This is How You Lose Her

This is how you lose her.

You lose her when you forget to remember the little things that mean the world to her: the sincerity in a stranger's voice during a trip to the grocery, the delight of finding something lost or forgotten like a sticker from when she was five, the selflessness of a child giving a part of his meal to another, the scent of new books in the store, the surprise short but honest notes she tucks in her journal and others you could only see if you look closely.

You lose her when you don't notice that she notices everything about you: your use of the proper punctuation that tells her continuation rather than finality, your silence when you're about to ask a question but you think anything you're about to say to her would be silly, your mindless humming when it is too quiet, your handwriting when you sign your name in blank sheets of paper, your muted laughter when you are trying to be polite, and more and more of what you are, which you don't even know about yourself, because she pays attention.

She remembers when you forget.

You lose her for every second you make her feel less and less of the beauty that she is. When you make her feel that she is replaceable. When you make her feel that you are fleeting. She wants you to stay. When you make her feel inadequate. She wants to know that she is enough and she does not need to change for you, nor for anyone else because she is she and she is beautiful, kind and good.

You must know the reason why she is silent. You must trace her weakest spots. You must write to her. You must remind her that you are there. You must know how long it takes for her to give up. You must be there to hold her when she is about to.

You must love her because many have tried and failed. And she wants to know that she is worthy to be loved, that she is worthy to be kept.

And, this is how you keep her.

I feel everything.

I feel many things. From the chill in my bones on the cold nights under the quilt alone, that's slightly too cold, to the pain in my parents' eyes each time they look at me, probably thinking about how they wished I was so much better. And sometimes I feel the fear and anger, aching in me and telling me all the things I shouldn't hear, but I choose to listen, and succumb to the obnoxious thoughts. Well, of course, much rather than the cruel reality.

But most of the time, I feel the exhilaration, the adrenaline rush from the blood that gushes out, be it an accident or purely intentional, the immediate effect are all the same. And I've got these thoughts that cut the deepest of me, leaving me craving to swim in a river of red, but as time passed, I knew the meaning of being rational. For example, being in arm's reach of five spare blades and yet, being able to make, probably the right decision to not self-mutilate my skin.

Yet, there are many things I long to feel. And for the most, they are nothing but an imagination. From the confidence in me when I've got a crowd with all eyes on me to knowing how sweet victory might me. I want to feel the comfort in crying in the arms of someone I love, knowing that I'm not alone and nor are the hidden droplets of life that no one else has thought to look for.

I want to feel love, or maybe feel what it is like to be loved instead. But then again, I want to feel comfortable under my skin. I want to feel comfortable in the loneliness that binds me and learn to appreciate it, knowing that happiness is a bonus, love is winning the lottery and forever love, they call it, winning the jackpot.

Loneliness gives me the opportunity to feel more.

in the end

Have you ever just blanked out and started thinking about everything? Your mind starts wandering. Your eyes start to blur. You just stop whatever you're doing and think. You can't hear anyone else but those voices inside your head. They're taking you to the most dangerous places where those most dangerous thoughts float around. And in the end, you're broken down and sobbing.