The In-Between Chronicles: Despite the Feeling

I have to do it. I know sooner or later I won’t be able to keep my feelings buried six feet under the ground. It is foolish of me to think that something so strong and so alive will just cease to exist.

I am here with you again, in this dimly lit room. Despite the lack of light, you always seem to give off this immaculate radiance, and I cannot help but be drawn to you. As always, our conversation is an endless stream of words, making me wish that the night will never turn to day.

There you are again with your wicked smile and charming nonchalance, as if everything is perfectly alright.

I keep hoping that you go ahead and talk about it — this (or would it be right to say us?).





do this —

To muster all the courage I have and get this over with. My strings are so attached to you; it is quite unfair that you have me at your beck and call. Don’t get me wrong. I love you with everything I have. I love the entire world you were in — your friends and your family. I treated them as if they were my own. I dearly love you, and it hurts me, because she is waiting for you. She has no idea that you are here with me right now. I love you, but this is unfair. Unfair for me, and for her. How can you tell me that I’m the love of your life when you put a ring on her finger, and no one knows about us? How can you treat me this way, leaving me in the shadows while you enjoy the sun? How can you to this to me — the one you call your best friend? They say feelings are just feelings, but how can we belittle something that dictates our disposition?

For R.S.


It would have been easier if I just cried it all out: the menacing pain that have been living inside of me; but I have gotten into the habit of covering it up, patching it, and holding it together despite the open wound. The gauze I have expertly placed to stop the bleeding has stuck on my skin, making what hurts me and what (should) give me comfort indistinguishable. ┬áIn my constant denial, I’ve carelessly trapped myself in an impermeable bubble, unable to let pain be purged out of me.

Even as I walk in the dark shadows of the night with an awful heartache in tow, I cannot bring myself to breakdown, nor could I let myself be vulnerable enough to call someone and admit that I need help NOW. The closest I could get to was to send out a seemingly nonchalant text message, plainly saying that I went out to stroll around the village — as if it was a mundane thing and as if my situation didn’t bother me very much.