Anatomy Of A Break-Up (ft. Notes app)

By Aarohi Rao

jan 8: i saw you again today—for the first time since.

i want to love you like a knife;

notched at an angle;

one that strikes with a warning,

but mostly ornamental.

ceremonial, almost. like something to be admired.

like a prayer. like a person seeing their first sunrise.

like a caress. like watching something together, curled under the same blanket.

like a comfortable fire at the hearth. it could kill you, but it’ll keep you warm at first.

(like tasting the blood on your cracked lip.

like carrying lip balm for it. but you still want the taste of salt to linger.)

—

feb 14: my lips, bloodied with desire. and yours, soft with love. it would never be good enough.

—

mar 4: i forget sometimes how much i love making bad decisions.

“for the vibes. for the plot. for the stories. just for some fun”

excuses, excuses.

but there’s something about the rush of exhilaration and hurt.

it’s like being burned by the flicker of a flame

as you light a firecracker,

still expectant of its luminescence.

like scratching a wound—almost holy in the moment,

but with aching consequences.

but in that moment. oh. the transient pain and pleasure.

something in me needs it—the anticipation. the thrill—

i barely remember the fall.

all i remember in the aftermath is the tremor of my hand.

the promise of something real.

i don’t regret any of my decisions. (i kissed you.)

—

apr 19: i lie like a habit. like an instinct. like darkness slowly enveloping a room.

like an answer to an exam, where you’re desperate for words to fill the empty lines.

is it a lie if i don’t know what the truth is.

is it a lie if it’s just for the sake of saying something.

is it a lie if everyone knows it’s a lie.

is it a lie if it’s the closest thing to the truth i can share.

tell me about the anatomy of a lie, and i’ll ask you to bite my tongue.

tell me how i rewrite history without a second glance and

tell me how you love me for it.

only one kind of person can love a liar. a hopeless romantic.

an optimistic fool.

like you, i was raised in the institution of dreaming.

hand on my heart. hand on my stupid heart.

i reach for your pinky, even as i cross my fingers

“promise,” i mutter. we both know i don’t mean it.

hand on my heart, i’m a liar. i’m no good for you.

how much of a person is real. the very essence of me is a lie.

—

may 18: your eyes are begging for permission to close.

your heart is beating as it always has.

you want it to race. you want to feel like you might die.

you want to be consumed by something.

or you want to consume something.

you’re desperate for the taste of salt on your lips.

desperate for something so sharp, it’ll change you.

you want to be delirious in your wanting.

you want to bite like a dog. you want to be

consumed by your very essence.

you want to beg. and feel wanted. and be touched.

—

jun 23: i feel your touch lingering in the palm of my hand.

your cheek against my lips. your hand holding onto mine.

you hold my beating heart—still bloody.

it was always going to end this way.

you’re leaving. and i’ll say bye with a smile on my face.

i’ve already promised to text you back but we both know i won’t.

i’d die trying to be good enough for you.

—

aug 3: time is a circle. is it generational trauma felt a generation too soon. or fate.

i am powerless to change it. i am alive and i am dead.

i can never go back but i can never move forward.

i will always return here

and you will always watch.

a part of me is lost in time.

it will always end like this.

By Aarohi Rao