If your hand could reach inside my heart, What would you do with it? Would you end my life with a measly squeeze, Or to poke it, ticklish it laughs with glee?

Would your face turn sour, At whatever my beating heart desires? It's not as innocent as I try to make it seem, Just a little broken, like a ragged doll with endless seams.

It matters not what you do with your hand on my chest; Because it's you, the only person who knows me more than the rest. Even if you break it, I wont shed tears of anger; It's a pleasure for your hand to touch my heart in slumber.

One moment. Ten seconds. Tear-stained eyes.

I was too late. Your dishelved look, horrified eyes, your white dress stained with what seemed like blood. In my normal state I would have just held your hand in mine and dragged you out of that apartment, leaving the beast you somehow loved.

But my fist thought for itself, and without as much as a blink, I left you at the entrance to face the monster you hide behind your petite figure. It fought back but its attempt was futile as it drowned in crimson red. It's as if I was possessed in that very moment, because how could a nerd like me ever win against a beast like him?

Just as it slips out of consciousness, mine crept back in.

"Brother..." you wept.

I could barely open my eyes when the first morning after you left greeted me. My room had stayed the same, and the world did not end. Yet a hole as big or even bigger than the universe was carved out of my soul; why did it feel like my world had stopped turning? I trembled as my heart ached, knowing that you felt the opposite; that instead of pain, you're feeling a newfound sense of freedom without me.

It was never pain that you felt, nothing but the mere guilt of letting me believe you'd stay forever.

I wish it was only the first morning, but it went on for a week, a month, a year, two years. Your absence lingered in my mouth, and the flavor of anguish continued to wash down my throat. I refused to accept your decision to end things with me. And so I did everything to get you back.

I chased after the clouds, tried to catch water with the palms of my hands, and I begged on my knees as if you were a God mocking the intensity of my unanswered prayers.

"Please love me back," like a puppy on a leash. But even imbeciles knew that you can't love someone into loving you.

But then the time came when I stopped running after the love I thought we had. It crossed my mind that perhaps I also deserved more than just the crumbs, more than the droplets of water, more than just a half-meant "I missed you", and "I'll try to love you again".

That maybe I deserved more than the love you couldn't give, and that maybe there's more to life after you.