Flipping through the pages of my diary

Really, there are types of warmth. Exactly there are. The first type is that which burns so fast and leaves so quick — just in the blink of an eye. You will never know what to do. You will never know when to surrender. You will always be half a foot inside and half outside the door, because it's so confusing, it's so much to bear all at once. But it's always dreamy, it's always unreal. It's always too good to be true.  The second type is the one that only burns to burn you all. It engulfs you inside. It leaves  you only with scars, burns, and ashes. It leaves you like never before. It leaves you with more pain than healing. It takes away more than it ever offered. You are just like a moth reaching the candle flame, not knowing it will take away your soul. And the third type is, like yours — sacred — It burns slow, but forever long. The type that never goes away, no matter what. The type that won’t scare you through its intensity. The type that doesn’t burn your soul...

Sometimes I just wanted to tell someone, "I missed you. I missed you so much that it felt like the world continued moving forward without me. It felt like I was stuck somewhere and nobody cared to help me out. I could witness the embers of our love and the shambles of our memories. I missed you so much that my heart yearned in all different languages nobody understood. I tried to write them down, but I was terrified it wouldn't make sense to anyone. But even if you don't understand poetry or literature, I won't mind that. Just understand my feelings. Just understand these three words. They are more burdening than 'I love you.' It made my heart sink every second. I missed you. I missed you so much. This is all. Just listen to my heart. Just listen to these three words." Love only makes me sad yet my desire to be loved never ends. 

I recently started listening more to people than speaking. I realized people do have fun stories to narrate. But most of them live in their past. They tell me about their past — how was their childhood, their first love, school days, and summer vacations. But I want to know who they are now, who they are sitting in front of me. They nowhere tell about these things. But one can still tell just by listening to them. Just look at them when they speak — how their body calms, how their body stiffs, how their hands move, how they breathe, where they hesitate, where their eyes brighten up, where their smile falls, where their voice is the loudest, where it's mellow, where they sigh, and where they smile the most. I realized the worst you can say while consoling someone is, "Don't cry, please." And the best you can say is not to utter anything. When they cried amidst their stories, I just watched them. Because I am really bad at consoling. I knew if I started consoling, we wo...

Sometimes I say phrases like, "I miss you," and my brain steps in, asking if I really do miss the person or just the feeling I felt. How much of an injustice it would be to your soul if I accept that I only miss the feeling of having you, of feeling less lonely in this world, and then crawl back to you, telling you how much I missed you. This is wrong to your heart, but my heart really craves that feeling — the feeling of being loved, of witnessing what gentle masculinity is, of feeling how loving a man can be in a world where dads only scream. I know it’s wrong to return to someone just for the feeling, not for the person, and so I choose to remain in this corner of the world — not trying to write you letters, not trying to make you feel how my world has fallen apart since you left. But isn't it crazy? How much our minds rationalize our feelings — our hearts. If only I could hear the deafening noise of my heart saying, "I miss you," while completely shutting do...