Heartache - Tumblr Posts
How can you say that you've moved on ?
I no longer include her in my future planning. She has no place in my life anymore. No role to fill, no house to share, no kids to raise. Nothing.
Part of me wishes we never met-
If we hadn’t, I wouldn’t have to feel this constant ache in my chest.
Like your hands are wrapped so tightly around my heart, deciding whether or not to keep it whole or crush it to pieces…
I wish you would just make up your mind.
Part of me wishes we never got close, that we never talked for hours on end, that I never got a glimpse of the stupid smile.
If we didn’t, I wouldn’t be so caught up in everything that is you- Your presence, your words, your laugh….
It’s like a breath of air, one laced with a bitter poison. Slowly killing me with every inhale, but for some reason I can’t get myself to stop breathing it in.
Part of me is so glad that I know you. That you understand me in a way that I haven’t experienced before.
You make me feel seen and loved, like I matter to you, more than the stars in the sky!
You’re like a lighthouse in the middle of a dark, raging sea. A sign of hope! But no matter how much I paddle, it feels like you’re always pulling away, just out of reach. Guarded.
Most of me knows that I shouldn’t wait for you. That if I do I’m only signing my own death certificate.
The longer I stay near you, the more I feel my heart crack and my lungs burn.
But part of me…
A little part of me, the part you created with that kiss, is so hopeful that I might be wrong.
That you’ll turn around and you’ll hold my heart so tenderly in your hands, that you’ll care for me as deeply as I do for you.
And that little part won’t die down, no matter how hard I try to stomp it out.
One flash from your lighthouse and it comes back just as strong as before.
Echoes of the past
_3_
To see you randomly on a bus,
Or riding a bike, causing a fuss,
With teasing eyes and a crazy race,
Now you're gone, I miss that face;
Suddenly you disappeared from sight,
Now all the paths feel empty, no light.
~m.
I thank you.
I like what i am now, little bit broken. I am glad I am. A few months back I was a complete mess. You left me so broken. And maybe you were sad too. But you’ve found someone new. And you’re happy. By god did that kill me.
I’m glad you did. because if you hadn’t i wouldn’t have realized how little I meant to you. How futile our love was to you. I tried so hard to pretend it was all fine, that seeing the two of you together did not kill me. Heaven only knows the nights i cried myself to sleep.
You told me that you found yourself with her. well good. But i was left behind on the ground to up the pieces of my shattered heart.
Nevertheless i picked myself up. It still hurts, seeing the two of you together, happy, but not as much. I am able to push aside the thoughts of what we were and how we could’ve been. I can look past the hurt and the pain you’ve caused. I may not be able to let myself love again anytime soon, but i will..eventually.
More than anything I’m proud of myself. i picked myself up without anyone. I didn’t need another person’s affection to feel close to whole again. I can’t wait to fall in love again. Maybe this time I’ll fall for someone who’ll love just as deeply and just as honestly as i will them. Maybe this time I’ll do justice to my emotions, to my fears, to my dreams ...and to my love.
I don’t blame you, I thank you.
With love, the one person you meant the world to
Hope, that’s where I went wrong.
You were my first. I didn’t know what love was.
I didn’t know what it should’ve felt like.
But I’d hoped it felt like you.
I loved you, with everything I was. I gave to you everything I had. I knew you inside and out. You became a part of me.
And I’d hoped I were a part of you too
It wasn’t always a bed of roses.
We had our ups and our downs, but we fixed it for each other.
And I’d hoped we always would.
Each time time we fell apart, I was always here.
Even when you walked away, found others, more than once, I was always here.
Because you came back to me.
And I’d hoped you always will.
But you didn’t.
You killed the love I thought you were.
You ripped me right out, like I were nothing more than a button in your life.
And you walked right away.
Maybe that’s where I went wrong, I hoped.
I’d hoped to receive the love I gave.
Or maybe it was that I waited.
I couldn't walk away. Even though you did.
No matter how I tried, I couldn’t.
Because I’d hoped, deep down I’d hoped, you and me would be what we once were.
Even now, a year after you walked all over my heart, I see you, and I hope.
So out of place..
I was meant for the black and white movies.
This age is too much for me..
I was made for a time when horses and corsets were commonplace..
I was meant for chatting in coffee houses and book dates to books stores
Don’t get me wrong, I’m thankful for innovations
Electricity? I love it
Mobiles? So efficient
But I really can’t help but yearn
for a time that can’t possibly return
A time of blossoms and greenness, lovely dresses and exquisite balls, of letters and of love that were true.
You’re such a spoiled brat, protected like a princess and now behaving like your mother. What a pitiful outcome.
