The Curse of Abilities

Ability to remember every painful words;

Even the simplicity of jokes being thrown at me, stays in my head that it became their home.

Ability to feel too much;

Absorbing the negativity so much that it feels like there’s a magnetic energy between me and feelings.

Ability to replay every bad moments;

Like a casette of memories that never runs out of film.

Ability to mourn every loss even before losing;

That every human beings I encounter have two, and only two, purpose on my life— meeting me and leaving, wherein “knowing” is such a big word and that being attached is the new goodbye.

Ability to overanalyze.

That in everything and nothing, there’s always something. That overthinking became my pillow and blanket at night.

These are the abilities I am not so proud of, but these are what I’m made of.



The birth of remorse,
A flashes of nostalgia.

The yearning for what ifs,
A prayer of what could have been.

The birth of remorse,
A flashes of nostalgia..

They stab the soul,
Of a man living in infamy.