my heart shattered as

baby 

staring at the phone is like
staring at you when your eyes are beautifully
closed in a deep sleep
although i usually doze off earlier
but i get to witness the strands of your
messy hair that brushes your face when
you change positions
when i wake up to mute the alarm clock
and
i am patting the pillow beside me
and slipped into the far right side
of the blanket
so you can fit in on the left
i'm sorry that i take up too much space
but your heaps of breath are like a
lullaby
and the wavelike motion of your
heartbeat is like a rocking boat
to my dreams where i'll meet you
there in the aisle during the happy ending.

typing on the keyboard is like
caressing your fingers and
swinging them in unison during casual walks
and twirling them in the rain-
no, we won't wet ourselves in the rain but
i could feel your arms curling up around me
when your favourite movie was disrupted
by thunder-oh, you know Astro.
and the words that you sent are like having
your chin engraved in my hair
head on head when I'm writing a new
piece like this,
and the capslocks are like
having arguments in a car
our voices are louder than any high notes
and more ridiculous than any rubbish raps
oh crap, why did you stop driving?
you will say despicable remarks and
end it with a "just kidding" and a sheepish grin
god, i feel like throwing you out of the window.

i like to put emojis beside people's names,
describing their personality and
how i feel about them
and i end yours with a heart
because i felt i actually had one
when it leaps two beats faster
when you wish me good morning
like a kiss on the forehead.

and not replying is like
letting you wait at the front door
and i didn't hear the doorbell
but don't you have the keys already?
uh, let me end this and
open it for you,
alright?

I opened my box of memories from high school-pictures, journals, gift cards, also gifts, and letters. I don't have A4 paper-ish sized journals, that is so 2013. I have them pocket-sized for me to bring it anywhere and jot down any incidents that I wanted to remember, or thoughts that I would love to recap when I'm 40, but I don't need that much time to tear up reading each page.

When I opened my journal, it was full of our moments. Our conversations during phone call sessions, quoting the things that you said and done, ranting on paper on how much I missed you-gosh, I was so immature, I'm sorry. The things you did that flattered me- wearing the red shirt that I liked you wearing it to your dinner, remembering the first day that we know each other and more. You were caught up in your studies but you were thoughtful enough to leave me with a paragraph and hinted that you missed me too. How hopeless romantic, melodramatic we were. I'm sorry, I'm going to facepalm myself now.

I took my moment granted when I was with you, and I had so much of it all over the place but thanks to the box that Elle gave me, I had a space to stuff them all up and shove it at the cupboard. We used to make plans of being travel partners and go to places that we would like to see together, and I used to think that I would end up watching football matches that I will never understand and hand you a chilled bottle of mineral water after the game. At the end of the day, who are we to fight fate, here we are, being each other's strangers again. I wish, oh, I wish, I didn't take a glance at you that night but everything must happen for a reason. Perhaps, you're another lesson, preparing myself to be a better person.

At nights like this, sometimes I still think about what went wrong, and wondering if you do too when you can't sleep. I know it is unhealthy for me, hence I hit him up, sometimes just saying goodnight when he is hooked up with friends or his games to make myself feel better. I wonder if you do that to her too, to erase our fears of this nightmare away, but sometimes I hope I have enough courage, or you have enough courage to dial and ask the major question, and whose fingers should point at who, but we both know that it doesn't work that way after high school, it never will.

God, let me tell you about God, He never lets me meet you. Do you know that I was in the same driving school as you? I've always hoped that I could see you during classes but the timing is always off that now I have obtained my license and probably you are preparing for your test, I don't know. Maybe, just maybe, God knew I wasn't ready, I can't handle another breakdown, but I would love to hear something from you, although you may not be reading this, I hope that God watches over you like He always does.

Me and my big mouth, I guess this is the end. I hope that you'll be showered with happiness with your loved ones, and hope that I too, will get the same in return, In Shaa Allah.


Xx,
M.

My mother-