“He’s not that interesting to make the simple exciting.”

That’s what I said to him, allegedly. Well, it’s what I told myself before I broke up with him. Now, I’m on death row—no trial, just karma as the judge. If these are my last words, let them be: I once thought I loved you. And honestly, just the fact that I thought about you should’ve been enough to make your life meaningful (bit dramatic,innit?) Let my last meal go to those who haven’t eaten today. Where I’m headed, I’ll be full. (bitch, you’re going to grab an overpriced coffee as soon as you finish) Up, down, wherever I’m supposed to go. I have people waiting for me. Some family, some friends, some demons that never left (this part, I agree).

A few heartbreaks here and there, given and received. Some from people, others from life. Deserved, maybe. Found, definitely. (this is the emotional me)

And here I am, piecing together death-row-worthy sentences.

“I don’t love you” doesn’t quite cut it.
“I wish I loved me more” doesn’t either.

So I’m chasing the thought, but there’s still sunlight outside. I need the world to ignore me before I can tap into myself.

I put on my headphones, no music, just to block out the noise. That’s what I’ve always done when I didn’t want to listen. In this world full of noise, I only find calm in the silence that comes from pretending there’s a soundtrack. If I could dance again, maybe I’d hit play. But I’m scared—so, no dancing for now.

But tell me—what should I say to get my sentence right?
Because even though he’ll be in my life—through the ups and downs—he’ll never understand me.

I wish that, along with everything else life has taken from me, it would’ve also ripped away this idea of “forever love,” the one filled with background laughter and empty wine glasses. Yet, I can’t seem to shake it. I won’t give up what I can still choose. I won’t settle for less than you.

You, the one I haven’t met yet.
You, who won’t make me spin death-row sentences.
You, whose idea of family means loyalty and honor.

Where you’ve been, I haven’t gone.
Where I’ve wandered, you’ve not yet arrived.
But you’re still in my mind. And I know I’m in yours, even if we’re still waiting to collide.

The more pain I endure, the closer I feel to you. Because the harder I fight for happiness, the nearer I feel to finding you. I try every day to shift the narrative, to feel gratitude, to change the direction. But some days, it feels like every moment is an anniversary of everything I’ve lost. I hear the grass mourning my time, like an echo of what’s slipping away.

So even if you never come, don’t take this idea from me—the one I’ve sworn my life to. My sword is called love, in case you never show up.