the slow art of breathing bitter

California Days and Cheap Aches

Pale violet snow, shivering pines;

Frostbites nipping on your skin,

A flushed slow motion in rose green.

A yellow Metallica song rolls by

like another withering shade of copper.

We're running away from each other;

I should have treasured something of yours before leaving.

I'm heading home.

It's no more the same California sunrise.

The shades are too muffled for me to realize

the thin difference between cherry and margarita red.

Rushed moments of vague promises fog up

the scratched windshield glass—haphazardly scattered and recalled.

Smudged red on the rim of the long wine glass

and melted gold falling into crying emeralds;

Fluorescent shades, like cheap aches, burn in the air.

You've always been a lover of pop beats—

bass drums and acoustic shit.

There's never been a day in our long drives that you

let me listen to my favorite songs.

You never found the Latin beats amusing.

Now that I'm alone in the car, my passenger seat's empty.

I can now listen to my favorite beats (only part of me is happy).

If it's void for you, so is it for me.

But I never listen to the songs in my playlist.

For it always reminds me of your low morning hums.

Sometimes, it feels like a slow-dying sunset

Into the abyss of a never-ending hell.

Roses die, violets bloom.

You're in your doorway; I'm in my room.

We're too away from each other to feel that warmth.

When all the known roads seem too oblivious to be known

And small talks over stale coffee linger long,

I wish this would have never happened.

Now that the fluorescence's gone, far gone.

I've nothing to hold on to.

They say hearts break and souls burn. 

Does that happen?

Because I don't feel any of these,

For nothing's left for me to feel or touch.

There's only this damn weight on my chest—

crushing like the depths of a never-ending sea.

An ache, rising from dead scars—inside of you and me.

I want to crumble like the colors of my walls

and roll away like your cigarette smoke:

Out of the window, to the sea.

There won't be any roses; there won't be any letters.

Lives would hang around stupid ringtones and rattling keyboards.

There won't be any calls or texts from you;

There won't be any more of us.

Nonetheless, it doesn't matter anymore,

Now that brown seasons fade away soon.

Summer days used to speak of lilies and expensive perfumes.

Till you used to run away towards the waves and lift me 

above the sky—I could see our worlds through dark blues.

What if we escaped into the watery songs?

Relief warms my belly—I was tired of this.

We both were; we only needed a dash of courage.

I tried to be happy with you.

But you said love isn't when you try to be happy with someone.

We're pretty wasted, darling.

Your apologies aren't needed anymore—too bad.

You don't have to fill the empty spaces

between my spilled words.

I can go out and drink all night in neon lights.

Don't worry—there's nothing to be sad about,

Now that you aren't here around.

Remember how I watch you leave me on my birthday?

The world could really never be watery blue.

There's nothing we've left behind except us.

We were too delicate to handle each other

'til time broke us apart. 

Yet, there're things in the lavender-scented clouds

that could have happened had we stayed.

We can't be the versions of ourselves again,

We can't stop time from fading,

We can't reach each other again,

yet we call it a "broken heaven."

And that's the most beautiful regret ever.

Things are falling apart like the falling sun.

Pieces after pieces, dust after dust: flecks of fog burns.

But they're falling into their correct places, and soon it'll be alright.

–the roads are "even" in the California cries.

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A/N: Hope the little star can get colored in yellow too! :)

© April 19, 2023.