I keep thinking about it.

She made you act like a little boy. She made you have butterflies in your stomach. Didn’t I use to make you feel that way too?

Do you not remember everything we had together? Do you still have those photos on your phone, the ones you’d take of me, the ones you’d squeal and act like a little boy over? Do you still have that video of me that I took for you when I was at yours, where I left you a little video message?

“Do you want to know a secret?”

I’ll tell you a secret. I always tell you my secrets.

But you told yours to her, not to me hah no…not to me, not anymore. You used to make me feel like a princess and that you were my prince who swept me off my feet and tempted me with dreams of escape. Now I just feel stuck within my own walls and left to battle these nonexistent dragons by myself.

Do you not remember everything we did? Does every song not remind you of everything we had? Does every surface not have a mark of where we’d been and who we were? Can’t you remember everything we meant to each other? Minutes on the phone, so close yet far. Hours on the roof, inches from the sky. Days just catching glimpses of each other. Weeks later still feeling the warm fuzz in our stomachs. Months counting the days, and years…years counting the minutes…

I was like Diana in the chase, my name as fresh as her visage, and you sought after me in the hunt because I was the only one that made you feel like a child without the responsibilities and stress that had been set on you. I made you feel like a little boy even though you told yourself not to act like one. You told me to grow up but at the same time you liked the feeling of freedom and wildness I gave you. You liked that I made you feel different, made you feel alive- had you feeling a way you told yourself you shouldn’t be but couldn’t help loving at the same time.

So many nights trying to hide it.

You liked the excitement, the thrills, the sly glances, the quick touches, the wild dips in the pool, the feeling of my lips on your neck and my hands in your hair. I was your Bonnie and you were my Clyde.

You liked the stillness too. Peacefully hearing the sound of silence around us. Silence which just stretched and made time even more precious. Being sensitive, being open, being vulnerable. Being just you and I. Being where I’d sleep, there in your arms, where the world just shuts down for a while.

Blindly you came to me, knowing I’d breathe new life from within.

And blindly I came to you, to find peace and belief in your smile.

You used to find yourself here in my arms, and I used to find myself there in yours. But now I really…I really don’t know where you’ve been since the first chase. I don’t know where the thrill has gone, the fast heart, the shaking hands and the nervous touch. I don’t know where you’ve gone, the one who would woo me, pull me to him and never want to let me go.

You were the little boy who would get upset because he didn’t want it all to end.

I wish I could find that little boy I once knew, because that’s where you’d find me

there in his arms.

"

Happy Birthday to you!

This time last year,

I was there with you too

as we hoped and we prayed that

next year we’d pull through.

But my 18th was ruined,

and now yours is too

So today, one year later

(though we thought we’d pull through)

I can’t be there to say

Happy Birthday to you

"

1.11.15

That’s so like you: to cringe and whinge as soon as things start to get rough.

You’re so weird.

Why do you take the known path instead of making your own? You choose to step back from the cliff, afraid of the drop, but not knowing of the great ocean that lies beyond it. You choose to cover your eyes to block out the “ugly” but miss the beauty you could’ve seen when you do so. You choose to say no because it’s easier, it’s definite and it’s indisputable, but you do so without even thinking yes. You colour within the lines because you’re afraid of messing up the bigger picture, afraid of making something new, original and different. You dare not step outside of the perfect box- just in case you can’t step back in again.

You play it safe because to do otherwise would mean taking a risk and, to you, to risk is to hurt.

I’m so sick of you being so careful.

I was always there to catch you if you fell, but the point was that you were supposed to jump. You were supposed to jump without knowing what could happen, to just jump and trust me to be there to catch you when you did.

Maybe you didn’t jump because you were scared. Maybe it was because you didn’t want to take the risk of being hurt.

Or maybe, you just didn’t trust me.

Well, I guess then now that makes two of us.

it’s all fun till the laughing stops, 

the surface boils, and the 

mirror cracks

then there’s just blood in your eyes

blood in your mouth and

blood in my lungs

I keep having this same dream over and over again. A recurring dream.

