Tag Archives: lost

Aftermath

It took me three years to divorce him. I had to relinquish everything for him to sign. It was two years before I learnt to trust myself again. And another two before I dared trust anyone else. I still have trust issues… I still have nightmares… still run to the basin to wash myself… still check the bolt on every door…still jump out of my skin every time I hear a sound I don’t recognize… still sleep with a big knife under my pillow… I keep telling myself I’ve done the right thing and kudos to myself for having the courage to stand and fight back and eventually leave. Now all I have to do is believe I am safe.

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TO THE GIRL HE WILL LOVE AFTER ME

Let me just first erase the thought in your mind that I am mad on you. No, I am not. In fact, I am glad he ended up being with you. Even though I don’t know you that much, I know you’ve got all the attributes that he likes. That is the very reason why he chose you over me.

You are very lucky for having him. He is a treasure, a rare one. He is sometimes naughty but let him be. He is just about to cuddle you. He is as sweet as candies, he is lovely as the day goes by, he is patient, my dear. He is ready to understand everything you demand… He is an ear to your nonsense dramas. He is a shoulder to cry on in pains. He is somehow quiet, but he’ll be the noisiest man on earth when saying how much he loves you. He is a man of few words, but a man with one word. He knows how to keep his promises… That’s why I am thinking: why he left me? He won’t just be your boyfriend, but your friend, the very best one, your knight in shining armor, your superman, your living diary, your handkerchief. He is a complete package.

But most of all, he will be your man. Strong enough to hold you, dauntless to fight for you, you’ll be his kryptonite.

Take care of him, sweetheart. I may have caused him so much pain, I may have caused him so much ache but I have loved him above all. Don’t worry, I know I am not his happiness now. And if happy is not me, I have to let him go…

Things just didn’t work out on us. I do hope in the two of you will. And it might kill me watching your hearts collide, but I’ll wholeheartedly accept.

Keep him for he is for keeps. Take care of him for he’s too much vulnerable. Be patient with him for he is a child at heart.
Listen to him for all he wants is a good listener for he knows how to do it. And lastly, love him as much as you can. Don’t you ever give up on him. Love him in the most possible way. Love him because that is what he deserves, love him because you love him.

Words by: Hannah Eunice Villamin

#FallInArts

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It’s Complicated

“Has someone ever told you that you are too difficult to love?” She poured herself another mug of lukewarm coffee. I sat on the grey sofa reading Sputnik Sweetheart by Murakami. She sat right beside and clasped the end of her dotted skirt. “People have left me for it. I don’t blame them, though. On most days, loving me is a task.” After saying, she took the book from my hand. She inhaled the scent of the pages. “Isn’t Sputnik the name of the first artificial satellite?” I nodded. “So, you don’t hold it against those people?” I asked without meeting her gaze. From a distance, I could hear the sound of a Ferris wheel. “Not really.” Her voice brought me back. “Don’t all relations disappoint in the end? I mean everyone leaves. Sooner or later, people see the blemishes. The imperfections overwhelm them. Staying will mean accepting and efforts. Few are ready to do it.” She fiddled with her hair as I devoured another cigarette. “So, you don’t just believe in love, then?” She gazed into my eyes and paused as if to frame her words carefully. “I do. I just find people who are as difficult to love. In that way, the struggle to love becomes the entire point.” She tapped a button on remote and filled the room with music, rhythms, and sound. I read Murakami while she gazed into nowhere thinking about loss, love, and how lonely must those satellites feel when they quietly stroll through the sky.

