But There’s A Love That’s Worth The Wait

so here it is

a.k.a. and i told you, and i told you, so please listen

i told you at ten past three in the morning, we don’t have winter but when i press the end call each time you say good night, i feel a little chill as if your voice is meant to be a camp fire on cold night but instead, it’s a landslide — a hurricane — a snowstorm — and i told you at twelve past three in the morning, i should feel guilty and i should feel bad, but i don’t, and nothing ever comes pouring out of my lips, even the word ‘sorry’ each time you cry and say that it’s your fault, when really, it’s mine, and i told you at thirteen past three in the morning, i don’t feel you slipping away, but i feel myself running away, and i don’t even see myself muttering a goodbye, but i said to you, i will, oh i definitely will, and i told you at fifteen past three in the morning, i do remember when we asked each other to never let go, i do, i do, i do, and i told you at sixteen past three in the morning, i really i hope i won’t let go just like you won’t, and i wish it’s true, and i told you at eighteen past three in the morning, i’m not going to cry, but my heart is aching, and i hear myself sniffling, and i find myself looking at the mirror, with stars on my cheeks where your kisses used to sleep, and i know, i just know, that it’s been a long time since i told you i’m in love with you, and i cry again a little bit, and you’re crying too, and you’re saying sorry again, muttering it’s your fault, but it’s not, and i told you at twenty-one past three in morning, i just miss you, i long to kiss you, and i want to bury myself in your arms, and if you choose to leave me because of how these pieces of mine that are on the floor are way too shattered, your fingers will bleed, so you’ll end up giving up from saving me, i said i would be okay, because i’m a mess, and i told you at twenty-three past three in the morning, i love you, and i told you at twenty-eight past three in morning, i’m in love with you, when i finally stopped crying, when i finally calmed myself, i told it again, and you ended the call, and i told you at thirty past three in the morning, ‘it’s okay’ when you call and say sorry, and then i say it’s my fault, and then i say ‘good night’ without another ‘i love you’, and i still feel alright

(eusie.)

listen. i want everything to finally be over. but i don't want the process. i don't want to be in between. i want to be at the beginning and at the end only. i don't want the stress. please and thank you

Old ones

Four years, and (almost probably) four months           — later,          used to be clear, now just more than a blur;          twitching every time these eyes are caught,          too many stories etched, and not even told;          hushed pleas are not pleas at all, so why?;          loading bullets to a gun, waiting for the blow,          of a mention of a name, of anything at all…;

Muffled screams inside these (five) throats          — saying,          old ones sure are gold, but old ones rust;          bombs threatening to fall, each close distance,          when will they decide to bury these bones?;

But, so far (it’s alright), it’s alright

(eusie.)

Tell me lies a little more Make me cry a little more Break my heart a little more So I can love you a little less

September 18, 2013 (eusie.)

two things i thought about tonight

i.     The moon is painful to look at;     you, on the other hand,       make my heart ache when I stare at you.     How disturbing.

ii.      And it’s harsh, isn't it?          When someone you like        doesn't care about you?

(eusie.)

an interview with my neighbor

part 1: mr jameson coles

frozen cookies are his favorite snacks; he said he likes his heart cold. he even likes to fill the path to his house with burned out roses. “because no one likes a love dwindled to nothing,” he replied when i asked why. sad love, sad love, sad love, i heard his eyes whisper. my heart ached. he always met sunrises with cold coffee which he made every night before. and he didn’t care if his shower won’t work anymore. “where do you take baths then?” he answered that his soul keeps wandering around anywhere but here. he likes the smell of nails. and he said he knows what everyone thought of him. the paintings in his living room always sing to him in a melody that resembled a voice in his past. he didn’t tell me a name. but he said his past liked every time it snows. “do you like it when it snows?” he then asked me. then there was a story behind his eyes that echoed out memories. sad love, sad love, sad love, i heard myself whisper. he secludes himself; he said it’s because he’s waiting. for a future he planned long ago with someone who’s not here anymore. the room surrounded us with an atmosphere that felt like i was traveling backwards. a howling wind screamed pain throughout as he looked outside the windows. then slowly, but tearfully, he murmured, “a sad love, isn’t it?”

(eusie.)

hello. there is nothing to see here but hand-me-down treasures and half-assed writings

being

silence is comforting. but sometimes, it’s like a gun to the head, or a start button for overthinking to creep over. (eusie.)

“I wish I knew when to quit you”

F o r     t h e     f i r s t     t i m e a f t e r     t w o     y e a r s y o u     l e t     m e k i s s     y o u

b u t

n i n e t e e n     h o u r s     l a t e r y o u     k i l l     m e    i n m y     s l e e p w i t h     t h e     p e n

i

a l w a y s     u s e d t o     w r i t e     a b o u t

y o u

(eusie.)

disappointed but not surprised