You’re in it (what doya know)

In the dream, you and I are at a party. And boy, what a party it is. Everyone was there, all your friends, classmates, secondary school buddies and everyone. There were drinks, food, bright lights, loud music, and there was me. I was sat facing the entire swell of people, with you slap bang in the centre of them. But everyone was seated in straight rows, no crowded gatherings or people with their backs to me, no, everyone was sitting next to each other, neatly in rows and columns of benches and chairs.

You were sat right in the middle of this structure.

You had a friend on your left and a friend on your right, and you looked so so happy, surrounded by people who wanted to talk to you, who wanted to get to know you, whilst I, I sat at a table by myself, my back to everyone, trying not to look at you.

I don’t know how long we sat like that, but every time I turned around to look at you, you would be doing the exact same thing as the people around you. If everyone raised their cup to take a drink, you’d raise your cup to drink. If everyone threw their head back and laughed, you’d throw your head back and laugh as well.

You were like a small cog, identical and with the same purpose as every other cog in this structure.

The whole time, you never looked in my direction once.

After a while, I’d get up and leave, perhaps hoping you’d notice me, but never looking back to see if you had. I’d walk away from the structure, heading towards my home that I could see in the distance.

And as I walked, my heart got heavier.

You’d let me leave, you’d let me go.

But then I’d hear you shout. I’d hear you call out my name, and that’s when I’d stop and turn around, feeling my heart swell as I see you walking behind me, following me.

But the thing is, you were always so so far away, what seemed like miles away- a speck in the distance.

But you called my name and told me to stop, to wait for you, and I did. Every dream, I always did. I could’ve kept walking, but I always stopped to wait for you, even if it meant waiting hours, days, weeks or months, I always waited for you. Even when my mouth was dry and my legs were weak, I’d always wait, because I knew that holding you was like drinking from a cool lake under the hot sun, like hiding under a blanket during a thunderstorm, like breathing in that familiar scent that I knew would calm and soothe me. I waited for you, and only when I felt like I was about to collapse would you then catch up with me. But you caught up not by running or anything, but by just walking.

Because you knew you didn’t have to run. You knew you didn’t have to chase. You knew I’d wait for you.

But last night it was different.

Yes, we were still at the same party, the same people, the same structure, the same gears all turning in the same machine and you were still the same cog in the middle of it all.

I walked away again, for what seemed like the millionth time, and you shouted out my name again (like music to my ears) and I stopped, like how I always did.

But I didn’t turn around. This time I didn’t turn around.

I heard you call my name again, asking me to wait, but instead, this time I took a step forward.

You screamed at me, told me to stop and wait, told me not to take another step, but I did.

Left, right, left, right.

I felt like I was dragging my heart through the dirt behind me as you kept shouting my name.

But your voice never got any nearer, it was always a distant muffle.

I figured you had still been walking. I figured you had never tried running.

Maybe if you had run, you would’ve caught up to me

Maybe if you had chased, you would’ve made me turn around

Maybe if you had put in the effort, you would’ve stopped me from leaving.

But you were a cog. A cog fixed in a structure that held you back and kept you turning and turning. A cog fixed in a structure that was like life support to you.

You thought you needed it and that it needed you, like how I thought I needed you and you needed me.

But what you didn’t know was that you were just one small cog.

You could be removed,

replaced,

discarded,

thrown away and forgotten.

You thought that you were the crucial piece amongst the people you were amongst and that things would always come to you because they would always come to you.

But last night, I kept walking, because even though you couldn’t realise that you were just a slowly turning cog, I could. And I know that cogs can be replaced, and that when something is broken, you can’t keep the broken pieces, you have to build a new one, with new bits and new pieces and new cogs.

You were just one small piece, not the whole structure.

You were just one small part, not my whole life.

