i think about that day a lot.
it's mid-november. i can't stop pumping up my lungs with nicotine wishing
it was propane and imagining myself swallowing a lit match.
november is a damned place to be boxed in. i get stuck with my mistakes to pick
apart and relapse into romanticizing them. when the monsoon brings rain,
i smoke a little and fall asleep with my thoughts on hold.
elevator musics inside my head, there's an unnamed person on the line
waiting for me to get back on the phone.
i started smoking last november. the first ashtray i had was a heart-shaped
wooden jewellery box
with red velvet lining i bought from an art gallery.
the real loss was the overwhelming guilt. it was self-destruct at the time
now i just fuck up my lungs for fun.
hey,
when i turn 23 next august, i hope i'll have it figured out how
some people get dealt real bad cards and still turn out on the winning side.
it does sometimes seems like i'm the only one that's taking pain
and spawning them into more miseries.
this is a love letter for the person i started smoking because.
(this is an excuse)
i met someone with the same birthday as you in august.
then i've thought about you for weeks after i knew.
i played my cards and i lost, too.
i think november has been painful but december will be crueller to me.
anyways, please stop tugging at me. i've lost so much to you i think you've taken enough.
i like the rain here, not in the city, though.
think i outgrew my closest friend when i started losing myself.
things just shift and you just cannot put the same
parts where it used to fit.
not true for other things because i still write in that black journal where
you inked my name on the front page.
that love was so tender that it made me question which part out of it all
that made me leave.
the pain was tender after you just got bruised. you let it a while and the
dull ache starts to settle. i keep asking myself so much what was it that made it
hard for me to be loved out in the sun and just wanted when it
is in a four-corner space with the lights out?
i'm tired of the dark.
i'm tired of being used.
do not tug at me. that is all.
will you make plans and remember to remember me next november?
