All the things I’ll never say Pt. 1

I’d never met anyone whose favorite meal was indomie noodles.

At least, not till I met you.

The day you’d told me, you said it so matter-of-factly,

Like you were so used to people thinking you weren’t being serious.

The expression was all for nought, because I didn’t take you seriously still,

“How can indomie noodles be your favourite food?”

You’d shrugged and smiled, like that was response enough.

I haven’t eaten Indomie noodles since we broke up.

I’m not sure if it’s because I’m trying to distance myself from things that remind me of you,

Or it’s because of how expensive everything has gotten lately.

But I haven’t listened to any Ric Hassani’s song since then,

Nor have I worn any of your clothes I’m with.

So probably, that second excuse doesn’t hold water.

I started seeing a therapist after we broke up,

Because being ever so dramatic, I was convinced the hurt I was feeling would ruin me if I didn’t stage an intervention.

The therapist was what my friend would term a ‘werey’, and was about as useful as the letter ‘e’ in the word ‘be’.

I’m cooking indomie today, in that black Cartoon Network t-shirt you let me keep, after realizing no force on earth would make me return it.

Ric Hassani’s Police is playing from an old speaker I took from my sister, who coaxed our mom into giving her.

I’m ready to let go of what you and I had, or didn’t have,

I’m doing this because ignoring a situation you’re hurting from isn’t the right way to heal.

And I so desperately want to heal the right way this time.