Dedication

For all the badasses reluctant to show their soft side—you are not alone.

There is this myth that showing emotions is a sign of weakness, a myth I believed for many years. This book is my way back to my feelings. To be comfortable with them, around them, in them. May it help you embrace yours as well.

And to anyone who struggles to talk about love and heartbreak, I hope you find the power in your vulnerability. It is okay to feel something; there is even strength in it.

Is this how you remember our story too?

Part I: Following You

No swiping

No height lies

No tiger pics

No bio quips

Our encounter was

the stuff of urban myths:

an In Real Life sitch.

We met under the desert sky,

strangers among friends

your gaze rested on me

too long for it to be a friendly hi

the sky turned crimson

reading your lingering thoughts

the sun slipped away, so sly

knowing the night is when

lovers unite

stars giggled down

whispering about our fates

finally aligned

I sat, staring up

and you, you only stared

at me that night.

No wait-three-days rule afoot

You call, not text

and I think finally

I’ve found myself

a modern romantic,

someone I could even

make mine.

.

.

.

Or, are you just a friend?

Most people are imitations

of their idols

of favorite characters—

forever editing their lives

to fit an ideal.

Not you:

you are your own being

unaltered, untainted.

You notice things

about me

I did not think

were worth noting.

We hang like friends

and kiss like lovers

I want to know:

what are we?

On a trip away,

your phone battery died.

You added me on Facebook

to make sure I knew why

you hadn’t replied.

I wonder maybe,

we have something here,

you and I.

You say my name

and I finally know

what it means

to come undone.

I am no good at jokes:

despite off-delivery, and

references too vague,

you laugh every time

looking into my eyes

making me feel seen

for the first time in my life.

You are

my favorite

notification.

You have turned me into a cliché:

I check if you’re online

a dozen times a day

lol at your Snaps

{you’d be such an entertaining date}

and wonder if you tweet about me

or is there some other pizza-loving bae?

Fear and courage, love and lust

feel the same.

Tingling, heart clenching

how to tell, which is what?

I hope

you never

think of

someone else

while you

kiss me.

Lay down your armor

I’ve cast mine aside

out of these confines

I feel larger, stronger

won’t you join me

in this vulnerability?

Let us be true to ourselves

and get to know

each other tonight.

The closer

you try to get

the harder

I’ll push you away.

I don’t want you to go,

you say.

I feel my doubts

melt away.

You want to make me breakfast?

you ask.

My sincerity puzzles you

and it unquiets my heart to know

you have never been loved before.

We love inexpertly

in whispers and gushes

fragments and bursts

never sure

how much to give

never sure

how to take.

You created us

a Netflix profile

naming it our own

version of Brangelina.

You have a quality about you

a gravity,

your eyes dare me to look away

knowing I won’t, I can’t

because when you look at me

nothing else exists.

Thought fragments

flash images

and a sudden rush

thundering

in my chest

as the air turns heavy

like impending rain.

The feeling of you

l i n g e r s

leaving me electrified

for days.

I felt your absence

before I met you

as one misses stars

in a dark night sky—

knowing they are there,

wishing they’d appear.

Saturday night dates

are easy to find

but I want only you

on Sunday mornings.

Weave your fingers with mine

let me rest my head on your chest

stroke my hair and tell me

all your dreams and fears;

let me see your darkness

and I’ll show you mine.

We haven’t known each other for long

it is probably too early to say

I love you

{but what is love, if not this?}

I tell you I want to know you more,

when I really mean

I no longer want a life

without you in it.

But that would probably scare you.

Instead I ask

where you grew up, ask

about your siblings,

we talk about how much

you miss your mother.

I want to tell you I love you

but maybe it’s not the time.

I hope when you look in my eyes,

the way only you know how to,

you see my soul pouring out.

In all my things said, unsaid,

what I really mean to say is

don’t ever go.

It’s rather risqué, isn’t it;

how deeply embedded

you are in my thoughts.

The days have grown

too long

as I wait to see you

and the nights, well

I have never met shorter nights.

The moon must be on strike

or maybe

no amount of time is enough

when I am with you.

Love is relativity and time travel

distortion and dilation

it is when the 1440 minutes in a day

are not all the same length

most are useless

but the few spent with you

are tiny infinities.

In a world

that no longer pauses

to listen to the whispers of a soul

you found songs

I didn’t know I held within me.

In a starless night, your smile is the moon

as I look within your eyes of purple hue

I see universes of us, in dimensions anew

it seems against the laws of nature

to have a mortal as impeccable as you

we search and search,

to explain body and soul

yet I found you, an irrational whole.

Are you real or a fevered dream;

will you disappear, as I catch my bravery?

Is reality better

or the digital us?

Are you better

or the idea of you?

