Paper Cut

I am finally writing about you.

I wish that I have put into writing the things that we did while they were still fresh in my memory. I wish that I have put into words the emotions that I felt when you were with me. I wish that I have written about you when I was in the middle of that blissful period of time when I knew you love me too.

I wish I am not writing about you.

I wish that I am not writing about you because these words are words of goodbye. I wish I am not writing about acknowledging the emotions I feel now that you are not with me. I wish I am not writing about regrets and wishes that you still love me too.

Because I cannot unwrite you.

I cannot unwrite the memories that I see in every corner of our table, in left over papers and plastics, in mugs and pans, in stains on the stove, and every dust that were left unmoved. I cannot unwrite you. That even if I acknowledge the pain, what stands out are the sound of our laughter, your scent that lingers on me even after I shower, the conversations and dreams on papers and plastics, and the kisses that make our lips bleed. I cannot unwrite the blissful memories because erasing them leaves paper cuts that remind me I still love you.

I wish I wrote about you.

I wish I wrote about that moment when I first saw you coming down the escalator, when we spent only less than an hour together and I already cannot let go of you. I wish I wrote about all the little surprises that makes you, you. The letters, the gifts, and the sketches on papers that I knew you think of me.

I wish I wrote about how cruel I was to you, how I easily felt comfortable about your love that I forgot about you losing you. I wish I wrote about your eyes. I wish I wrote about your smile. I wish I wrote about your embrace that makes every weariness disappear. I wish I wrote about you so that I could have seen every detail that is beautiful, ugly, and special that makes you, you.

I wish I wrote about you while you still love me too.