Ahana Roy Chowdhury

In an abyss of my obsessive thoughts. This is what anxiety feels like for me.

The words are a jumbled mess in my mind now but I remember feeling myself unravel in your palms. It was so easy to be myself with you.

Most days drift by like a strange dream, but I am a broken clock, suspended in time.

Don’t go, I’ve not yet perfected the art of saying goodbye, the words are still trapped in my throat, I’ll get better, give me some time.

What if I kissed you?

So when you try to make a home in my padlock heart, my fingers still tremble to give you the key.

It was fun playing house with you until you destroyed my heart.

I would rather choose selective amnesia
than a relentless chainsaw through my heart
reminding me of how you’ll never love me.

I’m terrified that one day you’ll be gone and I’ll spend the rest of my life carrying a decaying heart in my chest that shatters every time I hear your name.

How am I supposed to make you stay when I’m struggling to find reasons to love myself?

He says I never thought of you in that way. I’m sorry. He tries to change the topic like it’s not important. Something he can ignore and act like it doesn’t change your friendship.