The pains are gone; a few headaches here and there, but I feel better.  I used to think that I couldn't imagine a world without you. But the man with three hands hanging on my wall showed me otherwise.  In the background, two ghosts standing in place of you and me. I cried my heart out. My face is clean.  The pains are gone.

It's a privilege to be born with a healthy, capable body. I want to acknowledge that because I feel society forgets sometimes. It's truly something to be grateful for. 

It doesn't have to be you. It doesn't have to be anyone. It could just be my pillow. 

To the artist that reinvented me, I thank you. You made a mosaic of my broken pieces. All of me meticulously laid to form a beautiful image. My blues made up the sky. My green tinting the ground. My yellow, forming daffodils all around. My red made up a door. To the artist that reinvented me, thank you for the opportunity to see a better version of me.

I am learning to pace myself out because attachment is lethal. And sometimes, counting on myself feels a lot better than waiting.

If they want to be in a relationship, will they have to compromise their ideals? 

  I don't know what to feel about you anymore. It feels like something adjacent to love,  one where I settled. A little more lonely, A little bit sad, But a lot more freeing. So, I guess it's not too bad. I don't care anymore about whether I cross your mind.

It has been in the back of my mind for some time. It's not worth it anymore. I carry around hope like a winter jacket under a cold flash. I throw around expectations like snowballs. I build snowmen to keep myself company. It's not worth it anymore. It's not fun. I'm cold, freezing, in fact. 

Actualization is turning me into a demon. The few things I kept close; all ended in disappointment. Everything feels like it's washing over me. "Good," I thought.  Drown me in sorrow.  Water, one-hundred degrees celsius. Scold me for failing to see. Cleanse me for being "Bad." Make me a new creation.

  I'm grateful that I can hold back.  My silver tongue can be pretty sharp.  Dull slashes don't usually bother me,  but the repetitive action becomes a blunt force.  Bruises I cannot tolerate even on iron skin.  My forge reaches unexpected highs.  I get my blade ready for war.  So much furry, so much hate.  Instead of killing my enemy,  I perform. I swallow the sword with full conviction because murder makes me tremble,  and I don't like the smell of blood. I consume the steel not to be consumed by guilt. 

I'm not overly obsessed with my capabilities. I do what I can. I'm not fixated on the idea of comparing myself to others, nor am I envious of what others have. I love myself because I'm unique. My weaknesses, much like my strengths, are my own; they make me, me. There's nothing more embarrassing than a boastful fool. There's nothing smaller than sizing others up. 

  I thought being inquisitive would help me sleep, and it did for a while, but it left a curious side-effect. Tears would flow unexpectedly.

Don't get it misconstrued. My intentions are clear; I make an effort out of friendship, not because you perceive longing from me. It's so frustrating how my interactions have become seemingly like an attempt to make you fall in love with me. I'm just trying to be nice. I pace out the attention I give you. I make sure I'm consistent to not overwhelm you. I'm trying my best to balance you out.  

I am loved, and I feel loved. I just wanted to immortalize that. For whenever, loneliness manifests itself again.

  I just don't understand it.  Any more,  and I think it's fatal. It's just you seem so pink. A feeling unlike any other. Clinging to my heartstrings.  Authentic love. Sporadic bursts of irrationality. Acts of impulsivity. Hints of sensitivity. Bitter jealousy.   Unforgiving Sadness. The perpetual idealistic feeling that, you want to be with me.

  I am not going to apologize for my sincerity. I'm not at fault that you can't handle my harsh approach; your sensitivity will not censor my opinion. "You should act nice." The root word. Act. I'm not going to act. I say what I say with full conviction and with full intent. I'm not your enemy; it's your own delicacy. I wish people saw my intentions instead of picking out my words. I try to be helpful, yet I'm scorned.

Same excitement and respect; let's try that. 

  Today tears flow like a waterfall.

  Lately, I've been feeling extremely aggravated by how you've been acting. On the few occasions where we can interact, you make an effort to be avoidant. Why is that? What's the point of you being around if we aren't even trying to bond or get along? Am I just overthinking this? Am I simply jealous of what others have with you? You know, I've been very insecure about how I should go about approaching you; it feels like any wrong move will split us farther apart. I know you don't hate me, but I hate this stagnation in our relationship. The root of all this frustration is I can't seem to connect with you, and any effort to try will only make things worse. On top of all that, I think you're purposeful; and the knowledge of my fragility does not bother you. I started feeling like you don't want me at all in any context, like I'm a burden, worthless, just some meaningless weed extremely root bound in your flower bed of perfect people. I feel like an ...

  I want to find someone I can talk to without feeling insecure about oversharing. I want to pour my heart out to someone who can take all of me. As of now, I have not found that person; but one day, I'm sure they will come. 

I no longer feel an ounce of attraction to you.  You can finally rest assured that I will never fall in love with you ever again.  You showed me a part of you that is too strong a rouge. I realize that I add nothing to your life.  I made that observation on that fact. You make an effort if it counts.  I'm not blind to situations. I'm not worth it.

Have you ever been afraid to admit that you are falling out of love with someone? For some reason, I am. My person has provided so much structure to who I am and who I want to be. The thought of them leaving is synonymous with the idea of me losing a part of my identity. Repetitive heartbreak taught me that; my love is simply a bewildering attempt to find myself. I no longer feel like we could be together. I'm happy for you, but not in the way that "it makes happy that you're happy." In a way, I'm utterly apathetic to who you want to be with; you don't deserve me. I feel a duty to preserve my happiness. 

The more I see you, the more intolerant I become. I think it's my karma that I'm attracted to selective people. 

  I hate to say it, but I'm on my last ounce of magic; I don't want it to go, but all you've been doing are tricks.

  When you love someone, you make sure you do everything in your power to spend time with that person. When you love someone, you understand their life; and how busy things could be. They can't always be there even if you want them to.  I hate the latter, but I love you.

  I know I love you because I seek you.  I know I love you because I miss you.  I know I love you because I'm unyielding.  I know I love you because I'm determined. I know I love you because I'm forgiving.  I know I love you because I'm overthinking. I know I love you because I'm transfixed.