there is this grief at the back of my head sectioned into boxes that i sit with on a wednesday afternoon when the sun is grim and teenage is gone.
it's not that i think no one will ever love me. someone someday probably will. we just won't be seventeen and mad in love. years later, probably exhausted in some corporate office, we will wait for each other before dinner but we will never ask stupid astrology to estimate if we could be each other's potential partner. we will never be so radiantly in love that we look at each other and find the moon floating on our faces. we wouldn't do dumb things in love, our children would learn to respect from us but they would probably never know how intoxicating love can be while we keep it on our shelves all day, carefully offering a piece of it every night so we don't choke each other. there is this grief at the back of my head that my heart is a kettle and it is overflowing with all the love i would probably never be able to show. there is this grief at the back of my head that i would probably see the whole world one day but then, my eyes would be a lot more sore and i would be ashamed to wear spectacles. there is this grief at the back of my head that i may have the tame love and mild love but i will never be seventeen and have that mad love.