You could be removed,

replaced,

discarded,

thrown away and forgotten

Heavy chest, tightened breath, I’m grasping and slipping, gasping and gripping. Slow count, one two one two one two, wasn’t it me you me you me you? Slow count, three four three four three four, who was it who closed, cut, detached, devoured? Slow count, one two one two, you said let go, said hold on, give up, full assurance in the heart slow count one two three, suffocated you me four five six, me you one two you said three four me you, one two, promise, three four, hope, one two, me you, three four, you me-

No, no more

Exhale.

exhale, exhale…

please, just

breathe

Everyone wants golden stars. Remember those? The little stickers that teachers used to give out in class in primary school? When you were good, when you were special, when you accomplished something- you got a golden star. Oh how I remember cherishing those golden stars. I’d be so happy, I’d bring them home, show them to my family and friends, I’d stick them on my walls, books, pencil case, mirror, basically anything. I felt good. I felt good getting a golden star because it made me feel I deserved it. It made me feel golden- like a golden girl with a golden star.

Now that we’re older, the little stickers aren’t so attractive anymore. But we still get our golden stars in other forms. Family, friends, good grades or sports achievements. We get gold stars for being the best.

My gold star was him.

He was the shiniest one. The biggest, brightest most dazzling one.

I had had other stars before him, but all of them were made from paper, weak material, easily broken and with sticker backings that for some reason just didn’t stick. They peeled off easily.

But he, he told me he wasn’t like the other stars, he told me he wasn’t a sticker. He told me he was solid gold. Hard, sturdy, 100% real solid gold.

And so, I got him for myself.

I felt like I deserved it, I felt like I deserved this golden star, that I was worth every bit of gold that he had to give me. Every single ounce of it.

Then things started to get bad. And I mean really bad. There was a really bad storm, and I hate thunder and lightning and I protested and screamed as much as I could, but the storm came anyways. Wind, rain, relentlessness waves, everything. Most of it was the rain. It drenched us- me and my golden star. It made us feel terrible, hopeless, desolate. It soaked us to the bone, wore us down- made us brittle and fragile. But to me, I was still glad that I had my golden star. For 18 months I sheltered him the best I could, tried to take as many of the blows that came down on us as I could. I wanted to keep him safe, happy. I wanted to keep him golden.

But then the storm started to show me something.

With the rain pelting down on us, I started to notice something. My golden star started flaking, peeling- it was starting to lose its shine. At first I ignored it, I thought that maybe the storm was casting such a dark light that I couldn’t see it properly, that he just appeared twisted and strange under the circumstances we were in.

But then I stopped lying to myself, and I realised

His paint was peeling off

He wasn’t a golden star

He was a piece of metal.

A hard, cold, emotionless piece of metal, covered with a thin layer of gold paint.

A thin layer of gold paint.

That’s all it was this whole time, just a thin layer of gold paint.

He wasn’t shiny anymore, he wasn’t bright. And he definitely was not gold.

The more paint I peeled off, the more I saw, and the more I saw it wasn’t gold, it was just more hard metal. He was gold on the outside, and he fooled me. Golden on the surface, but on the inside, hard and cold, spiteful and selfish, prideful, hurtful, sharp-tongued, mean, destructive and detached.

He was cold. And I had never felt so destroyed in my life.

The storm had gone and the light had come out, but it just made everything so much clearer, and the worst part is that I didn’t know what to do. I had loved, cherished, protected, and fought for this star, and to be honest, I didn’t want to give it up, even if it wasn’t golden anymore.

But do you know what happens to metal when it gets wet?

It’s not like paper, oh no, paper gets soggy yes, but it gets soggy and then it just breaks apart and dissolves into nothingness- it disappears. But metal isn’t like that, it’s worse than paper.

Metal rusts. It turns an ugly colour, and touching it tears your skin. You can’t hold it anymore, you can’t keep it anymore, you can’t love it anymore. It becomes a chunk that no matter how much paint you try to cover it with, it just won’t hide the fact that you know it’s not gold.

I had had other stars before him. All of them were made from paper. Weak material. Easily broken. With stickers that just didn’t stick. But they peeled off easily.

Metal doesn’t go away that easily. It’s heavy, difficult to throw away. It’s large, like how large a part of my life he was, difficult to get off your mind. Once you’ve had it around for so long, it is so hard to push aside. It leaves marks on everything you have, it leaves bruises on everything it’s touched and it leaves scars on every memory you’d made

and in the end

all i’m left with is the blood taste of rust which i just can’t get out of my mouth