I have to stop writing poems for you.
I can't write one for you anymore; not because I dont want to, but because I have forgotten how to craft one with just the thought of you.
Maybe I have grown tired; not from loving you, but from waiting for that time to come when we could be together.
I might even have grown hopeless; hopeless for the reality that both of us can never be, and hopeless because that is something both of us already knew.
I will stop writing about how you used to lace your hands into mine. About how you did it whenever I wanted it the most and whenever I wanted it the least.
I will stop writing about how your eyes were shining. How they're the most beautiful things I ever have gazed at right after opening my eyes to look at you whenever we used to kiss.
I will stop writing about how your pair of lips was my favorite taste next to the chocolates we used to always buy at the small shed.
I will stop writing about how your laugh sounded like everytime you fake it to make me feel good about the jokes I used to tell.
I will stop writing about how I drown myself from beers and how just the sound of your name could bring me back to the shore.
I will stop writing about how everytime i close my eyes, I always see you and the things we used to do.
I will stop writing how i feel lost and how the space between your arms feels like my only home.
I will stop writing how I feel so hurt about losing someone and about someone who will never get hurt for losing me.
I will stop writing how I believed that time could heal because it's the time that makes my heart ache as well.
I will stop writing about our love for the world to read because I know you never even have planned of hearing about it.
I will stop writing poems for you; not because my hands have gone weak, but because there's nothing left to write about.
(c) Janines Winele Raceles