Almost perfect.

"The flower doesn't dream of the bee. It blossoms and the bee comes." -Mark Nepo.

What we had was almost perfect;

the walks by the sea, the rides in the taxi,

the talks on the phone, the drives back home,

the jokes between lullabies, the doodles between cries,

the Disney dreams, the football screams,

the laughs at the corridor, the trips to the bookstore,

the unnecessary arguments, the cutest presents, 

the impromptu karaoke sessions, the dream vacations,

and the little things for us to keep, just for us to bring in our sleep.

It was everything I imagined and more.

What I hope is for us to open the doors sooner;

to see clearer, to understand better.

Though it's okay babe, the fogs cleared and I'm not in a haze anymore.

It took me a long time to fathom the reasons, 

but here I am; grasping the fact that we are on a break. 

I wrote you letters and I thought I wasn't good enough for you.

When in reality, I always knew that we are all perfectly imperfect. 

What we had was almost it and maybe we were just not ready to be perfect.

Give us time, give us space. 

We will find our way back to each other, as friends or more.

Here's to finding ourselves and figuring out the game plan.

Here's to drilling motivations and achieving goals.

Here's to building castles in Spain-- and Indonesia. 

I'm not good enough.

"You need to realize that you have toxic traits too and that you might be toxic to other people." -unknown.

I knocked on your wooden door and peeked through the glass window. I rang the house bell and called out your name. "Babe, are you home?" There was no answer. You didn't answer. Weird. I saw you in the kitchen, I caught you looking at me. I was excited. I was pumped to see you, to talk to you. So I waited for you to open the door, I waited for you to let me in. 

Shut. The door was still shut.

Weird. 

I thought it was my chance to finally speak with you but you were exhausted. A whole restless year- I understood that you wanted to be alone. 

I waited by your pavement, I waited at the cafe across the road. I checked my phone for texts, eagerly waiting for your name to pop up in my notifications. None. I understood. 

You wanted to be alone. I have always reminded you how important me-time is. 

So I understood.

I pinged your phone, I asked for your time and attention. 

but you were lost- confused. 

You wanted to be alone. I understood. 

I started overthinking. I started crying myself to sleep.

I started wondering if you still feel the same about me.

I tried reaching out to you but I also tried holding myself back. The last thing I wanted was to annoy you- but I missed you. 

I wanted to talk to you, I wanted to know if you were okay. 

I tried reaching out to you and I did not hold myself back. 

You were annoyed, you got mad. 

I wanted to talk to you but you were not okay. 

Maybe it's my fault; I shouldn't have pushed you.

Weird. A day felt like a week. 

It felt really odd not talking to the one person you spoke to on a daily basis. God, worried would be an understatement. I feared that I was not good enough for you. Maybe you got tired of me. Soon--

I found out the break you needed was from me. 

I was making you uneasy. 

I was a disturbing fly that could not leave your food alone.

I was a buzzing bee around your fresh flowers. 

I tried to understand, but I couldn't. 

I saw you opening the door for your friends, letting them in at any time of the day. You greeted them with warm hugs, offered them coffee and sprite. Weird. I walked to your door and knocked. I knocked on the door, I rang the bell. I was excited. I was pumped to see you, to talk to you. 

I saw you laughing with your guests so I waved to you, trying to grab your attention. You saw me. You looked me in the eyes. I waited for you to open the door, I waited for you to let me in.

Shut. The door was still shut.

Weird.

I wrote letters to him.

"Writing isn't letters on paper. It's communication. It's memory." -Isaac Marion.

I wrote letters to him; because that's the only way to voice my feelings.
I wrote letters to him, confessing my first impression of him.
I wrote letters to him, praising how amazing I think he is.
I wrote letters to him, pushing him to be the best version of himself.
I wrote letters to him, reminding him how far he has gone.
I wrote letters to him, letting him know how proud I am to see him grow.

I wrote letters to him, trying to make him understand my anxiety.
I wrote letters to him, writing bits of poems that remind me of him.
I wrote letters to him, telling how excited I am for our next encounter, our next date.
I wrote letters to him, explaining how jittery I get when he is around.
I wrote letters to him, expressing how much he changed my life.

I wrote letters to him, making sure he knows how much I love him.
I wrote letters to him, portraying how much I miss his presence.
I wrote letters to him, knowing that he is going to read them when he misses me.
I wrote letters to him, hoping he would understand how important he is to me.
I wrote letters to him, wanting to get at least one reply;
one letter explaining every little thing,
one letter for me to read over and over.