by Christian Loid Valenzuela

 

I.

It’s a cold evening.

My love’s warmer than coffee—

I take a pen and write.

 

I pour my heart

into this drastic art—

forming words into letters

to converse with my inners,

a lover;

a giver;

a carer—

a bearer.

 

II.

Every pierce to my heart reminds me of you—

Letting it break repeatedly.

But I know it will soon end,

Just wait for me to decide to let go of you.

 

Jinx is a curse

Of course, made by yours—

Until I realized that we are separated and scattered.

After all, we never really became a whole.

 

III.

Living with what I am:

An ongoing process,

Vying to win happiness

By ending everything.

 

IV.

Unwritten love letters

will never exist

Because love, pain, regret are all here—

pumping and still aching.

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