our love has gone cold

i can feel the mattress next to me — cold, just like the bones under my skin. the house is quiet, too quiet that i can hear my heartbeat echo through the walls, it’s like the house is grieving with me, feeling the weight of the words i just felt. the words that wrap me in a cold hug, and make me numb; they somehow define me, i know they are not true. I know those are your imperfections. your insecurities, your fear, and your damn anger toward life. but your words pierce me in a way that i begin to have doubts about myself.

I sit in my room with music playing in the background, loud enough to silence the words you just uttered. the voices keep whispering when i’m lying down, when i’m in the shower, when i’m just trying to survive. they engulf me in a way that feels like they belong with me, it feels natural, almost like that’s what i was born for. I think back to the memory of breakfast in the morning, you and I at that table, eating our food silently. I wait, and wait for the “i love you” you say before leaving, like a pup waiting for the food to fall off the table. i studied your face for any emotions, but you were too focused on scrolling through your phone. i watch you for any signs of frustration or anger, but i see that this isn’t an act of love anymore, it’s simply an obligation. i brushed it as i always do, thinking you might just be burdened about something else. i could see the sunlight falling on the ground through the windows, the humming of the fridge acting as a soundtrack, birds chirping outside the window, everything colorful. but i look at your face, and everything turns gray, lifeless, painful, too painful to handle. I keep reaching for you but find only shadows.

I come home to nobody. i like the stillness. the comfort in knowing that i am alone, no one to answer to if i accidentally spill the milk, or maybe lie down on the ground for a while, i like the stillness. i look at the clock, and out the window, it feels like i’m in two different worlds. it’s the time you come back, so i tidy up everything in the hope that you would notice, so you would not get a reason to yell at me, scream at me. i hear your keys jiggling in the door, my heart racing at the same time, not out of excitement, but of anxiety, about what i’d have to hear tonight. i’m careful with all the words, and my actions, cautious, or maybe walking on eggshells around you, but i can’t just be me around you. i miss the warmth of your hands over my head, i crave for the touch, and affection, but it feels too far out of reach now. like it all happened once in my dream, and not in real life.

I tell you about how i have been wanting to study art, and you glare at me. I gathered a lot of courage to get those words out of my throat, but your stare made me quiver in my seat. I tell you how much i enjoy doing it, about how much love i have for it, but to you it’s always been the pride you take in me, and not my happiness or my interest. the food from my plate falls on the ground, words floating in the air, screams from you, and tears from me, i know you hate me, and i hate how i cannot talk without choking on my own words after this. so, i run to my room, my breath shaking, legs shivering, i sank to the ground, like that’s going to give me some comfort, like that is going to hold me when i crumble.

you are sound asleep downstairs, like nothing ever happened, like you didn’t just slam your fists on the table. like you didn’t just make me have a lump in my throat. like you didn’t just make me question my place in your life. I do not want to look weak in front of you, like you describe me to be, i hate myself when i cannot get my point across without having my throat burn or voice quiver. when i cannot be mad at you without crying. but, instead, i listen. to all that you throw at me, the words seep into my skin and make these wounds that do not heal. that gets picked at every time you yell at me. when i was young, i thought it was my fault, so i tried to heal them—to convince myself it’s not true, tell myself that you would love me one day. but as i grew up, that changed. I kept picking on the wounds myself so they wouldn’t hurt anymore when you did.

and now you see a child that is moulded out of everything you needed, and not out of what she herself wanted to be. she is all that you take pride in, but not something she is proud of. yet, she craves for all the validation from you, cause somehow she thinks her worth depends on it. too sad that she still doesn’t comprehend that the love between them has gone cold. and she wonders everyday if she’ll ever stop needing your love.

---

About the Writer:

Miraclin recently completed her bachelor’s degree in computer science and mathematics, and is currently taking a gap year while preparing for her master’s. Lately, she has been spending her time doing internships, writing more consistently, and growing deeply in her faith. This season of life has been slower and more reflective for her, and she believes it has changed both the way she writes and the way she looks at people and the world around her.

Here’s the link to Miraclin’s Substack:

---

Submissions are open for May and June

Guidelines and themes have already been shared in People’s Archive. If you’d like to submit a piece or collaborate with us, please email your work to gorsnewsletter@gmail.com. We look forward to reading you.

People’s Archive Instagram - We are trying to build our socials <3
People’s Archive Community - Our community is out, share your work here :)