Progress is slow, and if I am not patient or kind to myself in the process of progressing, I will cease to make any.

Progress appears more and more over time. If I don't give it time, I will have squandered any chances of moving forward.

Sheepishly, pathetically still writing about you and it is just who I am.

I am the girl who clings until I see you clinging to someone else.

It was programmed into my DNA, my veins and skin to love you until I am assured you do not even think of me, not even by accident in your sleep.

It was programmed into my heart to pour out affection even if it meant spilling out like a full glass knocked off of a table, making a scene and a mess to clean up later.

I don't know any other way to move on than to write. I can't fathom making it out of this without pen and ink, sadly at your expense.

Ink is in my veins and you were once too.

I'll try bleeding you out on paper in hopes that some odd number of poems later, you'll be mere rhymes and word play.

Writing about you is all I have left and I hope it's all that is left of you in me.

I know you're far and can't be reached so I hope these poems and words are like pulling rocks out of my shoes and pockets so I don't feel weighted down by the thought that you've moved on and I haven't.

Don't mistake these words for an attempt to keep you around. I'm trying to get you out, one ink stain dripping out of a sliced vein at a time.

How would you
describe colors
to a blind person?
I don't think
this question is impossible.
Even without vision
you still have your mind,
which can create beautiful things.
I would describe them
as feelings.
Yellow,
it looks like how you feel
on a long august day,
feeling the sun on your skin
and sea salt in the air.
Gray,
it looks like how you feel
on a friday night,
eating a box of pizza by yourself
and feeling like you don't belong.
Red
it looks like how you feel
when you have a burning passion
for something you do
or for someone
you love.
Maybe they can build off of
what they feel
and imagine things
us with the blessing of vision
******* even imagine ourselves.

Happy,
******,
Sad,
Mad,
Crazy,
Macy,
Hard,
Thick,
Cry,
Fly,
Regr­et,
Redo,
Depressed,
Teased,
But how many people have joy in their life?
1 million? 2 million? or everyone?

Joy is like a rainbow...
Can't stay for a long period of time.

Memories are like air
wherever you go,
it follows you.

Pain is like rain,
You cant have a rainbow without some rain...

~Dhriti_S

Some moments I miss you miserably and others I feel you slip away even more.
Most morning you're the first thing on my mind.
I wonder how far gone you are and how close to someone else you could be.
I wonder if rain on your window reminds you of that one kiss because I still think about it.
Hopefully writing about it doesn't make me too weird.
I promise I've tried to let go. You keep coming back though.
And maybe you're feeling the breeze on your neck and you notice the flowers blooming and you feel yourself become lighter with all this freedoms
Then again you're so practical. I assume you don't look at freedom like that.
But maybe you at least feel renewed and ready to be all you can be.
Maybe you feel a sense of yourself, maybe you feel like you can make the most of who you are.
If you're with her, all I'm hoping is that you don't use her. I'm not implying you won't move on, but being by yourself helps. Sometime it helps more than another pair of lips on yours.
If you find her's taste like mine, stop.
If not, I only hope they make you smile mid kiss.
This is a moment when I miss you miserably.
The rain is hitting the window and it makes me miss your embrace, your patience and your eyes.
I miss you a lot but I am trying very hard to give myself a fair shot at this.
I'm trying to be on my own.
But if I find I am doing all I can and I still wake up to thoughts of you,
And I find that the rain still makes me think of you,
And how comforters remind me of laying around in your arms,
And how everyone somehow ******* reminds me of you,
I should be stupid and crazy and come back and try my hardest to somehow convince you I'm worth it.
I don't expect you to wait. I respect that you could be so far gone that coming back would hurt too much.
But if you're waking up to thoughts of me too,
All I ought to think of are ways to find you in this mess I made.

If you're waking up to thoughts of me,
We ought to just wake up to each other instead.