you can hurt me so many times, it will always feel like a first time and i don’t mind.
it’s just that one step, and i don’t mind. one step when i began to trace the fading smell coming from your lit cigarette that you told me once you’ll never buy again, unless you’re regretting to see the drunken and wounded version of you because of breaking the mirror with the use of your cold but the hand that used to touch me with its softest and gentlest way. it’s just that one step when i began to find myself letting our shoulders brush across the cold weather and with the humming of your favourite party song, i let you feel my breath as i grasp every words—another lies coming from your precious lips, your drowsy eyes met mine, and again, i let myself fall for it, under the black holes and end of the horizons you used to describe me when i am being a mess. again, and again.
that one step. that open up stitches to heal, or i think to wound it even more. but i don’t mind, hey, i really don’t mind. that’s why i let that step to be our walks, and runs, together with sweats, old couple t-shirts and broken promises. that night of loneliness and of your metaphor of breakdowns and karmas, i took a chance to hear your stories all over again, i listened like that was my first time, and held my trembling hands, reminding my self i am just alright. but also i’m not. i know. but i don’t mind.
i know, when that empty street began to be as noisy as my mind again and when you hear her favourite song at the nearby stereo, you will leave me. again. just like the first time i took the risk of taking step. but anyway, i won’t mind. because above all, that same night of my downfall gave me another chance to be myself again, like i was before. letting me feel like i, still, am the subject of your novels, of your late afternoon talks, whispers under your pillows, and bathroom songs. but of course, that step took me back again from the voiceless craving of love songs into hopelessly can’t bear to hear it anymore. as i’ve began to love you saying my name again just like the first time you misinterpret it as your own definition of love and life, is the same time i feel the aching of forgotten memories etched in my palms.
that same night i came to hold you, again, is also the same night i saw you walking away from me, without even waiting for the sunrise to greet us—with our wasted and tearstained eyes—and anyway, for one more time, pain feels like a first time. and you know, darling—
still, i don’t mind.
— 02:45 l. sin, us with a mindless weather
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»» photo (without the words in it) taken from Sixpenceee Aesthetic
