When Threads Get Loose

"HOW ARE you?"

That's what you told me after you saw me cry. I remember smiling and telling you about my problems. You actually comforted me. Then we fell in love. It was a whirlwind romance. We fell in love way too hard, and you fell out of love way too fast.

During daytime, I patch broken pieces of myself, continuously stitching them, silently hoping the threads won't get loose again. But then, at night, I am constantly reminded of the fact that you have given up on me without providing any reasons at all. The threads get loose, and scars open up again, spilling blood on old parchments.

As I write this, I realize that you born the poet in me. You're still the subject of my masterpieces, and I still hide you in between the lines of my poetry. You are still my subject, and you will always be.

Pouring myself over the old pages of my little diary, I remember the first lines that you've told me,

"How are you?"

Sighing, I close my eyes as I hear my answer at the back of my mind,

"I'm still hurting, but in the process of healing."