What would you know anyways? -crying- You don't know how it feels to have everything and make one little mistake and lose everything. And you're so desperate because you loved someone so much you traded your soul, but were tricked into almost killing your childhood friend.... And I am not behaving like my mother, she couldn't love anything except herself... .... but... I... I am a spoiled brat... I had the most wonderful, yet dangerous, lady, NOT A DRONE BECAUSE SHE WAS SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT, right with me... by my side... After everything, there was peace and solace and safety...
And I squandered it... *she hugged herself as she fell to the ground crying* Oh anon, Serial Designation J is beautiful, but like the most beautiful flowers, they can be so poisonous..
When I close my eyes to slumber
You are the last thought that flashes in my mind
Your soft caress
The way you look at me with your soft sensual eyes
Your soft, supple skin
Naked against mine
Your smell and how high it gets me;
When I open my eyes you're the first thought and feeling
My heart races to reach out to you
And I wonder... If I am the first and last for you
And if not....
Then who?
-cjb
Him.
Archive #6 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: Damn, who hurt her- anyway, I found this in my embarrassing amount of 'Untitled Documents' in my google drive. You know when you are cleaning your room and you come across letters/diaries of when you were going through it? Yeah... but why was this so interesting to read HAHA (I don't even remember when I wrote it). Enjoy!
Him.
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He would’ve read my work.
Not voluntarily, I would have had to definitely convince him. Though, it didn’t take much teasing— he always complied in the end. So much for his complaints that I “wrote too much” or my work was “too complicated”, he ended up taking extra time and care reading everything I sent through.
Did he always understand what I wrote? Ha. Absolutely not.
But he read it anyway, he always did.
I ponder about it, sometimes. I glance down to— nothing, really— and just relive all the little things and memories we shared. It’s definitely bittersweet, but I am not a picky eater; the taste of bitterness accompanied by the honey-suckle kiss on the tongue has soon become a fan favourite. It’s like a logical but irrational balance: good as a thesis, terrible for the heart. All those bitterness-cringing-moments won’t hide the fear of high blood sugar.
Would he ever miss my writing?
Really does your head in, doesn’t it? All those rudely blunt questions your mind comes up with when the world goes quiet.
Does he even remember half of what he read from me?
To be fair, I don’t even remember what I sent him— I just remember I used to do it all the time.
Will he ever get to know that I have found a passion to write again?
Poems were my favourite way to convey storytelling. Commitment was miminial, because they are so short (surprise, surprise— my signature 14 paged spiel does take a lot of effort and energy which is not favourable), and I loved my little rabbit-holes of just finding the synonym for every. single. word. Anything that required excessive and proper sentences drained me, it didn’t feel right. But now— I have come to embrace it and oh, enjoy it oh-so-much.
Funny thing, though— I never felt like my essays were the best. I’m sure the actual concepts and ideas I write within an essay structure have merit, but I never felt like my structural integrity of a normal essay spoke out to me. I also always felt like what I wrote for an essay could have been better— it just felt cheesy. To be fair— I never really got to the point of sitting down and reading poetry, the pieces I picked up were always too cheesy (even for me). But oh, how I loved writing it.
Don’t get me wrong, I love writing essays. But–
Will he ever know that I found my own sense of writing style?
My sense of writing is emotive language. I love symbolism, the play on words— I like the puzzling effect, the double take on things. I love to draw people in, make them confused and heart-broken. I want the real message hidden in deciphering, having to go back and reread it just so you can catch the missed hints and easter eggs. I love deep and dark themes— horror has always been my favourite genre, after all.
And because I love the deep, emotive conception of writing— I want to always incorporate it into my essays. But of course, I don’t have the time to properly plan out which critical sentence to repeat later down the line— what metaphors and personifications really mean. But you’ll be damned to not see me try.
Would he be damned?
It doesn’t matter anymore, even if the current isn’t the direction I want to swim against.
Some people might read this and wonder: “Wait, is this about me?”
But the right person will read this and their heart will stop for a beat, because they know it’s about them. Well, if they can remember— of course. Can’t forget the fact his memory of us is so terrible, I would have better luck asking a goldfish to memorise the two times table.
I did consider a lot of people when thinking about this umbrella of thoughts. Often, I would have left it to mystery and let my readers conclude what they thought I meant (though, I still can’t help but cringe when they butcher the meaning), but in this reality, I have been pondering about the thought of loneliness.
I’m not alone.
I’m far from it.
But I guess it's the closeness and intimacy that I crave. I have the people, I have the bonds— but I figure that being an arms length away from most of my friends for so long due to my personal business, I hesitate to be needy. It’s selfish of me to do so, it’s like the poem situation— I can’t just commit to something because it’s the bare minimum.
