can take a hold of you and never let you loose or they vanish once your eyes open. The thought of it all is that dreams give you another world entirely made for you, and there’s always the possibility that it’s made by you. 

The darkness never felt so welcoming now does it?

I wrote and deleted the longest post I had ever written in my whole life, just to find out that the only point I was trying to get to was that I really fucking miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

It makes me weak and stupid, but I miss you, and there’s no escaping it.

Fuck, I miss you.

This bench has seen its fair share of people. Whether they sit here to enjoy the view of the mountains or to contemplate their troubles. And I’m sitting here tracing back everything to the first mistake I made. How life is so quick to pass you by while you sit on a park bench going back and forth with yourself. The breeze rustles the leaves above my head and I start to think that if I was one, I could simply blow away into the nothing of this neighborhood and dry up in the gutter. How easy it would be, to feel nothing. The cycle of leaves, similar to us. We all stem from one sees and branch off into different divisions of life. But we all wither, we all die. Only we aren’t leaves, we’re human. And we have feelings, emotions, troubles, hopes, dreams, fears, regrets, sadness. We are too complex and leaves, they are so simple. Each stranger that passes me by will simply think I’m sitting here admiring the view but they don’t see what I see. Words make up the mountains, sentences are the silver lining in clouds and each grove in the mountain reminds me of each of my mistakes. So here I am, in the late afternoon, wishing I was a leaf. So the wind could make me dance and I could wither, each stage of me a different shade of life - and simply fall off and crunch underneath children’s shoes. I’m not sitting alone, misery loves company.

We are so concerned with ourselves and self being. Why not stop and take awhile and appreciate everything that life has to offer? We are so young. This isn’t all it, just wait and see. More will be in store thee and me.