January Love

You forgot to love me today.

At 4 in the morning, I woke up and realized you were gone. Your side of the bed was as cold as the weather last December. I tried to sleep again, and after a few turns and sighs, I succeeded.

At 10:14 am, I took my phone, hesitated, and then called you. You didn’t answer.

At noon, I ate alone, anxiously checking the clock just to track the hours that I’m missing you.

Until 6 pm, I was at work, trying hard to take my mind off of you.

8:33, I arrived. The house was as empty as the juice box inside the fridge. You must have forgotten to take it out. Or maybe it was me. I’m not very sure.

10:00, I finally decided to stay awake and wait for you. Patiently, I waited.

At 11:47, you came home. You forgot to kiss my cheek. I said, “Hey.” You didn’t answer.

12:00 am, I couldn’t take it anymore. I asked you what was wrong.

12:03, you answered “I forgot to love you today.”

End of my August -- Fill the Silence

We used to fill this silence with sweet words and truthful loving. It’s hurting to know that the silence is back — this time even louder, without passionate words to ease the pain, without love to satisfy the longing. We shout at each other, and then I stop to think The words that we say… it shouldn’t be like this. And then I caught myself biting my lip and stifling a sob. How could this be — when the silence that used to be filled with sweet words and truthful loving — is now filled with anguish and fears, frustration and tears. Please stop shouting, I think. You did. And then all that was left was the piercing tune of our hearts beating, painfully wanting to say I’m sorry but too afraid to show our vulnerability. Love should have told us what to do. It didn’t.

If only I can apologize, then I wouldn’t have to cry it out.


Pierced hearts with words of disgust and loathe. On the very day you left the freshly picked daisy on the counter to die, an amalgam of self-pity and hatred played inside my chest, perforating every vein that I possess. I remembered that you don’t remember, and diatribes are passed along with the minutes of the day. A debacle waiting to be unfold, with culpability evident in your used to be refulgent and deceiving eyes. Blossoming flowers, no matter how beautiful, tend to die.

Quietness isn’t what I asked for, but it is all that I got.