If we ever had a song, it would be the sound of my dorm room door opening the first time I saw you.
You walked right in passed me and handed our mutual friend a miniature bottle of apple juice. Without opening her eyes, still laying in my bed, she accepted the offering. With the same hand she pointed at me, and then at you; “Tunu, Ari. Ari, Tunu”. I indulged your rude, nonchalant gesture of a handshake and mumbled my own “hello” dismissively.
If we ever had a song, it would be the sound of your footsteps hastily catching up to mine in the crowded student center. Whipping my hair to look back, I caught a glimpse of you and quickly turned around. But you caught me. “It’s Tunu, right?”, you said with a disarming smile. “I’m…” you continued before I cut you off acknowledging that I knew who you were. Swiftly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, you pulled me in for a hug.
If we ever had a song, it would be the sound of your fingers on your guitar, playing a song I can hardly remember. We were friends now. We had gotten passed our initial utter dislike for each other and we had simply grown on each other. It’s funny how someone can become such a part of you for no reason other than both of you being somewhat stuck in the same place at the same time. Serendipity. We’d have never been friends under different circumstances.
If we ever had a song, it would be the sound of our laughter. Shrill and loud. Hearty and content. Sitting in bed for hours listening to music, at times talking and at other times not. Falling asleep in each others arms, with the rain soft against the window and our breathing deep and easy. Waking up warm and at peace, snuggled for dear life. Staring at each other with our lips sealed and our eyes betraying the questions they dared not ask.
If we ever had a song, it would be "You and Me". I should have known then that you loved me, but more than that, I should have loved you back. There you were, on stage, singing your heart out. But something was different this time, you were singing at me; you were singing to me. I could feel your gaze like an intense spotlight. I was hesitant to look up at you, I was hesitant to fall.
If we had a song, it would be the sound of our lips touching the first time you kissed me. You were eager, promising and hopeful. I… I just stood there reluctant. I didn’t pull away, but I didn’t kiss you back. I could sense the disappointment, the defeat. I loved you though, I really did. I just wasn’t ready to… to commit. I was taking my sweet time. I figured you would still be there when I was ready. It was selfish, I know.
If we had a song, it would be the sound of my heart sinking the last time you kissed me. It was chaste, quick and uninvolved. I tried to hang on, meshing my lips to yours, begging… I should have said something. I just hadn’t counted running out of time so quickly. I knew this was it; it must have been hard for you too. I wonder if you still wonder… about me, about us. I know I do. You were the one that got away.
“If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ‘em up with worn-out tools
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And - which is more - you’ll be a man, my son!”
- ― Rudyard Kipling, If: A Father’s Advice to His Son
I hold regret in my heart
for the moments I could’ve made
into something bigger, deeper,
My heart pumps longing into my body.
I carry apologies in my mouth;
My tongue is swollen with things
I should’ve said to the people I’ve loved;
Who are now all too far in either body or heart to reach.
And my mind -
The space behind my eyes
Is a gallery of lost chances,
My dreams have all become exhibitions
Of things I’ve failed to achieve.
I feel the years weighing down on my body;
I look in mirrors and find only ghosts.
What kind of peace can there be,
For a soul like mine?
- body of regret, f.gabdon (via thegabdonwrites)
1. I poured every drop of alcohol I could find in my dad’s liquor cabinet down my throat and stumbled into traffic, thinking I was completely untouchable. My uncle picked me up from the emergency room at 2 A.M. on a Wednesday and didn’t say a single word to me.
2. I let yet another boy undress me in my basement. The whiskey on his breath made my blood run cold and the cigarettes he handed me made my head throb, but I smoked them anyway and believed him when he said he loved me more than he loved LSD.
3. I fell in love with a girl who believed that running from her problems would eventually solve them all. She was all tattoos and red lips and leaving home at 16. She told me she once saw God and that he was an alcoholic, just like her father. She left me in the middle of the night one December. I guess I became something that need to be solved.
4. I stopped talking to the boy who loved me even more than you loved James Bond movies because he found my stash of Oxycodone and dumped it all down the garbage disposal, saying he couldn’t watch me destroy himself the same way his sister had.
5. I let some greasy-haired man talk me into shooting a homemade “movie” in his garage. I didn’t really need the money, but holy fuck I needed to think about something other than the way you bit your lip and tapped your foot when you got anxious. A stranger’s hands around my throat were better distractions than writing about you, again.
6. I learned the hard way how painful dying can be when it’s happening to you so slowly, so I tried to speed up the process by crashing my car into the tree we had our first kiss under. My fucking emergency brakes didn’t care that you hadn’t called in 239 days, neither did the doctors that kept me on suicide watch for a week."
- 6 ways I disappointed my mother after you broke my heart. (via kindofalone)
- What my relationships have taught me. (via lozzat)