on loving you (after some hundred days)

love,

i’ve been wearing my heart on my sleeves for quite too long now. i carried the love that has been thrown and given, from those whom i failed to love, and those who failed me.

out of those, i will brew you love and magic out of teas. i will serve it on the cups every other days wherever you miss a touch of home — anything that doesn’t feel peculiar — so maybe through the spells i never claim too loud, these feelings will be preserved just like the dried tea steeped in the warmth i poured.

love,

what is the hundred days of loving if not another thing i failed to count to, where i just let all of it slip from the grasp of my fingers and scattered abruptly — flew away unknowingly that the home where it should be is nowhere open and never close from such a resting place?

you have taught me to let the love in. but one thing you never told me about is the part that this might be the only kind i have ever known and been longing for. you have been many things but a pacified soul that could just be forgotten, you are more the painful to not have around instead. for this longing i can not endure, i nailed my feet to the ground despite.

love,

have everything within me lights a little crease inside your heart somewhere?

we’ve been stuck in this paradise for way too long now. how do you like it there? to live inside the untouched part of my mind, to live with the lack of your capability to touch the rest part of me?

on the verge of love i never put away too far, i granted you to squeeze myself dry until you’ve seen every drop of it, until i no longer have a piece you have not known about.

i let my love for you be known, lost in the void directed to you — something you never receive. is there still any that matters, even after i gave it my all?

love,

i will carry it in my own bare hands

the life where i will miss you forever.