~ hardik nagar The Honest Musing

Bogart And Bacall

Ghost House

The room, the room is cozy. Clean and bright and spacious. The walls are painted in soft earth tones, except for the feature wall directly behind the bed which is wallpapered with geometric pattern edged with gold on an eggshell background. The ceiling is white. Not stark white but warm like sunset’s glow on summer months. The night tables with curved legs are painted cream, distressed and dirtied to give them a used look some people find beautiful. On them are tall matching lamps with ornate base and aloe vera plants in white pots. Next to the plant on the right are a sheep and lamb figurines and an angel made of metal painted off-white and brown. On the left sits another angel, a rag doll with her own miniature doll, again off-white, with lace trimmings. Next to it is a bottle of water and a book. Aside from a painting on wood of some African image which looks like a Masai tribe from a distance but only blobs of faceless colors when viewed closer and a large rectangle mirror with carved wooden frame painted in nude color, the walls are otherwise devoid of any ornamentation.

The bed itself is a farmhouse-style metal bed with iron frame in a dark roast finish. It was once a canopy bed when it was standing in a much bigger room in a much bigger house. Now, the posts have been removed to accommodate the low ceiling of a cottage style house it now belongs to. The beddings are white with crocheted edges, two of the six pillows have crocheted cases. One of them is ergonomically designed suited for special needs. The comforter is thick and fluffy and warm. Too warm. There is a metal rocking chair at the foot of the bed piled high with stuffed toys in various sizes. All of them in neutral colors the darkest of them all, black. Nobody knows the existence of a big kitchen knife under the pillow. In case…

The woman on the bed can’t stop looking at the tiny gap between the curtains. Cream colored curtains that filtered the light softly making the room much brighter without being intrusive. It bothers her, the gap. Keeps her from closing her eyes and concentrate on trying to sleep. Not that it is the reason why she’s lying awake but it does certainly contribute to the agitation she’s feeling right now. Where is that coming from, this nervousness, the feeling of being incomplete and missing out on something? The state of being numbed and not there. Existing but not alive, dead, dead inside dead in her head. 

When she was eight years old, she found out while standing on the breakwater her father had painstakingly made to keep the waves from crashing against the dikes, that the world has nothing to offer to her. The certainty of being been there done that twice over and back again still with the same conclusion was so strong it took all her power not to jump in the water and drowned herself. That feeling never changes through the years but somehow she managed always to go on searching for anything that could prove her wrong and it kept her alive, able to enjoy momentarily pleasures, but only for a time before she embarks into another fruitless quest of finding even she herself doesn’t know.

But never she felt as dead as now, disconnected unable to feel anything. Does she come full circle? Is this it? Is this the end? If she could only sleep. Then, perhaps she could think clearly. But the gap between the curtains bothers her. She must stand up and close it, prevent the light from entering and crowding her thoughts. But she knows if she stands up she will not be able to go back to bed and sleep. Oh, if there is only someone who could do it for her but there is no one, no one is around. She could kill herself and nobody would know. Not for weeks, not for months. Nobody would miss her. Is that a blessing or a curse?

Ignore the gap, ignore the light, ignore the feeling of being dead, she survives so far by doing exactly that, burying the feelings deep inside eventually she becomes numb. Close your eyes and pretend like always -she said to herself- just close your eyes… 

via maggie thunder

Stories

The story of how one t-shirt makes me feel

All I have left of you is one t-shirt.
I deleted all your texts and erased you from social media. I even threw away an odd sock I found of yours, black with an orange toe and heel.

This one t-shirt that I can barely bring myself to look at, let alone wear, crops up in my washing every now and again. It is so foreign to me, so infinitesimally you that I cannot wear it and feel at home. I do not recognize it. Maybe that is because I never felt at home with you. Never felt comfortable in my own skin. Always brittle, on edge, ready to snap and break in your presence. To shut down and shut you out.

This one t-shirt is all I have left to remind me of you. When I close my eyes and try to conjure your image up I cannot. I can only see small details. Your red curls, your ice blue eyes, the freckle on the pinkie of your left hand – the one I only noticed the day we walked away from each other. I remember the gap in your teeth, that funny tight smile and the way you used to say my name, hold my hand, stroke my face. But you as a whole/the person I thought I knew? That I cannot see.