The thing about love is,

it cannot be ignored.

I can pretend it is

anger, resentment,

jealousy, fear.

I can call it

by different names

but it is here,

as undeniable as the soft pulsing

of blood through my veins.

I feel like someone else

when I am with you

a better someone

a softer me.

As I sit beside you,

coffee warming my hands

your words heating my heart,

my walls disintegrate.

I think I may be

falling in love

with you.

My laughter

tastes different with you;

it pours out like a high waterfall

crashing strong,

words land heavy

between gasps;

it is not an elegant laugh

but I don’t care.

You like me messy

so I allow myself to spill over;

these unfiltered moments

are how I measure our love.

Growing up,

love felt like a superstition

a fantasy I should not

indulge in.

Then you came along

providing me faith in something

I had given up on.

If they ask me, What is love?,

all I can say is, you.

For when we met,

it finally made sense

what others meant

when they spoke of love.

My love is

not a blooming flower

for that shall die too soon

nor is it an ocean fickle

with its affair with the moon

it is not a deeply rooted tree

for they can lie decaying too.

This love of mine is like matter

abundant, ever-present

the kind that cannot be

created nor destroyed

and as this love shifts

its energy to you

treat it gently for

it is pure,

it is true.

I strive every day

to see you as you are,

not as you should be.

In the hours of deepened dusk,

you reek of loneliness

and the burdens of this flesh

as twilight lengthens endlessly

it feels tomorrow may never arrive

there is an urgency in your melancholy

for if death were to visit, it would surely be tonight

alone in these late-night hours when time stands still

your cries of love come tumbling out,

you feel alive at last, flesh on flesh triumphs all.

But what love is that which is born in despair?

Instead, love me in the morning light,

with a fresh promise and hope ahead

when all seems possible, senses erect

in the glory of a new day, love me right.

You are

heartbreaking

and breathtaking

in the sorrows you fight.

I see your faults;

but for the first time

they are not an excuse

to run away.

As you trace figures on my back

I close my eyes and

forget the stresses that gnaw at me

our silence is lavish

glimmering with understanding

you know every etch on my soul.

For the first time, maybe ever,

the storm in my chest softens to a hum

words racing through my brain

turn into wisps of air

as our heartbeats slowly sync,

you settle my turmoil.

You are my

I-wake-up-and-think-of-you

love.

In spaces between breaths

ends of unfinished sentences

stopped at red lights

cruising through greens

loading new Netflix episodes

stirring honey in tea

gazing into eyes

reminiscent of your blues

you steal moments away from me;

I am yours in ways

you do not know

and I give you everything,

willingly.

You will always be safe with me,

you say.

Every night we untie

the knots of situations

put salve on cuts from the day—

no nick too small,

no wound too hideous.

Every morning we prepare

for our circumstances—

with you, I do so with hope.

Some days,

I just cannot face the world alone.

Love me like the ocean loves the shore

sometimes hard, sometimes gentle

retreating a bit to let her breathe

but never too far, never for long.

It was not until I met you

that I understood

I had never been in love before.

My love might be

hard to hear

but I promise

it is here.

How exquisite it is

to have someone want to chase

every thought

meander around each memory lane

and make a home in my brain.

I want to be your favorite book

the one you read over and over again

take me off the shelf, wear me out

{don’t worry, I have a strong spine}

understand my heartbreaks

stain me with your tears

dog-ear your favorite bits

take notes, memorize details

read between my lines

find new meaning every time

make me your favorite book,

because you are mine.

Do you feel it too?

We have such a connection,

you say.

Yes, it scares me

how similar we are,

I reply.

We were sipping tea, watching rain fall

when you whispered above the storm,

Aristotle believed the sound of thunder

was the clash of two clouds.

That may have been when

I fell in love with you.

Or maybe it was our sunrise walks

turning this night owl chipper at dawn.

People say, Don’t let someone change you,

but how can we not change

with every encounter

every relationship

every love?

We take a bit of someone

give a bit of us away.

I have changed since your love

and I like

who I have become.

In the clouds

and tea leaves,

the ink blots

and tarot cards

all I ever see is

you and me.

Love me

like the world loves

Beyoncé.

In a world so determined

to sort us in boxes—

are you happy or sad

a morning person or night

woke warrior or shy

brown or white?

In a world that forgets

how ridiculous it is for a being

to be just one thing

when we are stardust and earth,

ashes and flowers

all mangled together.

In a world that demands

I piece myself apart

to claim one identity or another,

I only find myself whole, here

with you, I can be everything,

I can be me.

I want a house filled with

paintings, books, sunflower dust,

and whispers from you.

Perhaps we should discuss love

but that is a topic for volumes

and I probably don’t have

enough phone battery.

With you, the commitments of love

no longer seem burdensome.

