To the Boy that Broke My Heart

It’s been years since we've truly spoken to one another and with all the things I have to say an hour simply will not suffice, even if you wanted to speak to me about our past, which you’ve made clear you do not. So I write this simply letter that you will never get to read. I do this for my benefit, for the sake of closure you couldn't deign to give me.

I’ve actually written another letter before, one in anger. This will be once of acceptance and one of lingering hurt.

In the time I thought I had relinquished feelings for you, I discovered that the feelings have indeed lingered. I tried very hard to dispel them but I guess it takes more time than others in matters of forgetting what once was. At that time you had moved on with another love and I can honestly say that I was happy for you. After all, you needed to move on from your previous destructive relationship, one I thought I could sway you from.

Contrary to what our peers may think, I wasn't jealous. Curious would've been more apt. I hadn't known about you and her; I was surprised. But the rumor mill started churning and I became the brunt of unwanted speculation from everyone else.

Soon after I learned why.

Of course they would think I was jealous. You gave them no choice. To say that what happened was nothing is the most hurtful thing you could've done to me. By that you relegated my feelings and whatever feelings you had for me then as nonexistent. But how could that be when I remember clearly our moments, our conversations, and your promises.

I cannot fathom why you chose to do what you did. Is it to protect your new relationship from me? A relationship that I have no interest whatsoever other than mild curiosity. Maybe to protect yourself? Is it because you were ashamed of me?

You hurt me. No amount of apology you have or will ever give me will erase that. And I don’t think you care or think about it now.

My pain still makes itself felt today but it grows fleeting and fleeting. One day it won’t hurt anymore. The past I shared with you will always be there no matter how much you try to forget or deny.

I’ve accepted that you will never be able to face me properly or give me the closure I once vied for. I’ve accepted that all of that is in the past. You are the past and like some people you don’t matter any longer. 

This has been a Saturday post brought to you by The Purple Madhouse.

Flashback Friday: The Window

Poetry, September 2005 — Another sad poem. <sarcasm>Surprise, surprise.</sarcasm> The inspiration for this was a photo I took back in highschool as you can see after the poem. She was looking out the window (hence the title) and my mind started turning at the thought of a woman desperately waiting for her lover. Seriously, I don't really know how I came up with this things. I guess it was my state of mind back then. But I digress. On with my sad poetry!

The Window
I look out upon my window
Hoping to see you in the horizon
But alas I see nothing
Neither form nor shadow

Day by day I wait here
The same old place
The everlasting emptiness
I wait until hope turns to fear

I sit by my window
Wondering when you'll come back
I'm running out of faith
But still I wait fro tomorrow

Now I realize that it's too late
The past is the past
So I'll do the right thing and say goodbye
I'll close my window and give into fate

Jessamine Guevarra, 2006, 3rd HS Sec. Newton,  DLA.

This has been a Friday post brought to you by The Purple Madhouse.

Flashback Friday: The Last Time

Poetry, 2005 — I am seriously risking ridicule for all my 2005 poetry. I honestly cannot remember any though process from when I wrote these poems. I was young and was ridiculously inclined to write about my teenage heartbreak. This was me at fifteen emulating a "strong independent woman who will not stand to be hurt any-moh" *snaps fingers in Z-formation.*

The Last Time

You’ve taken from me long enough

I’ve never felt this way before
I don’t know if this gives you laughs
But you can’t hurt me anymore

This is the last time I’ll listen to you
And from now own I’ll now what to do
For now I’ve learned what it’s like
To be hurt and hurt endlessly

I may not make sense
I may be confused
But one thing’s for sure
This is the last time I’ll be hurt by you

This has been a Friday post brought to you by The Purple Madhouse