This t-shirt is all I have left to remind me of the darkest five months of my life. The hardest, most painful, jagged and scarring thing I have ever endured. Five months of stretching and snapping. Five months of seeing how happy we could have been and five months of being miserable. Five months of wanting to let go and love and not being able to. Five months of pushing you away and wanting to hold you close. This t-shirt is a memento of my failure. Of my loss. Of you.

When I wear this t-shirt and people comment on it – they say ‘that suits you’ or ‘i haven’t seen you in that before’ or why don’t you wear it more often?’ And the words to tell them why I do not wear it catch it my throat. I say – it is not mine.

I can never bring myself to say that it is yours.

― Alice Nicolov

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Six Degrees Of Separation

If I were to kill myself tonight I would do it to get into hell
And from that eternal consuming state
I’d wander 3,000 feet below your toes 
And that, to me
Is the apotheosis of everything I couldn’t say
Because you weren’t ready to hear it
Or maybe because I fear rejection
And showing nothing means feeling nothing
I wish I could mutter the words
To bring you back
To have you crawling from under my bed
And finally, realize you were the monster in my head
The idyll in my dreams
The reason I’ve turned into an insomniac sleepwalker
A wrecked lifeless being
Who later took this nothingness and despair
And transformed it into poetry
With which I hoped I could make you mine
And force you to remain in our realm
Built on demons and sleepless nights
And inner peace
To get by.

Six degrees of separationby Vlada Bunescu

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Pairs

Things of importance,
Are always in twos I presume.

Sadness, joy
And then
Sadness resumes.

Moments shared with you
Are always lived twice.

Once what angered me
I laugh at it and rejoice

And then I remember
The rainy December
We’d laughed till we got
All tired

Now I looked back at that time and cried.
I live my every moment with you
In two alternating shades

Once with you
And then again
As your presence fades.

— “Pairs” by Iqra Aslam 

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TO THE MAN I WILL ALWAYS LOVE

Someone asked me if I am over you, I just smiled. I have always ached every time I realize it’s you, and it will always be you. The idea of me loving someone else is a blur right now.

As much as I wanted to say, “I am over him, I don’t care anymore,” and mean it, I can’t, because I care. Even if you happen to stumble on my way ten or fifteen years from now, I still and always care.

A lot of people misunderstand this concept of moving on and say you won’t care about the past if you’re truly over it. For me, it doesn’t work that way.

Moving on for me is merely accepting what happened, with no regret for what will never be. And for a person who loves too much, I can truthfully say that one can never really get over someone who once meant the world to them. We can just get used to the pain and feeling of missing someone until we make ourselves comfortable in it, and I believe that a tiny spark of hope can always reborn what we thought is already dead– love.

It’s been two years since everything ended but I can still remember the vast happiness I had when I was with you, and I just want to say that I miss you.

I miss those moments when we glance at each other and smile because we both know words are not enough to explain what we feel. Even if every day I am dying to feel these all again, all I could do is sit here, try to be happy for you, and pour out all my feelings by writing about you.

Love, if ever the time comes when you remember me and come back, just know that I am always here, waiting.

However, love, if the time comes when you come back and see me loving someone else, just know that it took me too much courage to open my heart to another guy again after what I’ve been through for you, for us. If you happen to realize that he could have been you, just keep in mind that my heart, no matter how much it endures every pain for you, it gives up.

I know I’ll be in love again. But for now, I’ll continue holding on to what you said, “If we are meant to be, love will lead us back.”

You see, I don’t believe in destiny and such things as “meant-to-bes” for I know that only our own choices influence what happens in our life. But you, you made me believe in dreams and fantasies.
But I guess it’s time to wake up.

I’ll smile for you again because I know that one day, I’ll be seeing you.
Until then, I will be missing you.

I am not asking for you to come back. I see you are very happy now and it somehow eases the feeling of longing for your presence, for your happiness is my delight, even if I am not a part of it.

