I provoked and pushed. Karma. I left my door open. Even though I think you hate my company. Expectations have been replaced by extreme guilt and remorse.  I wish I didn't ruin you.  I'm sorry. 

I try my very best to keep up will all of what life requires of me; no one really sits down and talks to you about how difficult all of it really is. I feel like a tunnel-visioned gravedigger, working day and night digging, losing sight of where I should be. I dig and dig to the point where I no longer see green grass and flowers. I've become the corpse of my hard, dull, monotonous work. I'm so far gone that I don't even see the people who leave candles for me. My loved once. 

My nausea, It creeps in unexpectedly. I feel faint on my planet without gravity. Unallowed to fall. Unallowed to throw up. Can't empty my stomach,  I empty my heart. My tears flow but  float away where no one sees. My nausea hit, and the cycle begins once more.

I dislike you.  You're just not that great of a person. Overly sensitive in all the wrong areas.  Extremely skeptical of my intentions; Radical thoughts that I might get you. Biased. Your 'organize.' Misplaced things. Things gone.  Wreck and steal, they bring nothing to the table. It bothers you that I can put things back.  It bothers me that you don't notice.  You're disgusting.  Deliberate with an innocent facade;  only tolerant in front of an audience.  I know you will never have everything you can possibly want. That gives me peace of mind. 

Be my ears. I'm around people that capitalize on the fact that I'm tolerant and considerate.  High conscientiousness is my downfall. 

What's really been on my mind is you.  Well...I guess the idea of you; being loved by you. More generally,  the idea of being loved. I hate that you give me affection; just to retract it later. I can't blame you because you don't know or care enough. I love you sincerely, with so much heart. The sudden abandonment. The saddening isolation... intrusive reflections. What's really been on my mind is you.  Well...I guess the idea of you; Heartbreak makes loneliness bearable. More generally,  loneliness is unbearable.

Invisibility. A part of me. The unfortunate calling of apathy. Trudging life unnoticed. Judging life for the quiet. Ability. A part of me. The fortunate realization of fantasy. Trudging life unbothered. Judging life for peace.

A reminder to remember; you have so many people that love you. If you disagree, remember that this momentary loneliness is just a segment of the bigger picture. Company comes at unexpected moments. Lingering in the stark white of winter, in the flowers of spring, in the heat of summer, and in the yellowing of fall. Smile in the face of the devil.

Skeleton with a cigarette. We talk with no regret. My heart beats fast in a fishbowl. Yours evident from bone to bone. You bring joy from unexpected places. From texts to peculiar faces. I took a smoke to make some time. To wonder whether your question was benign. I go through the same eb and flows. The question of, am I in love? Or is it just the smoke?

Be considerate.  In an age of self-centrism,  there's no satisfaction in a-void.   Others. The need to notice.  To notice the needs.

I look at you unapologetically. I say outlandish blurbs of indication.  I give gifts right from the heart.  I laugh at your soliloquies. When you went in for a hug, I almost gave in discomfort.  I wish I had raised the white flag.  I don't know much, but I do know one thing. I want things to work out.   

There's something about making you feel great that makes me feel great. I feel like I forget all else when I try to please you. All this time I've been feeling like rock floating in space. With stroke of luck, I entered your orbit. You unknowingly pulled me in. I serve happily as your moon. Happy to indefinitely revolve around you, and admire everything that makes you you. 

I love how genuine you make me feel. I love how you genuinely enjoy my company. I love how genuine you are as a person.  Genuinely, I'm blessed to have you around. 

I'm in deep thought about love. How it tugs at you,  How you ignore it,  How, eventually, it gets to you. Like how a harp's strings snap,  There goes your heart. You cower in the thought of being alone,  Yet, romance is unfathomable. A walking contraction. Loner, hoping to trip into someone else' path. I'm in deep thought about love.

Left with the feeling that I'll never be enough, I hid in the comfort of my room and sang in the back of my mind sweet melodies of self-love. Yet despite this, I heard minor inconveniences, minor sadness, and minor defeat.

When I'm around people I don't know very well, I get uncomfortable. I create a voice of reassurance inside my head that's helpful for a short while, but I start feeling disparity between people again. It's one thing to convince myself I'm loved, and it's another to manifest being loved into my action. It's hard for me to make eye contact. My conversation doesn't flow well. I stutter. Moreover, I'm focused on everything else but what's being said. I wish I could just act out of love.  

The topic of you comes by here and there, and I'm silenced by the pain of revealing my pain. You arise when I least expect you to, often in bad moments. Usually, when I'm eating good. I don't let  our conversation pass on. I shift my eyes and pretend to be disinterested, and start focusing on the disinteresting. Speedily making my way through piles of small talk, making sure you're tucked away in my personal folder. Even with great company, you make me feel lonely. If only I could erase my metadata of your identity. 

I wish I were more conventional, where my heart held high the boxes of society. I wish my last name was 'appropriate;' that way, my feelings were just intrusive thoughts. If only I could be more like what I'm supposed to be, the perfect placeholder in a queue for what people want me to be.  All these shallow wishes, just to have a sense of normalcy. The kind of normal set out by people who have a selfish definition of decency. I wish it weren't taboo to be part of some statistic. I wish I could share my other boxes openly.  I hope that when I send you the list of my identity, you can still love me.

You seem to come by here and there—clouds to my judgment. I think about how despite so much deprivation, I find joy in the memories I spent with you. It floods in and drains out through my eyes. I remember your face under pink lighting and how enamoured I was. I remember you holding me with care and how when I was broke, you would fix me with urushi lacquer. You finished everything in gold. I admired you for that. Do you remember when you were sleeping close to me? You looked so calm, I wish I could have been the same, but I was restless; In love. I remember feeling unstoppable whenever I felt your breath on my face. I kissed you on the cheek, without a doubt. These days, I don't find myself restless about you. However, I do, on occasion, wonder if you ever think about me. I think about what kind of mistake I was for you. Either way, I was wrong.

The lights are on because I'm scared. I feel like I'm sinking into my bed. I drank some water to calm my nerves. I took deep breaths in hopes that would help. Naive, my lungs fill with dust. The lining of my throat is itchy; my nose runs. I have a tired mind, still restless. My body floods with all things that can go wrong. My heart is constantly draining out of my eyes. I want nothing more than the satisfaction of sweet dreams.