Confessions of a Psychotic Girlfriend
I killed Starfish.
I tore all your love letters.
I manually shred my diary about you.
I tune up shred all our pictures.
I never learned from any of them.
Now, I kind of wished to go back to the time
When colorful starfish was alive. (Poor baby.)
When your written witty lines on construction paper are just waiting inside a shoebox to be read. (They were masterpieces. You always know I'm a fan of your write ups.)
When I can still re-read my diary and blush over and over again. (I could have published it on tumblr.)
When our old pictures can still be accessed, viewed and shared. (I should've sent them to the recycle bin instead.)
Those moments when I realized that
I could never bring back what I wish I could.
When torn pieces of starfish were stuffed inside a plastic,
Beside the plastic full of torn love letters,
Mixed with my shredded pink, blue and violet diary sheets,
I can no longer see the Him + Her album on my desktop.
The climax of the hurt, resentment and stupidity came when
my mother took out all those plastics,
which she thought were garbage.
The second wave came when all I did was stare at the Tune-up Undelete Mode.
They should have made a tool that can recover Tune-up Shredded Files!
I cried my heart and eyeballs out when I came home from school one day,
determined to sew poor starfish,
and play puzzle and scotch tape on your letters,
just to find out that those plastics were.. gone.
Little did my mother know that along with those garbage,
Our little love story went.
Now, I wouldn't want to remember all those times
When I was so immature, clueless and bratty.
If only I can undo them,
Then maybe Starfish can accompany me while you're away.
Those sweet cards and homemade ones could have kept me stronger.
My diary could remind me how crazy you and I were for each other.
And our pictures could encourage us to make more memories.
But I can't.
And I'm missing receiving gifts from you.
And I'm missing reading those lines.
And I'm missing pouring my emotions out on a piece of paper. (You must see my handwriting back then on my entry about the part when I realize that I'm right about you liking me.)
And I'm missing seeing every happy picture we had.
Maybe I deserve this.
You, giving me necessary things that I can't tear apart like bags and sandals instead of cute ones.
You, not writing lengthy love letters anymore.
You, being okay with everything about us, whether good or bad.
You, going on Valentine's Day, 7001 miles away from me.
Yet, you stayed with me despite seeing the ugly of the ugliest in me.
You were in an all-time low, yet you were there.
I would always want to understand you because I know I was the one
Who caused you to be that way.
I've made a monster out of you,
And I was a baby, sucking colorful lollipops and throwing baby bottles right at your head.
Being a brat again, I thought, then maybe
We should stay together being unhappy so that we could be happy. [Thought from Eat, Pray, Love]
Yet, this would never give both of us true bliss.
You go grab your aspirations there,
And I'll chase my superficial desires here.
I will wait until you come back to me,
complete, happy, and ready --
to fulfill our mutual dreams.
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