Trapped In Wonderland

I want to believe that when we met we were just right for each other at that point in time. If we'd met sooner, we never would have worked out.  If we'd met later, we never would have felt that pull toward each other. 

The thing most heartbreaking about it all is falling in love again. It's insanity wanting to repeat the process, taking chances and trying all over again despite the failures and pain, now that, that has to be heartbreaking. 

I write this in hopes you’d understand one day, I write this because I cannot speak my mind. I fail to express myself in the right way, I plan to say a million things but when I speak with you, somehow I seem to lose all sense. 

Time is defined as an indefinite continued progress of existence and events of the past, present, and future regarded as whole. How wonderfully ambiguous is that? 

When someone asks me how I loved you.

I could keep waiting for that perfect inspiration to strike but there would always be something I could have written better, some words I could have used instead of others or maybe an entirely different poem altogether could have been written but there is only so much I can blame on inspiration.

I  used to think oceans could heal me; funny, how I thought you could as well. 

Some of my fondest memories were ones made with you. 

  A promise can be poison. 

Of  all the things you've left behind, I wonder how many slipped away as effortlessly as clothes slip off the body of a lover you love quite comfortably. 

We all have our insecurities, parts of us that will always be vulnerable and raw. But those parts, will always be the parts we hide from the world. It could be because you're ashamed of them or because theirs something worth hiding, but you know the real reason? 

“We are who we are” you used to say, as though we were only innocent bystanders. As though we couldn’t help what we’d become. I don’t think it’s enough of a reason and even less of an excuse. I prefer to use ‘what we’ve been through made us who we are today’, though that’s hardly any better. It gives the past too much weight. 

I'd been told I would only get hurt in the end. I'm not an idiot - I'd seen it coming, too. 

The different ways we deal with pain are fathomless and boundless. 

I don't know why I'm sending you this because I know you won't reply. To be honest, I have no idea if you even get my texts, but I'm doing it anyway because I'm the type of person to let people know that they're on my mind. 

A favorite saying of my mother is "we keep a part of every single person we meet". This way we can never forget anyone, not completely. A part of them always stays with us.  

  Every morning I awaken in hopes of finding you under the covers, perhaps on the other side of the bed but our reality keeps us miles away. I can't help but wonder what coffee tastes like on your lips, if you'd like them silky smooth, or bitterly burnt. Every inch of the day closes in on me, keeping you a constant in my thoughts. 

I don’t know if I am becoming better, focussing on what’s important in life, or just trying to distract myself from loving you more, I mean I have no idea. 

Over the years, I scattered secrets and parts of me like seeds and waited for them to take root. It wasn't something I did on purpose. It was only when months had passed that I noticed a dozen new flowers fighting their way through the concrete, and I failed to realise they were all mine. 

Your presence was the only constant I’d ever had in life and you know how it goes when we take things for granted. I’d never say I did, because there was never a time when I was not grateful for you. Never a time that I was not happy to have you on my side.