*The sun wasn't eclipsed
when I remembered that morning,
nor was there a shooting star across the sky
when I felt your breath and mine mingling.

As random as folding the edges of my bedsheet,
the memories trickle into my senses.
Suddenly, I can reiterate the exact words you said
before you scolded me for running down the street.

There's no crater to fill in my heart;
it's not why I remember that ice cream.
Who in their right mind would choose mint
over the sweetness of strawberries?

You did. You wanted to try everything new.
I wonder if I, too, was a long-running project,
as long as that random walk we took,
as long as those three meager days felt.

Why do I torture myself tonight?
A shower of memories fell on my face,
and I decided to take a dip in their ocean,
felt warmth in the cold blue, and I wanted to stay.

I want to run out of you eventually.
With how much I recall you from the dungeons of forgetfulness,
I fear I'm rooting you stronger,
giving you power by remembrance.

Reign just for tonight,
and let me dream of the crisp mornings and toasty nights,
the currency of hours yet to spend,
before Saturday comes wrenching us apart.

How a random plan on a random day
became no less than a birthmark on my skin
that the waters of Styx couldn't erase
unless I am born again.

Let me wrestle myself on this random night.
Let me remember.
Tomorrow, I'll win and stifle these voices back into oblivion*.

I've seen smiling eyes, so I can tell you about eyes devoid of life. I've tasted lips with the coldness of death, so I can tell you about vows exchanged by a kiss. I've known devouts who carried their beloved's interest as their own, so I can tell you all about the apathetic's intent. You don't have to live it all to understand the world.

? Eyes Closed
? Ed Sheeran

*I'm wearing clothes that cling to my skin for dear life, just a symbol that I'm dressed and nothing more.

The rain hails down the frustration of the heavens in giant drops of water that give away the mercy they still uphold.

My body wishes to drag me indoors away from the cold and most importantly far away from you. But who's to govern my soul, for surely it's not me when you're standing so close.

Thus I take the hand you've offered and drag my dread leaden legs to dance to your tune. "You and me, it's you and I" I twirl and shiver, I bow and feel my bones chill to their marrow. But it's you... It's you and me, it's you and I...*.

It took me 22 years to stand to these feelings and defend them valid and solid. It took me such a long time to raise the spear in honor and defense of my own peace. But alas! I am betrayed by who I call my own, those feelings I defended against your slander, that heart that I fought to keep intact, that mind whose peace I vowed to die for have run me over under your feet and installed you to the throne.

Words erupt like the fierce lava of a volcano. My insides turn and twist in an agonizing anxiety. And in the midst of the upheaval there's none emerging but you and the one to take the brunt of all the chaos is none other but me.

*I'm questioning my sanity as I speak with you cause it's not an illusion the pain and grief that I felt. It's not my imagination that ran wild with me in its clutches, these marks are realer than the sun itself.

I'm in constant dispute with myself when I speak with you, in a council of me, myself and I, I'm accused of deliberate torture and peace-slaughter.

To say I'm angry won't describe that which I feel but it makes me feel braver than to say I'm utterly terrified. Since I rather wrestle all my demons all over again than to pine over you and learn than it was in vain. Than to try and be everything I think you'd want me to be and lose myself along the way.

I'm scared of all that you'd bring along with your pretty face and all the woe that'll latch on to your gorgeous voice. And I'm not foolish to brace myself against you when I can just hide and remain alive.... Isn't that the saner choice*?

*To our hands the only answer is to fix, or scramble to fix what we broke. So however tiny the pieces we've left behind, we wallow in mud and leave our clothes ragged just to put the pieces whole.

But too many cuts have attested, too many ruins have proclaimed that reviving the dead is a feat to fairy tales so why don't we leave the pieces and start over again? Brand new clay for our handy hands and brand new hearts and all.*

The stones of your fortress seem like the armour to your body and the height of your tower seems like your position in society. Until you face an army yourself, until you get a nick on your face attesting how weak you truly are. Hone your blade my dear, hone your blade.