Would he miss my face? I wear a mask consistently, sometimes I do believe that some of my classmates don’t remember what I look like.
And most of all, do I mean mask symbolically, or physically?
Would he remember my face? It makes me want to take off my mask more, but it has become a comfort— plus, I get sick so easily.
Every time I got really ill, he was who I talked to.
He made sickness bearable. He cared and made me laugh.
What a joke.
Closure was never the answer, like a mouse that follows a snake— tailing behind the sharp-fanged beast screaming out the question for it to hear.
Why?
Why not? Why else? For I will never know.
Because it is not worth knowing.
Why would a mouse go back to the very place, the snake’s lair, where they were bitten once already— to ask why they bit the mouse in the first place?
Does he remember the puncture wounds?
Would he read my writing if it was about a snake and mouse?
Would he understand it?
…
Sigh
…
A fresh wound appears.
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Woe the building that falls
Archive #8 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: Sooo I decided to post them all separately, but then probably do one post at the end combining them all. Because I lOooOOOooOve making tags... aha. If you guys can throw me some tags to put in it would be great, I never know what kinda tags to put. Enjoy! --------------------------------------------
Woe the building that falls
To seek a soul whose pictured as gold,
makes artless mortals sway.
The siren theory is embodied as a place—
that is known for its embrace…
of worship, importune and obsession.
But to pray to who is equivocal…
they’re merely a god, merely a question.
You can’t treat a person like a church possession—
the inner walls creak and moan
against the protest and crack of bone.
Nicknamed Dulia for its glory,
but it drowns those who try to adore thee.
The plafond above our heads sing in pressure–
haunting the thought of being crushed.
Whilst they cry for their successor,
dust floated towards the exit as if being rushed.
The sky tends to fall away;
clouds imitate a chevet.
The sight itself creates much dismay,
but time is an illusion…
oh, such betray.
But what a church with no heaven?
Sky, empyrean, and the ether
don’t judge a star's demeanour!
Aperture with glass framework–
edging feelings with a smirk.
Reflection shows a shining gleam,
but true colour is never seen.
The sun has a shaded costume
using the moon as hecatomb.
It may use perfume as a facade…
but mien flares hearts exerting ballade.
If darkness plummets beneath our feet
may I pray for a deathless greet.
The devotee,
limp in their extremities,
served one purpose…and failed.
It drifted into sea like a dead anemone–
with no avail or memory.
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Understatement, draft two
Perfection meets Perfectionist #2 | copyright to saturnfairycat
Author's Note: Here is the second version of Understatement! (if you remember). So in this version, we have Etta (mc) and Quinn, the story plot essentially is surrounded by these two lovely folk. This is obviously taken out of context, so let me know if you like the snippet!
Understatement, the butterflies
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Quinn smiled bitter-sweetly, eyes glowed with much sorrow.
“I really like butterflies, you know? So beautiful, so free… but not free from the ticking time of death’s wing plucking embrace.”
Etta looked up to the sky, with much dolour in her cracked irises.
It was more of a rather nice night.
Though, nice was an understatement.
Polychromatic, astral.
The clouds were a spread of butter on toast.
The sunset was the jam– maybe even marmalade.
Salted caramel can’t compare to the sea’s mist.
For you to show leniency on my heartstrings?
The world will deteriorate, your devotion is interdiction.
There isn’t much room for such an ambition to ruin my depiction.
Your perspicacity scares me,
Torment me next, hence my jonah complex?
Eradicated, irretrievable.
Yet, what is there not to regret?
I lost you, my beautiful love.
Your hand is so much bigger than mine.
Pleading to discard the truth,
Everyone's hands seem to be more commodious than mine.
My world fits perfectly in my cupped hands.
I always hope to the heavens that the water wouldn’t seep through the cracks.
Is it obvious that I was holding my breath the whole time?
That night was beautiful.
Beautiful is definitely an understatement.
It reminded of you– a wistful memory meant to be kissed good night.
Was I meant to kiss you?
Attentive jealousy, trounce dolour.
My hands are tied, with the most winsome ribbon, crafted from fallen angels to trap my small cage of a mind.
“Once I step in, I have to continue until the day I dwindle, the flower can wither from its sorrows,” Etta thought.
But your hands are so much bigger than mine, I always can’t help but wonder how steady you can hold my world.
Would you hold my world?
Would you drop it when I let my sirens out to the poor sailors who only want to go home?
If I have found all of its species,
And put it all in one book;
I would still be left empty, without your butterfly wings.
I should’ve admired and not touched,
I should’ve been devoted and not lost.
