a history of our (young) love

the pupils of my eyes took years
to learn to see people as they really are
and not what i
(fervently) (quietly) (desperately)
wanted them to be
mediocre students they were

people venture a question sometimes
(timidly) (tentatively) (curiously)
how do you remember him

i say
it is history now

i dont say
he is the parachute that turned out to be a body bag
the rubbish that tenebrosity dragged in with the swelling tides
the abrupt turn away from old haunts
the nos that i say to every guy after him
the hours spent by the sea learning to say goodbye (all over again)

we were letters written in languages indecipherable to each other
but we wrote all the same
(insistently) (furiously) (passionately)

 Cheryl Tng

This poem was written about a year after my last relationship ended. I remember feeling angry at that time – WHY haven’t I moved on already? (In the end, it took me about two years to do that.)

I suppose this poem is about young love, about how we thought we could make it work, whatever “it” was. We were too ridiculously incompatible people – I am reserved and enjoy reading, he is loud and an extrovert – but somehow we obstinately refused to see that. It was a painful relationship, and he eventually started seeing someone else and I found out about that.

Looking back, I don’t think it was love that we had. We wanted that, I think, but neither of us could (or knew how to) give that.