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‘Moving On’

A registered physical therapist in the Philippines, Mona is endlessly in pursuit of her true passion-poetry and the arts.

I hope you don't remember me when you miss being loved.

when the hours get lonely and moments are dull,

ignore whatever is left in your memory of me if such a thing still exists.

know that the flame, once blazing and alive has eventually demised

just as your thoughts of me were thrown in the wind, without hesitation

scattering, abandoning your heart, mind and soul

all to make room for someone else. Someone no less.

And when the lazy Sunday afternoons roll in,

they'll be just like any other day. As if we didn't use to spend them together.

no more chances and hidden nooks for maybes

I take you only as a visitor from my dreams.

That's where you're supposed to stay, buried in the deepest recesses

solely coming to life the moment I close my eyes.

Oh, but how I love to sleep. Might I as well give it up?

just so opportunities are fewer, because even in my dreams you're still who you were.

not the stranger who allowed himself to indulge in another,

nor someone who lost his care and half his sanity.

and it still hurts like being freshly wounded, the pain of being picked at

over and over again--scathing, relentless, indomitable.

Does it empower you to say, or admit

that you were the one who got away?

Because I don't believe that you're ashamed as you insist,

you're guilt isn't overflowing. What guilt is there in realizing what you actually want?

No matter if it means trampling other people. That's life. It happens.

acceptance is the key to move forward, or forever hold a grudge and be indignant.

It's wretched to stay stuck in between.

still rooted here, even after such a long time.

I would give the world to have this gone and moving

but right now, this poem is everything I possess.

one that you'll never get a chance to see, nor would spare time to read

despite my courage in pressing it to you

but I don't wish to live just to see that day.

my worth is still in the process of realization but it's picking up speed.

so leave these memories forgotten, pretend you weren't once profoundly loved

I deserve more than mere spontaneity from minds of the dim-witted

when they recall being adored and the ground they stepped on being worshipped.

such a pity how you didn't get the love you risked everything for,

its unrequited state bound to haunt you forever.

and while you sit there, waiting for something to happen,

I'll be off in pursuit of greener pastures to forget the withered mess that you are.

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