ghosts of a love

"ghosts of a love" is a bunch of poems I had to write in the span of two weeks for my creative writing module. It is the result of me tapping into the feelings of my first heartbreak, and incorporating all that I've learned from class and additional readings. The numbers you see are dates, and it's formatted in a way such that it is a diary of a person moving on from a heartbreak. Before anybody asks, I'll just answer this first, I've long moved on, and I'm in a better place, a happier place now. 

//

ghosts of a love

dustyrobe

fluorescent — 010717 

When a minute feels like a day, 

your words seem to slow down time

I play a supercut in my head, 

of how I should’ve noticed the signs

I still remember how we’d buy groceries, 

in the midst of giggles and sweet words

The way you always danced for me, 

I loved you every single day for two years

Now we stare at the food that’s gone cold, 

like the love we had that was once hot

I’m sitting here thinking if I should go, 

but my words are all caught up in a knot

It’s about time I start letting go of the little things,

before they become what they call hard feelings

//

t-shirt — 270717

I find myself kneeling 

in front of my drawer

some mornings, 

your mustard yellow t-shirt 

clenched in my hands.

It still smells like lavender,

your favourite smelling flower. 

There are nights where I find the courage to walk up to the chute, 

but not before I’m overwhelmed.

With the thought 

of not having a tangible memory 

of you. 

//

photographs — 140518

Photographs, like memories, 

are meant to be erased. 

To be forgotten. 

I don’t believe in photographs 

turning a fleeting moment into forever. 

We snap away at these moments, 

falsely believing that we are 

encasing them to last a lifetime. 

In reality, all that we have done is to 

make these memories tangible. 

It is much easier to forget them this way. 

I think this is why we burn photographs 

after a bad breakup. 

It is a symbolic act. 

We believe we are moving on 

when we burn these photographs. 

Photography is the act of erasing memories, not creating.

//

hungover — 090718

When dawn breaks, the rooster screams.

Like a spear aimed for my ears, 

it shatters my dreams. 

I wake in sweat, 

my stomach queasy. 

My head nailed to the bed, 

the spirals of the nail resonating. 

There is a ripple in my heart. 

I miss you. 

Slowly, it becomes a wave. 

Abruptly, the sea roars. 

I drown in the whirlpool of thoughts, 

and my room spins. 

There is a shriek, 

this time it serves to remind me of 

reality.

//

4 a.m. — 220918

The stillness of the trees, 

of a night that only knows peace.

The moon rests on its bed 

that is so black, the stars look dead.

The serenity begs only for honesty,

it is too quiet for the echos of hypocrisy.

4 a.m. is the hour of honest feelings,

I loved you, and I’m finally healing.

//

moving on — 050419

Your words, they carry so much weight, my heart, it quivers 

All the twists, and all the turns, like a snake, it poisons my mind 

The webs you’ve spun, they made me waiver

Layers upon layers, your lies, my lies, they intertwined

A glass of gin, a cup of monkeys, then a shot of baileys

There’s something long forgotten, I must remember

A little spark ignites, the webs are burning

Tears are shed, dawn breaks, capillaries severed

When the eyes have dried up, and the heart empty, 

the mind is clear, the memories no longer tinted

The threads are undone, the birds are chirping

I take in a deep breath, I pause for a minute

Like a prey that was released from the spider,

I am free to soar, and I’ve never been happier