How painful it is

To see the one 

Who holds your heart

Walk away

In the arms of someone else

I sat there

Where you are

Weeping

Talking about he

How he is

How we are

How he isn't like you

Aren't I quite an imbecile

To respect replies

From a man

Mute

Lying 

Under a gravestone

11:09

Mouth full of liquor

Mind full of thoughts

Deadly are they

But again so was this infliction

What's left of me from you

This heart, beating and stopping

Slowly, then on a fast pace

This soul, empty and engulfed

Engulfed in memories that haunt

Engulfed in memories of you

11:10

I, a domicile abandoned

Once pervaded by your laughter

Now aghast, remnants of your smile

Tattoed on my sleeve

You vowed never to leave

You broke me like you did

Your promises

What you did

Matters not

You.

Here.

That's what matters.

11:11

You

My falling star

My wish

My dream

Now and always.

Different versions of ourselves live in other dimensions. In different timelines, I believe we exist.

Somewhere, in a dimension of the past version of myself, lies a girl enclosed in your arms. On a bed of roses. Sunkissed and melting at your gaze.

I hope she finds a way to make time stop. For in that very moment, she was yet to realize the things I do now. 

The ink that flows from my pen spreads all over the sheets of paper I placed on my table, the only words decipherable are those that write of him. My feelings turn to letters, my thoughts turn to words. I free my mind and let the ballpoint trail through the first page of a thousand-paged book.

The introduction tells you how my mind perceived him to be. A becoming man. An exceptionally astounding creature. The epitome of how unfathomable perfection comes to life. The next pages indicate how a naïve young woman finally makes a single successful judgment after meeting the hero of the book. The pages also express stereotypical circumstances like how the world stops when I see him pass by, how many sleepless nights I have had are spent thinking of him, the overwhelming adrenaline rush I feel in my body whenever his name pops up in my caller ID, and all of those that would seem too long to disclose one after another. As one would read through, the desperation of the writer becomes more and more overpowering. The story of how they finally involved themselves in a relationship and everything in between, the things every girl would dream of are established. This includes him throwing rocks outside her window, how he takes her to inexpensive yet very opulent-looking places, the way his hands fit hers, how most of her smiles, laughter and emotions are exclusive to only him. As the story goes on, she fell deeper than her heart would care to let her and for the first time in a very long time, she gave someone the ability of destroying her, not minding the innumerable times of betrayal and weariness she had experienced. Their story eventually becomes more sentimental. She showed him the deepest of scars within her, the absence of light in her life, how she was stuck on the same page over and over again, and how he changed all of these. To him, breaking her heart is now easier than it ever was.

Delinquency then kicks in. Denouement was nowhere to be found. The darkness he hid behind his light was now obvious. Her book changed context. The pages are now withering. The words flowed, and so did the tears from her eyes. This is the part where source of her exuberance has left without any explanation, without any consolation. The only things left were a pile of depressing memories, the lies within his words, and a broken soul. Her greatest fear is now; this is when the evil twin of the happiness he causes her reveals itself. Time tried to heal the wounds present in her heart, and she convinced herself that she is over him, that the memory of him will remain in the past and that her present and her future will be untouched by his lingering thoughts. And then she saw him with another girl. The sight was so excruciating she felt like a helpless piece of paper torn bits by bits. Being the writer she is, she came running home, completely allowing everything to be out of sight and just grabbed a pen and the book that stayed empty the day he left.

This writing is the product of the mischief of a man too deceptive to predict. He is no longer at my side, and he probably never will be again. That may seem too evident to point out, but it is not at all factual. He is not on my side, but he is on the deepest of my thoughts, my emotions, and everything there is. He stays here, he always will. He lives on the deepest parts of me.

I write because he exists.

It was on the first month of the year that she found herself sitting on the corner of her room, feeling her heart pound to the sounds of deafening silence. She had isolated herself and life has left her with two things: a knife on her right hand and bleeding wounds on her left wrist. This moment is where she is most desperate to find the panacea to all her dilemmas, where she badly wants to destroy the pain embracing her. A thought broke the emptiness, and she recognized a solution hearing the voices within.

“Get inside your head and put an end to it. Finish what dishevels you. This will all be over. Your nemesis is waiting.”

She closes her eyes and lets herself be driven to the deepest of her subconscious. It was an overwhelming flight and she has seen what she never has, heard what she never heard, felt was she never felt and now she knew more than she thought possible. Right there. Right in that beautiful, baffling place. She has reached the insides of her own mind.

Then there’s that voice, that familiar voice that awakened her and has put her here.

“Get inside your head and put an end to it. Finish what dishevels you. This will all be over. Your nemesis is waiting.”

She then walks to what seems like woods untouched by the light of day. Images and voices of trauma have been following her, and that’s when she knew that it would take more than great courage and sacrifice to end the predicaments she has been accustomed to. She has seen things of great wonder, like the hands of the people that wanted to save her, the hands she never grabbed. They were trapped behind, guarded by a silhouette that calls itself ‘The Unheeding Pessimism’. She came running then, terrified of the unprecedented monstrous environment she knew very little of. Then it was heard. That voice.

“Get inside your head and put an end to it. Finish what dishevels you. This will all be over. Your nemesis is waiting.”

Just after it has stopped resounding, she has seen a lady ruling over a fall of tears, blood and unnoticed perspiration. It was the most acquainted being she knows. Its eyes were sharp. Its lingering hands were scarred. It formed a shadow of a woman, and yet it was only darkness in the form of thoughts. It stood right in front of her, turns the corners of its mouth to a smile inherited from demons. Then it looked at her straight in the eye, as if having the want to devour her soul, stopped smiling and says, “Here stands your greatest nemesis.”

It was her.