the function of *u

heavily drafting // the base of this poem was a confession I’d read on reddit that I had kept in my notes. As I continue to edit this piece however it inches farther and farther away from the source. If anyone has the link please share so I can update with it.

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It was 2am when I started to shift in my sheets. By the time I’d accept my fate I rolled to grab my phone and it’d become 5. It felt like it’d become 5 although the night hasn’t quite started to shift into day, yet.

So what, it’s 5am? So what if this was another sleepless night? I fill the void with unspoken poetry and drifting memories. They’re all about you. I think about the day before I met you. The day before you and I swiped right. The days before special days are always exceptionally dull and ordinary, aren’t they?

Surreal doesnt even begin the describe this pit that sits in my stomach knowing its been 5 days and 4 years since that last night I was in your arms.

The ticking of the clock has never seemed to go so slow, not even since I was a child. How many more days must I continue to walk away from you?

We acted on spontaneity and I’m so glad we did. I’m glad I answered that phone call to be met with your deep voice, that *omitted accent, your round apple cheeks — which I desired to bite instantly. Your New York swagger is like no other.

That night we talked for hours, and for this I have 0 remorse. I spent the whole month of June staving off sleep, even though I’d just been promoted at my job and probably needed it. By the time I came out of the post-break up coma they’d already fired me.

In the morning I was greeted with your morning texts bring a smile to my face brighter than the sunrise. I woke up early back in those days. 6am would be sleeping in. Now I struggle to greet the morning glories and I speak in familiar song to the local nightingale. I’m awake with you but without each evening, now.

Now it’s just derivative poetry expressing the intensity of butterflies that sucker punched me. I fell for you like Rome. That red thread which connected your hand to mine is wearing thin, now, *u. Coffee no longer stimulates me and I need it to function.

I’m helpless in this situation, it’s out of my control. I am living in a fantasy prison of my own derision, aren’t I?

I’m so sick of writing about “what ifs”  and praying to God to make them definites. The truth is, I refuse to acknowledge, is that I will never see you again.

So maybe this can finally be goodbye…

⊹ •      . *

        · ˚ °.   ✷ . •        

original:

2am confessions reddit

It’s 5am, another sleepless night. I fill the void with music and drifting thoughts. Yet it always boomerangs back to you. It seems surreal that I’ll be in your arms in 2 months. The ticking of the clock has never seemed to go so slow, the numbered days so sluggishly passing by.

We acted on spontaneity and I’m so glad we did. I’m glad I answered that phone call to be met with your soft voice which admittedly melted my heart instantly. That night we talked for hours, shamelessly skipping on sleep, all through to sunrise. In the morning I was greeted with the reciprocity of expressing the intensity of butterflies that sucker punched us. For neither of us were looking for company that night, let alone looking for  love.Them same butterflies still linger whenever my ears are blessed with your voice, months on from that first phone call… many, many phone calls later, actually.  

But we’re on a thin thread that’s wearing out, of no fault of our own. We’re helpless in this situation, it’s out of our control. We live in a fantasy, don’t we? which is why I surprised you with confirmation of my flight to come see you. I surprised myself, actually. I acted completely on impulse, so sick of us talking about “what ifs”  and wanted to make them definites. 

The truth is, which we both refuse to acknowledge, is that as soon as I get on that return flight home…we’ll never see each other again, we’ll fade out of contact. We’ve already been incredibly daring and selfish to allow us to continue for as long as we have. We’re worlds apart and if the people in our respective lives knew of us and what we are, we’d be shamed. It hurts because I want you to be a part of my life, and for you to introduce me to yours. For you to meet my friends and I yours, I think they would like you, except for the itching issue that our love isn’t supposed to be, regardless of how effortlessly hard we fell for each other, no matter how ‘right’ it feels. Sure, there have been exceptions where it has worked and flourished for other people. But we aren’t so lucky, nor are we so brazen to trust in a slim possibility when there’s so much at risk on the line. That particular aspect of us will always be an uncomfortable topic, no matter how the perception of us will become more  acceptable in other people’s view as years pass, and I don’t expect you to wait for them years to pass until then.  

So for the two weeks I am with you, I’ll bask in every second I have with you, I’ll smother you in love, for I know it’ll be the only opportunity I will have to attempt to express the unfathomable amount of it I have for you. It’s a lifetime supply that I’m being forced to only give a measly two week trial of. I truly believe you’re the love of my life, but I’ve been incredibly selfish enough, and it’s soon time to let you go. I’m accepting of this. I hope life is generous to you, because after everything you’ve gone through, you deserve it all and more, and it’s truly unfortunate I can’t be the one to give you it, no matter how badly I want to. I want to grasp onto you for as long as I can, to postpone the inevitable parting of our ways, but I think I’ve been selfish enough.  

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