ballad to a love lost

...

As lipsticks and coffee stains,

your name is a memoir

scarred on the folds of my lips.

A favorite rhyme

from a poetry written a long time ago

in classroom desks and fresh painted cream walls.

Our stories are polaroids

tucked neatly in my sleeves.

Although for you, they seem to be wax statues

melting away

under the ticking of the clock.

But I wish I am mistaken

like how I usually was.

We have grown so much, so fast

like the cars passing by downtown.

And I wonder if anyone would

ever remember

how we used to be.

The pictures of us reflected

on each window rolled up

went away with sweet summer,

and I hope I should have spoken something about them.

But the weather's always too fine

for regrets to be served at breakfast in the mornings.

And some sorries are better left off unsaid.

I say, I hope you know

that I am an open shed under a heavy downpour,

the blues on the safe skies,

and the basil green light.

Because you made me bleed

and the hurt felt good.

Yet, some pain just never really go away

even if there's nothing left of me.

You see, I fell hard alone.

Bumping through your flags and bombs

sticking out in directions

I thought were meant for me to take.

We were all so young

and we smelled of better tomorrows.

But my wounds are not yours to mend.

Still, I hope you would stitch me up again.

You left me with a couple of promises.

And I hanged them on the walls

of the home that I am,

so, whenever you feel like running away,

you'll find a familiar place in me to stay.

I do not need your love.

For I know there was none in the very first place.

I just wish you don't forget

the wishful thoughts and toothy grins,

and the tears we held back

the moment we realized we have gone too far

from where we have come from.

The dead and still years

behind us mean nothing to me.

Call me whenever you find it hard to breathe.

Or when you find yourself lost in a crowded room

with people who badly wish to speak.

I'll sit beside and listen with you.

Hold your hand until we get the right translations.

I hope my silence will reach you

As yours cradles me to sleep.

I wish you throw me down,

not with roses

but of tulips.

For your hands aren't mine to break

with my thorns and silly messed up state.

I am your person.

One of your life's what if's.

Your home.

Please remember me.

(Hello! Thanks for reading. This is a poem that I wrote and come to really love and I hope you enjoyed it as well. xoxo)

Image Sources:

https://weheartit.com/entry/243444330?context_set=187109290-pleasing-to-my-eyes&context_type=collection