Written by Tin Sarmienta via Berlin ArtParasites

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Slight

Someone said to someone:

“You’re lucky you’re ugly, at least you know people aren’t around just to fuck you.”

And it brought back memories…

…of the time someone has rowed a boat for four hours because I got it in my head to spend a night in an abandoned lighthouse on a sandbar somewhere. I said:

“I envy her -indicating another couple in a boat a few meters ahead of us- he is rowing for her.”

My companion stated the obvious. So, I asked him:

” Would you still do it if I were she/her?” 

The relationship was practically over before we even hit the shore.

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Laughter It’s Not

You think you miss someone. But it isn’t like that. You miss the moments you shared together. You miss the things they made you feel. You miss the persona you concocted in your head to fit the missing pieces you were too blind to discover for yourself. Until little by little, that persona faded away. You started to uncover the real missing pieces of their complex and erratic personality. Sometimes you’d become amazed at the qualities you hadn’t seen. You’d started appreciating them more and more, growing even more fond of them. Then the days had come when you’d scratched the surface deep enough to see their more obscure vices, and you started to question some things. Regardless of their importance, you pushed these away thinking that you could work through them, or you just ignored them altogether. Until the false image you’d created erodes completely and reveals a stranger. And only when this bubble burst is when you realize that you’d made a grave mistake to have given so much of yourself to them.

~ Berlin ArtParasites

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Leaf

“I’ve still got a place for you in my heart, just not my life.” 

As much as you mean to me, the time has come for me to finally remove myself as one of your options.

The truth that I have come to believe is that any man who really wanted to be with me, wouldn’t be conflicted about it—he’d be all in.

Simply for the reason that I’m a woman worth being all in for.

But you never could quite decide what I was to you—and while I think you did know more than you pretended to—it doesn’t  matter so much what we think or feel, it matters what we do.

And you never did a damn thing when it came to me.

The reality is—indecision can be a decision unto itself.

I used to become frustrated with you because I could tell there were no easy answers and that there was always more to our story-line than you ever let on.

I spent time wondering about everything that lay unsaid between us—but I don’t anymore.

Because I said all that I needed to, and whether you did or not isn’t something I need to spend time losing sleep over.

And the closure I sought from you—that never came—no longer haunts me, because I’ve accepted that loose ends are just part of who we are.

I’ve learned that sometimes there are no endings—and that’s okay because I know now that I can still find a new beginning.

I won’t sit here and disgrace our history or promise that my lips will never again touch yours because I will never assume that I know more than whatever divine force governs this world.

But the only thing I do know is that at this moment in time, you don’t want to be here in this place by my side with your arm around me—and so, I’ve decided to pursue things with someone who does.

You wanted me to move forward and move on, so I am—right into the arms of a man who doesn’t make me second-guess his interest and who doesn’t shut down when I ask difficult questions.

The thing is, I don’t really even know what we were because you could never find the words yourself.

And although you never asked me to be yours—you also never really closed the door on us completely.

But this time—as much as I care for and respect you—I cannot remain in this place any longer.

I can’t keep asking if you’re ready, to be honest and to address things like adults, only to be shut down once again.

My heart is tired—and a woman can only be pushed away so many times before she actually makes the choice to walk away.

The thing that hurt me the most was how you made it seem as if I coerced you against your will—acting as a siren, beckoning you to demise along my curvy coasts.

I was never your downfall, but perhaps I was your kryptonite because even Superman has a weakness.

I don’t know if you have ever admitted the truth to yourself or if lies still taste that much sweeter.

Because you are the artist in this masterpiece, and therefore you only see what you want to—or what you are comfortable with.

Regardless of our tangled loose ends—and no matter how many tears I may still shed over you—I can’t be an option for you when you decide you want to find yourself again.

I don’t expect you to care because you’ve made it clear that you already have moved on.

Yet I still have to wonder that if through all your bolstered convictions, you were trying to convince me or yourself more.