I do not understand you

but that does not worry me;

I barely understand myself.

If you want to be with me

you will make it happen;

there is no bad timing

just excuses.

I didn’t know you wear glasses,

you say.

Only for reading, I reply,

wondering

who have you been looking at

all this time.

Your attention is manic

I wither away, like a peony

under darkened skies

forgetting the touch of your light

for long stretches at a time,

yet I await your return.

How can someone like you

like someone like me?

you ask.

How are you fine

handing me all your sorrows

unwilling to take any of mine?

You lost signal

in the middle of the sentence.

I waited by the phone

yet you never called back,

but I saw updates

on your Instagram.

I have been swallowing

these words for far too long

I just need to say aloud

I love you.

I have been hurt before,

you reply.

Can we take it slow?

I care for you.

I understand,

I lie.

Part II: Unfollowing You

Who needs labels?

you ask.

Let’s just get to know each other.

Sure,

I lie

when I should say

goodbye.

And like last-minute work

skipped workouts

decent bedtime,

leaving you becomes

another thing I put off.

In the end,

it is the things I do willingly

that weigh on me most.

Love leaves in missed good mornings

and forgotten coffee orders;

it is always the small things

that matter most.

My desire for you grew

yours for me faltered

and that should have

been the end.

I understand the comfort

in empty promises.

Like drinking Shasta,

pretending it’s Coca-Cola.

I question

your intentions

never

your goodness.

I pour happiness

to water your soul

but nothing works

I must let you go

I cannot bear it anymore,

how you love

your sadness more.

It is a constant battle:

walking towards

walking away

from you.

I miss you, you say.

I convince myself,

you just need more time.

I cannot love you

I will not love you

I shall not love you

these silent reveries

stay with me all day

because I can tell

this love will destroy me

and though

it is nothing I cannot survive

I am too tired

to keep this uncertainty alive

so just leave

or stay

whichever you choose,

do it all the way.

I am drowning

in the shallow waters

of your affection.

There should have been more.

There is a light felt in the embrace of love

a cozy pastel or shimmery gold

but you are neon red

the pause-and-go of a fast-food joint

your words synthetic sweet

infused with corn syrup lies;

there is nothing natural about you

your freshly thawed words

dished out in mass supply.

I’m lovin’ you, you say

to every new bae, I learn too late.

If I had paid more attention

I would’ve tasted your artificial ways.

Even as greener pastures beckon

I want to stay for just one more taste;

a glutton for your temporary love,

this naive sin nourishes me today.

You reach for me in your sadness and

I forget I cannot lift you out of it

I forget you want to pull me down

just for the company.

Intimacy makes friendships stronger,

you say.

The man karaokeing on stage gets louder

Good times never seem so good, he drones on

I look around, wondering if someone would

tell the man he’s singing too loud

the man must know, he’s in the wrong.

We should go to my place,

you say.

I feel the salt at the back of my throat

threatening to pour out,

then pity pricks my eyes as I realize

you are missing the point of it all, this life

the bliss in calling one person your own.

I imagined

a hundred things

I wanted to do with you.

You imagined

a hundred things

you wanted to do to me.

Sorry I placed so much

value on your words.

You see,

I thought you meant them.

Time with you now feels

like a trip to Taco Bell;

great in the moment

regretful the next day.

I missed you, you’d say

even though we’d texted

all day.

Back when you remembered

the things I told you

and asked questions,

quickly learning

about me.

When you have me

you cannot be bothered

to look my way.

Do you remember

when we fell in love?

I do.

The memories are

the only thing

that keep me tethered

as we drift apart.

But I am learning,

slowly learning,

those are not enough.

I untie their knots around me,

slowly learning

the art of moving on.

Madness is no notifications

and a Read.

Humans should come with

macronutrients & warning labels

Yours:

35% goodness

65% evil

9 grams of kindness

32 grams of bullshit

Beware: dangerous to consume,

lethal to love.

Well dear, I suppose

you don’t really know me

for all you do

is talk about you.

Slowly,

you seem to be

like everyone else in the city.

Looking over my shoulder

to see who else is in the room.

Wanting to be

someplace more exciting,

with someone more exciting.

I begin to envy

the bald eagles,

the alligators

whose monogamy

comes without thought.

I am a master at self-deception;

I believe in your words of love

even as I stare at your eyes of lust.

I am not ready for a commitment,

you say.

I am sorry.

The silence is dense

with condensation from your words

clinging to our faces,

a rotten-sweet stench envelops us.

You look away from me and

I wonder if you can feel

the quake in my chest,

if you can hear

the roar of my heart.

You sit silently,

I feel each limb fall apart.

Yet I stand up, willing my organs

to continue functioning, my bones

to remain twined and carry me out.

