a day of cruel intentions

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It’s your birthday today and I don’t remember what you sound like. 

I wanted to hear you on your voicemail but the automated message is gone. I left the closest thing that I could say without begging you to come home, to come back to me, even for a damn second. 

There was that feeling yesterday that I couldn’t shake. The one that felt like déjà vu, mixed with an overwhelming sense of something missing, a gut feeling that you were close and an anxiety attack that I’d never get the chance to again. It fuelled me and drained me all the same. How one can sustain this level of whatever you can call this feeling is barbaric. 

Every shade of red that zooms past me when I’m crossing the road or idle in traffic, looking out the bus window, I hope to whatever god is out there that it’s you, that you haven’t completely ceased to exist in my life like so many other things I kept so near and dear to my frail heart.

That I’m not a player in the game of cruel intentions. 

Littered with what if’s 

and unfinished business 

that can’t be captured in a phrase 

nor feeling

love ness x

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