There’s a part of me tracing back memories,

I feel this heaviness in my chest; the weight of your words on a frail, little heart.

I love you backwards,

From the last day to the first.

This way I know your favourite song before I know your name.

Loving you backwards comes easy.

We run towards each other, not away.

I love you backwards because you confuse me otherwise.

This way, I don’t write strange words on strange pages after you go; all my misery comes before you do.

This way, it’s a happy ending to a terrible start.

I talk to empty rooms for days till you finally appear.

Loving you backwards reminds me of how much I hate kissing hungrily; and this way our last kiss becomes a stoned blur and our first a heavily engraved memory.

I keep getting more and more of your time and attention.

This way I know the sound of you saying ‘I Love You’ before you say ‘we’re not meant to be’. This way, it doesn’t hurt.

Loving you backwards makes me want to love you more, makes me want to roll your silences and singular syllables and smoke them away into a misty morning.

I gradually notice the change in your face, move gracefully from a sorry, tired, indecisive one to an excited, shy yet bold, notorious one.

Loving you backwards, is like writing a poem to my past.

You see, loving you backwards is my answer to the void. It is all of my stupid theories about infinity burned to ashes.

It’s my way of making this goodbye stop hurting.

2 thoughts on “Backwards.

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