Perhaps, in a parallel universe;
or in another lifetime if there
is such a thing, we'll find each
other.

If we do, my hope is that we both
are free from the ghosts and echoes
of our past.

And if we are, I will love you just
the same as I do now, until my
bones are reduced to dust; in the
silent pauses of my heartbeat,
down to the very last of it.

I keep dying everyday,
or the pieces of the
man I was, rather.

With each day that passes,
old parts of me also
fade into oblivion.

I remember how much
I loved her.
I loved her, like how the clouds
clung to the sky.
I loved her, like how the stars
burned in the dark of night.

I also remember being
afraid, but hopeful.

I was afraid of who I will
become, when all of who I was
has passed.

But I was hopeful that
I will be free, at last.
For the man that I was,
knew not how not to love her.

Knock knock.
I've been knocking on
your door
for a while now.

A question, a haunting thought,
"how long can I keep doing this?"

From a dark corner,
heard a whisper;

"that door will never open
if you have no place to
dwell inside."

My heart sank, like a rock
thrown in a lake.

I already broke my heart waiting.
I don't want to break my hand,
if I keep trying.

I remember everything.
I’m not sure
if it is more
of a curse
than a blessing.

But I’m grateful.
Because of this,
I remember how
you made me feel;

like I can fight
a horde of monsters
and a legion of demons,
and I can win.

She is made
up of broken
bits and pieces,
held together
delicately by
her golden scars.

And that, my friend,
is what made
her beautiful.

We often wonder why our hearts
get broken, and I think I am
beginning to understand why.

A tiny thing, so precious yet so
fragile, had to be undone before
it can be made whole again.

My guess is, in putting the pieces
back together;
we find strength in weakness.
We find courage in vulnerability.
We understand ourselves better.

And with what we lose,
we also gain more of ourselves.

You cannot say you truly love her.

Not until you've seen the demons
she fought or still fighting to keep
her sanity, nor the monsters that
fuelled her nightmares.

Not until you've had an idea about
the storms she had to face bravely,
yet still managed to share her light
and warmth with you.

It's not always warm coffee and
blanket shared on cold mornings.

It's not always sunshine and butterflies.

It's not only her light that needs to be
cherished.

When you say you truly love her,
you gotta love her dark, too.