i wanted to write about
running out of oxygen, and being afraid
of how much it hurts to jump off from
the edge of a cliff, and not knowing
at all how far the ground was, or when you would ever land.

i wanted to write about
oceans, and drowning, and falling and crashing,
and the way you said i love you and
the time i really believed you and the times
i thought i didn't love you back and the first time when
i honestly realized admitted that i truly
madly deeply did and that i would never ever stop and i
sat down in a corner, pulled my hat over my eyes and
cried.
during the bus ride on the way home.

and
the time i was afraid that i could never ever
learn to fly because, i was too afraid of the crash,

or
too aware of the parachute.

but then i remembered
that falling is just flying without wings.
(and even if the end is a nightmare,
as long as i didn't wake up yet,
you were sort of a dream come true.)

i wanted to write about
intoxication, and damaged pieces of juvenile memories and
'but-that-is-a-different-story's and how everything about us
seemed to have started out as a game, and how i sometimes
still wish i had a chance to get a taste of that faded old friend; him.

and
how i stop myself from ever finishing writing about
some thoughts, and how i surpress feelings and about
the leak in my heart and
how i always patch everything back up and lie
out loud, and louder until i make myself believe that i really don't care.
and that it really doesn't matter that i never got a chance
to ever know what it felt like
to ask him some questions, and have them answered.
and not by --- stop.

i wanted to write about
how i would battle threats of being thrown into fire and
having my skin charred until it is blacker than midnight and my eyes are
lit until all they can see is screaming and blood-coated chains-made-for-scarring and
fire, fire, fire. and the only choice left would be to close the eyes, but,
it's hard to close the ears and block out screams - of pain, terror, hopelessness, helplessness, shriveled-up voices dried out from screeching and begging for forgiveness - with charcoal hands.
i would battle those threats
just so i could be with you. just for a while longer.

and
i would know that you would stabstabstab me
every now and then and little pieces of me would shatter and sometimes
i'd feel violated and angry and readytobreakofffromyou but then
you would start walking away and my honey-coloured mask would get cracked around the edges and my
heart would ache, and crouched down in a corner on the cold bathroom floor i would know that i never ever could.
i would know that you would. stab me every now and then, with a final blow
in the end, after you have stolen from me all that i could give you
and dried my heart of all the love it had to offer. i would know that
is what you would do.

and
a past loss-of-colour would not let me glaze over my vision, my heart with
sugar-coated fantasies of 'ever-after's and rose-coloured dreams of 'forevers'

but
i would stay with you for as long as i could (
   if it meant i could make just a few more memories of youmeus
   if it meant i could taste the sweetness of coffee when it comes from your kisses
   and the warmth of a grey-skied thunderstorm when you watch it with me from a window, holding my hand
) anyway.

i want to write about
how i have no pictures of you,
and the way your voice sounds when you
trace over my stains and flaws and say
i don't care.

i want to write about
learning how to swim, and training myself to fly, and
letting myself forget that
i would ever need a parachute.