You don’t love me, and it’s not okay, even if I say it is

You don’t love me and it’s okay.

That, perhaps, is my favorite lie.

Whenever I tell you that, I mean:

1. It’s not okay. I want to be able to hold your hand, to hold you, without holding back or wishing it is not not right.

2. It’s not okay. My heart breaks every time you mention her.

3. It’s not okay. Why do you keep running back to me if you can’t stay?

4. It’s not okay. I just really want to hold your hand.

5. It’s not okay. I love you and is it wrong to sometimes pray to whoever god is listening that you’d somehow love me back?

6. It’s not okay. You make everything better. How can I let go of your brightness?

7. It’s not okay. I wish you were here with me.

8. It’s not okay. I understand though – who would ever choose me? I am never meant to occupy a space in your heart as something more than someone who reminded you you can be so much more.

9. It’s not okay. I’ve been telling you that it’s getting difficult to not love you, but you kept me holding on. Why?

10. It’s not okay but it’s not your fault you can’t love me.

11. It’s not okay. I can’t sleep at night thinking how you would go on if I leave. I know you’d be okay. So why am I breaking?

12. It’s not okay. I know you’d leave someday. I’ve accepted that. But why am I crying?

Whenever I tell you that it’s okay, what I really mean is:

I love you with all that I am, with all the love life has left me, with all that I can, and I’m willing to give more than what my heart can take, but I can’t because it’s not the love you want or need so okay. It’s okay.

i’m in love with someone who loves me but will never choose me

I’m in love with someone who loves me but will never choose me.

I could never blame him, though. I was too much of a coward to tell him how I feel, too caught up in my sorrow to acknowledge that I was feeling something for him, too distracted by what I thought was right. I lost the chance to love him because I wasn’t strong enough.

It kills me every time “I love you” escapes from his lips, knowing that he means: “I love you, but I can’t choose you,”.

And as much as I want to keep my promise to never leave him, I want to forget for a while. I want to practice how not to break whenever he talks about her, want to learn how to fold my heart in shatterproof pieces every time his face lights up at her messages.

Sometimes I like to delude myself, drowning myself in make-believe. Doing mundane things with him made me feel as if I can have every day with him: doing the dishes, cooking meals, washing clothes. I can have this with you every day, my love. But it’s not right.

To be honest, I’m afraid I’m not the right person for him. I’m too much and too little at the same time. He couldn’t figure me out, he said. I had to stop myself from saying, “But you don’t have to. You know me more than myself, haven’t you realized that?”. Instead, I just smiled at him.

I don’t think he’d ever understand how much I love him. He came during my darkest night; he took my breath away and breathed beauty back to my life. Tell me, how can I ever let go of the love that made me want to live again? How can I ever let go of the love that made me realize that I am still capable of this much love?

I can almost forgive the world for all the hurt and the pain when it gave me him. It was as if he was the universe’s apology to me, its redemption for all the sorrow. To say he changed me is an understatement as much as an exaggeration. He never changed me intentionally: he made me realize I can be alive.

He is my favorite sunrise and my most beautiful sunset.

I’m in love with him.

I love him.

And I will continue to do so, even if he can’t ever choose me.

even the universe isn’t enough

I’d give you my universe, let you occupy all the spaces, let you steal the light of my stars, but you wouldn’t understand. No — the galaxies in my soul are nothing compared to the sliver of heaven you found in her.

you only love me when she can’t love you

I am only your home when she cannot understand your dark. I guess this is what homecoming for broken people is like: following the smoke trail to the abandoned house where you find acceptance in the darkness. You never stay though; no one ever does. But you keep coming back whenever the world is too much, if only to hide for a while. After all, don’t we yearn for the light, for absolution? There are no saviors in dead buildings. Only burned frames, only ashes.