I miss writing sad letters.
Whether it was about how much I loved you and how helpless I was trying to hide it, or whether it was about telling you how much I regret every moments I had wasted on you.
I miss writing words that tells how much you mean to me. And the words that I used to deny whatever I felt.
I miss writing melancholic phrases that describes the emotions you inflicted in me. Those unsung lyrics I have thrown in trash just because it doesn't justify the sparks that used to hang in between us.
I used to type every sweet melody that comes from your mouth but my phone has been long formatted along with your old stolen photographs.
I miss writing how I tripped when I catched your eyes on mine. About those times when I used to blush profusely from your simple compliment.
Let me write these words stuck in the back of my mind - buried but never forgotten.
But my hands...
Oh! How they refuse to stroke the lines of your name! It has been like this since the day you turn your back on me - on us.
I couldn't write. I couldn't even hold the pen or hold my stare on a blank sheet of paper. It terrifies me; having panic attacks everytime I hold my journal. I am afraid that if I already write these down I could just easily let our memories to fade.
But maybe it was worth having the attacks.
It was worth the nights filled with anxieties to end the letter I started a long time ago.
It was worth welcoming the stabs each and every words could dig.
Then maybe after this - after I put the last period for this letter, maybe, just maybe then, I could already leave behind all the pain you have caused me.
Afterall, maybe it was worth feeling all the pain all at once.