Etta’s burning heart soured as Quinn’s butterfly wings touched their aching strings,
Once more.
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one day, he’ll be up all night. anxious and panicked. wondering what could have been. you’ll stir awake too from the residual connection. you’ll feel the discomfort in his heart. you’ll recognize it for what it is, roll over, tuck yourself back in, and fall asleep full of clarity that you were right to leave when you did.
My first full text post...
I didn't imagine my first full text post to be this hard to write. It's the early hours of the morning & I've learned that one of my grandmas has finally passed on after battling throat cancer for at least 5 years. Unfortunately I wasn't able to be by her side because hey had moved her to a hospice house yesterday morning & during the time she was in a rough spot I've been sick with a cold. So of course, I try & be the good granddaughter & keep a distance to avoid passing it on to her. It hasn't been all bad though leading up to this moment. While I was attending college, for about 2 years up until I graduated, I've been living with her. The commute wasn't bad to make twice a week. What made it easier for me to keep going was knowing I had her & my cat Raven to come home too. She was one of the pillars of strength that made it possible for me to achieve my dream of getting a college degree in writing. I miss her so bad... It hurts so fucking much to know she won't be here with me anymore. No more road trips to the beach or the mountains. No more waking up & telling her, "Good morning," &, "I love you, grandma." No more watching TV shows together like NCIS & Hawaii Five-O. No more having her here to bounce ideas off of her for my writing. No more hearing her voice... I knew this day would come eventually. Everyone dies at one point, but it still hurts... Like someone ripped a piece of my heart out & stomped on it. I keep getting chocked up as I type this out. I know for the next few days I'll be drowning in sadness, & I'll let myself grieve. Yet I won't let it keep me down forever. I know my grandma Kay wouldn't want to me let this negativity stop me from achieving my dreams. So for her & myself, I will live on. I will achieve my dreams that I shared with her. I will achieve the dreams of being a published author. All my books, even if not written, will be dedicated to her. For my Grandma Kay was a strong woman who left an impression on people. She was an amazing person who touched the lives of many. She was a pillar of support & guiding light to me in my times of darkness. To my Grandma Kay up in heaven, thank you for everything you have done for me. Thank you for all the experiences we have shared together. Thank you for al, the memories we created together. Thank you for loving me with all your heart. I will cherish everything you have ever done & gave me for the rest of my life. I love you Grandma Kay, & may your time in heaven be wonderful as you reunite with Grandpa Art, family, & friends.
He felt like magic and I thought he was the one, not realizing that curses are also a form of magic and so, I was bound to a walking curse, a gorgeous one that turned out to be the end of me.
Does anyone else ever wake up with an aching heart? Not like physically, but almost mentally, which causes you to feel it physically.
Day 2
Found out last night that I'll probable never talk to Adolpho again, which breaks my heart and makes me feel so angry at myself and so, so guilty, but that was also oddly freeing to learn.
It's weird, I love him to absolute pieces, and I may never even get him back as a friend, but it feels like now I almost have permission to stop constantly thinking about him. If he wants me to put in the work to gain forgiveness, I gladly will, but as it stands, it's unlikely. So, in my mind, if you love someone, set them free, and if having to contact with me would make him happier, then I'll withstand it for his sake.
Again, this does make it easier to stop obsessing over him, and to give Niani the attention he genuinely deserves, even though some of my hopes and dreams are crushed (all be it by my own doing).
I'm still making an attempt to improve myself, maybe a tiny bit in hopes Adolpho will forgive me, but mostly for Niani and preserving and improving our relationship.
2am Poem
Can he tell I'm in love with him?
He smiles and I do a little dance inside
He laughs at my little remarks
And shit, I think I'm in love
I could listen to him for hours
I could talk to him for more
And shit is this love I feel
I could stare at him think
I could pick him out in a crowd
And shit, I want to call this love
I could stare I could talk I could listen
But I don’t
Because shit, what if he thought I was in love
I want to be swept away in a dance
Breathing in time with the song
And shit I can imagine his arms around me
I can imagine us watching all the shows he hasn't seen
He's terribly behind
And shit if I wouldn't educate him
I take his hand and we race to the car
The rain pouring down around us
But shit that's in my head
We are so wrong together
We really don’t match
But shit, what if
No! He belongs with someone else
He’s with someone else
And shit, I think he’s in love
He is so happy when he’s talking about her
So happy
But shit, it makes me love him more
I hate that I wrote this
I hate that I feel this way, jealous
And shit, I hate that he’s gorgeous
Am I the female equivalent to a “nice guy”
Because I want him to be mine
But he isn’t
I hope he can’t tell
I hope no one else can either
because, well, shit
Because I want him to want me too