I'll See It When I Believe It

If these hands could talk, the right one wouldn't tell you the things it had done to the one that's left. If these hands could talk, they would talk about yesterday. Adrenaline rushed when I realized the cup of tea was a bit too hot for my throat, like the cheap words I was shot at in that same moment. I said I wouldn't think about it tomorrow yesterday. Some people are always aiming at your back waiting for you to take off that bullet-proof vest in front of the world that you're finally ready to brave. Now my burnt tongue can't stop reminding me of the pain in my chest where the bullet went through several times in my life. Is it killing me or is it making me stronger? If I were laying here with you when my heart is breaking and my whole world crumbling down, please look for the right words to say, because hating each other is the only thing we have in common now. Thousands of headlights shine through the city with their ghosts reflected on the white walls that have forgotten about the world because the real bodies who own them aren't here to love them. Next to me are piled-up blankets for warm dreams. I stare at the highways on my palms and can't stop wondering how I lose you every time in the wrinkled open cracks and why I crash and burn in the dead-ends. If this was a ghost story, it would be the only one that I could tell properly over the worst soundtrack of that horrible crack in the voice of someone who's about to cry. I acted like I didn't care when in fact I was so fucking scared because loving you made me forget about hating myself and now I don't know where hating you would lead me to. It was the same fear as when Mrs. Lee passed away holding her husband's hand and the old man living across the street always said that he was glad he wasn't in love with anybody. He said the same when the sirens rang from two blocks away and the ambulance stopped at the entrance of his building. But it wasn't for him. Nothing ever was.

Ghost stories are all lies. There isn't a ghost of us; I won't believe it when I see it, but I know I'll see it when I believe it. That bullet didn't kill me, and it never will. The city lights are trying to tell us the pain in our chests are just our hearts growing bigger, like how the lights spread themselves on the walls connecting those four corners.

If these hands could talk. No, hands can't talk. And there's only the wrong one who had stayed a little longer than it should.