Writers Jam

I lack the vocabulary, everytime it comes to talking about you, 

not realising just how privileged I am to even get to express, to channelise something my hands refuse to let go.

You, the one who got away, was someone I could never become,

someone I wanted by my side in the long run.

I do not have anyone, or anything to blame, for it was me, the loser of my very own game.

Soon, grief became my bestfriend, my pillow a cemetry of dried tears, I visited your grave, every single day, for several years.

Hundreds of hands reached out to me, offering to pull me out of this misery, but I guess it wasn’t meant to be because I could never see them approaching, for it was you I was trying to reach.

Always, forever.

Years later, once again, it’s me, standing next to your grave, smiling. 

For the first time ever, not begging you to let me in. I’m looking at my palms, they used to be full of blood from holding onto you too tightly, and now those scars are fading.

Spring came late this year, just like acceptance to me. I put the flowers next to the headstone, wearing my name on it.

Please set me free.

Today, I’m saying goodbye to all the selves I could never be.