I remember the last time someone told me they missed me. It wasn’t long ago.

People, places

habits, faces.

I miss everything.

Every little detail.

Every reluctant smile.

Every fleeting moment.

I miss it all so much that it’s the same as not missing anything at all.

And just like that

 I’m empty.

Instead of bearing the pain of missing & longing & remembering,

I look ahead

And keep walking.

Navigating this treacherous labyrinth we call Life.



Pouring down,

drop after drop,

All these memories

reduced to fragments,

instances seconds moments,

And maybe there’s no harm in remembering.

Maybe I’m the true recluse,

Blissful as a loner.

Maybe I’m the only one who still remembers,

the only one holding on.

But maybe there’s no harm in remembering.


Like stabbing someone who had their whole life planned,

like ignoring someone who needed a hand.

Like judging someone who’s scared to be themselves,

like forgetting someone and putting them on the dusty top shelf.

Like discouraging someone who never felt like they belong,

like stealing someone’s story and singing their song.

Like caring for someone and then telling them goodbye,

like hurting someone who’s afraid to cry.

Like breaking someone who’s afraid to crumble,

like tripping someone who’s afraid to stumble.

Like deceiving someone who’s very innocent,

Shaking their belief and giving their heart a tiny dent.

Guilt tears you apart into tiny shreds,

shaking fingers and bowed heads.