Although I know that I can no longer be one of your options, I don’t actually know how to do that—because somehow you’ve become a part of my heart without me even wanting you there, and so now it makes it difficult to discover how to exactly remove you.

All I know is that no one has ever brought me to my knees, simply by looking into my eyes, like you have.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring—all I know is that you can’t (or don’t) want to be here, and there is another man who does.

A man who I still can’t picture touching my body, simply because I haven’t yet been able to erase your name from my skin.

One of the saddest parts of all of this is that I know I had the same effect on you—it just wasn’t convenient or “supposed” to happen.

But our eyes don’t lie, even when our hearts try to.

And so, with every step I take away from you, I sometimes take two back.

You are the most delicious struggle to move on from, but I am trying.

So I travel a little bit further every day, until maybe someday I’ll get far enough away that I can convince myself neither of us felt anything.

And it won’t matter if it’s the truth or not because I know that with time we can convince ourselves of almost anything.

However, before I leave this place for good, you should know that I meant every word I’ve ever said to you.

Especially when I told you that I love you.

Because I know that no matter what has transpired, I will never regret telling you those beautifully simple words.

With each step I take, I send you my sweet succulent love, not knowing where my path will lead me.

It’s possible it will lead me into the arms of the man who’s been waiting for me to find him all along—or it might lead me right back to you.

Because the pain and confusion of leaving loose ends mean that you know quite well they’re still there, left untied and waiting, in case this time—you decide you really do want to tie it up, once and for all.

“Some things just need to be let go of. If it’s meant to be you’ll find each other again.” 

Relephant: Via Kate Rose

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Truth slap

I can’t wait for the day when life finally makes sense, when we find the silver lining in every tragedy, when we learn the lesson from each mistake and when we understand why our hearts needed to get broken a few times to let love in.

I can’t wait for the day that we understand why we met the right people at the wrong time or the wrong people at the right time and why our lives didn’t align to bring us together.

I wonder if it’s because they’re the wrong ones for us or because we still have a lot of growing up to do and we’re meant to be with someone who understand who we’re becoming not who we were.

I can’t wait for the day that we understand the lesson behind every struggle. Why we struggled to be successful, why we struggled to find love, why we struggled to reach our dreams and why we lost people who meant the world to us. I wonder if we needed these lessons to learn how to appreciate life and feel the pain of others or we just needed to learn that there is no living without suffering.

I can’t wait for the day that we understand why we had to hate ourselves to love ourselves, why we had to destroy ourselves to build ourselves up again and why we had to start over just before we got to the finish line. I wonder who saved us or who inspired us to save ourselves.

I wonder if we are meant to be reborn a few times so we can learn how to truly live. I want to know what triggered us to change and how we can no longer recognize who we used to be.

I can’t wait for the day that we understand why we keep falling for the wrong ones over and over again, why we can’t forget those who hurt us and why we sometimes can still forgive them and take them back. I want to understand how our hearts operate, how they function, how they move us to do things we would never do and lead us to places that we know we shouldn’t go to.

I’m curious to know why we listen to it, why we follow it blindly like it never got us lost before, why we trust it even though it left us broken and why do we always go back to it for questions when it keeps giving us the wrong answers. I wonder if there will come a day when we stop listening to it and if we’ll ever be truly alive without it.

They say everything happens for a reason and I truly believe that, but I also want to know what this reason is and why it chose us. Why some reasons keep recurring and why some reasons leave us even more perplexed. I want to understand why we go through certain things, what’s the message behind it and what if we never respond to this message, what if we just ignore it and keep living, what will happen then? Will our lives get lost in translation?

I can’t wait for the day that life makes sense – some days I understand why certain things happened and others I’m not so sure, but all I know is that somehow we’ll connect the dots and someday we’ll complete the puzzle, until then, we have to learn how to live our lives without trying to understand it and we have to learn how to be comfortable with the irony and uncertainty of life; otherwise we’ll lose our common sense trying to make sense of the life we’re living.

~ via facebook

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