I was never fond of the things that made me feel, as grief and sorrow is what made me whole. That makes me two, but the will the world ever crumble if the very thing that made whole was taken by your grace?

I fear not, I wasn't fond of it. The rain never felt as warm as you nor it tasted sweet like the palette of your skin. You don't remind of who I am as a whole because sorrow and grief tasted bitter, but it's warm. And warmth was the thing that kept me whole.

I never mistook grace for its certainty, but the grief and sorrow that comes along with it. We were both scums for a love we thought we deserved until the despairity is the only thing that bounds us together. We are scums, but I crave for warmth even if love comes with the fear of unpacking grief along with it. I am a slave, and I bleed misery.

But if you came to replace its heat, then I'll let the world crumble. EvenIf sorrow was the foundation of my being, then I'll let your palm undo the intricate seams of grief and replace it with the warmth of your hands— even if there's a risk of waking up the next day, you were no longer beside me.

We barely figure things out, and yet we somehow start to figure everything because we were both confused. I used to wonder how complicated everything was, but everything seems to be in place whenever I am with you.

We will both be losers

if you didn't have the courage

to tell me what you feel.

I used to think that words were the thing that drove people apart. That if you wanted to leave me, you would say it.

But I was more than wrong.

If you wanted to push me away, you wouldn't have said a single thing. You would've let the silence suffocate us.

​And clearly, you didn't.

​And I was never more sure when you did.