I have no words left

perhaps my swollen tongue

may never utter another word again.

I gather up my limbs

and organs and bones

and hope and dignity and love

and drag them out the door.

I extended my world to you

shyly, heaving under its weight.

How casually you turned it down,

like extra butter on popcorn.

.

.

.

{only monsters do that;

now you know what I think of you}

I envy people who can talk of love

calmly, casually

like discussing a favorite app or brand,

as if it is something everyone has.

You said sorry without

understanding why,

that is when I should’ve known

I needed to let you go.

Sweetly, profusely

you always apologized.

His work is difficult, I’d say,

he is so sorry.

They shook their heads

and muttered, Again?

And then there were

too many missed dates

and forgotten promises.

I had to admit,

your apologies were a blanket

to smother my questions.

I had to admit

you never cared to know

what was wrong.

I had to admit

you never intended to stay.

Some nights I stay up wondering

what you are escaping or looking for

in the different beds you spend your time.

Are you trying to forget

the pain of a love unreturned

or are you searching for an old lover

in new faces every night?

Tell me, why wasn’t I enough?

I am not your vacation home,

your place away from reality.

I’m flesh, blood, feelings, emotions,

not a piece of realty.

Don’t ever forget that.

I see updates of you

in rooms I no longer recognize,

Insta stories with strangers

{new baes, I wonder?}

Even offline

you remain on my mind.

Maybe what hurts most

is how easy I was to get over.

How you have another

before the goodbye has begun.

Look what you made me do:

Tinder Reactivated

Others are gentle and listen

caring I have never known,

yet my heart races

only at thoughts of you.

I am trying to learn

how to mourn

the loss of something

that never really was.

I am insufferable to be around;

I get myself drunk on thoughts of you

and vomit out words of us

from an imagination overused.

I worry about unfilled cravings

uncorrected mistakes,

I worry about me, without you.

I have photos of you, of us

tucked away beneath jumbled socks.

There is one of you writing at that diner

we sat at for hours.

I cannot see your eyes but your smile,

I look at it when I’m blue.

Did you keep mine too?

Send me some, I want to see

what you captured of me.

That is who I am, that me with you.

I would rather be remembered

through your eyes

than mine.

Stray glances and last-minute hangs,

the signs were there all along

I chose to ignore gut instinct

and carried on with fledgling hope—

I saw so much of me in you.

I waited for you to recognize

what we had was special

maybe, different,

but you had blindfolds on as well.

It must have been in my most

egotistical of moods

when I believed you loved me too.

When they ask you about love,

does my name ever come up?

I swallow words,

sticky sour

like mornings of beer

and tobacco aftertastes.

Sticky sour words

that turn into land mines

when kept too long

words exploding, uncaring

of celebrations or joy,

of time or resolve.

Sticky sour words

that I cannot scrape off.

Do not ask questions

for which answers

you aren’t prepared to hear

—I remind myself.

But in the not knowing

I find my madness.

Maybe the hardest part

is letting myself feel the pain,

acknowledging

you had meant something

we had meant something.

At least to me.

Despite it all, I admire your work;

how beautifully you destroyed

first my walls, then me.

It is the silences I miss the most:

driving down winding lanes

destination unknown,

inhaling the crispness of trees

sitting on bar stools

with music too loud for conversation,

lying slumped against my staircase

unable to speak all the words

corroding my insides.

You were always there

and my silences had a home.

In moments of stillness

it is still your page I refresh.

Your love had a

limited vocabulary.

Your wants.

Your needs.

There were no

words in your dictionary

defining how to love me.

You never claimed to love me,

I thank you for that.

In the end, I blame myself

for believing something

never said.

Now I am left with doubt

on what was truly felt.

Your words were like poetry

{or maybe your lips}

you knew how to swing

the pendulum of emotion

sometimes like Neruda

sometimes like Poe

at times, we were a fairy tale

at times, a horror show.

I hoarded your love

from the very beginning

as if I knew

it’d be in limited supply.

Hundreds of photos of you

of us

numbering far more

than the days we spent together

a box full of memorabilia.

I have made something

out of the nothings you gave me.

I am good at giving meaning

to words that held no feeling

to things that were meant to be

discarded from the beginning

I am too good at trying on love

that was never my fit.

I break my own heart a few times

before understanding it is over.

I wake up excited, forgetting

the empty side, the parted lover.

Let me be clear, I did not need you;

but oh how much I wanted you.

I now see how unoriginal our love was:

you—full of pickup lines

The Story Continues on BooksBarbecue!

Enjoyed this preview? ❤️ Do not stop here!

Read the complete book free online → 🔗

Continue reading now on BooksBarbecue and discover every page!

Love reading? Bookmark BooksBarbecue.com for more amazing books!

Happy Reading!