No Saving

I don't know how to show hatred. I don't know how to show angst. I don't know how to scowl and look at you begrudgingly. I don't know how to release pain through screams of discontent to the you who inflicted. I don't know how to clench my fists. I don't know how to punch a carseat. I don't know how to look at you straight in the eye and ask that you stop or else things will get worse and blood will shed. I don't know how to do all those.

I know how to hide them all. I know how to silently shed a tear in the passenger's seat riding home. I know how to flinch at the moment of impact. I know how to wipe my runny nose with my sleeve. I know how to stay silent. I know how to sleep. I know how to keep your head and limbs intact in my mental image of you. I know how to shove all the hurt down my throat never again to be seen by you unless you watch me take a dump. I know how to  shrug a shoulder and stare at the floor until the greatest unease has dissipated and I'm only left with another million more layers of it underneath. I know how to greet a silent goodbye.

Where do you find the courage?

Because I, on the other hand, take forever to get my brain to actually fire impulse to the neurons in my voicebox. I do know what I want to say but I always fear that it's not something wanted to be heard and that it's better for it to just float in my head until I myself forget about it only to be reminded when I catch a glimpse of you. Am I really that after your acceptance?

Why am I so afraid of facing you and seeing you shun me directly? Why haven't I grown numb? Why haven't I let go? Why haven't I outgrown this joke of a red string? I thought I had grabbed the ends of it and pulled it untied but I realize now that all I did was to tighten it even more.

Found and Lost

It pains me whenever I see myself looking at you in the most negative way possible that my—as my friend would say—mammalian brain could ever imagine. I hate it that my mind has decided to look at you in such a manner. Disgusted. Detached. Anything but love. Sure, there are still times when I think of how you're doing and if you're fine—while walking on the corridors or sitting on a bench doing my notecards—but why is it that when you interact with me, all I feel is repulsion? A want to just run away from you as quick and as far as my legs can carry me ignites within me, although all that happens really is an impassive "Sure." What are you to me now, really?

Am I being a coward again? Desiring to escape from your presence? I still don't understand. I'd like to sit down and talk with you—about anything under the sun, really. But when it is you who comes over, I abhor it. I cringe when you ask to borrow my eraser or ask me Math questions. I shudder when I hear you comment about my time and space. Tell me. Why have you become so repulsive? I don't doubt that all you mean when you speak to me now is what you speak. Nothing more, and nothing less. So what is it that kills me everytime?

Maybe it is exactly that. Maybe it's the realisation whenever you speak to me that we are no longer together, that you were just a part of my past now that makes me feel annoyed. I don't think we wasted our time then. I don't think it was a bad thing that happened to us. But I guess, it's just really hard when you're reminded what once was.

No, I don't want to get back together. That is the least that I would want to be given. Right now is after all, better. Best. Apt for the moment. Right. Is it now fact that from here on, we will be going our separate ways—never again to feel our heartbeats in sync with one another even for just a moment? Is this really goodbye? 

I would like to tell you that I'm rather happy still. I don't doubt that you are too. I pray that aftertime we both find ourselves chasing after dreams we were really meant to chase.

//unedited, spur of the moment

The Last Riddle

"Do you want to hear one last lie from me?" she asked in her seemingly indifferent voice.

This is probably your last conversation together and she is telling you this? You know better than the indifference she is showing. Beneath her words are ideas after thoughts after feelings--all strung up in a beautiful entanglement that is her soul. She has always been the unpredictable type of girl. She has always been one step ahead of you. Now, what is she thinking this time around?

Telling lies is her expertise. Since the day you first met her, she has lied countless of times. It was only a promise that she later on made that bounded her from saying any more of her made-up words and stories to your easily-swayed heart. A promise that you know she faithfully kept and broke not even once.

What is this last thing she's asking for?

She noticed your hesitation and added, "You know you can simply not believe what I'm going to say next since I'm already telling you it's a lie."

But lies are tricky. Lies can be completely made-up. However, sometimes they can be mixed with the truth. To what extent, are you supposed to believe? To what extent, do you want to be deceived?

"Fine. Whatever. Go ahead."

Your heart skips a beat as the words leave her lips. Your mind goes blank as you try to remember and forget her words. In a soft voice, she had said those famous three words: I love you.

Locked Lock

If I step away, will you be taking a step closer? If I run away, will you be chasing after me? If I tell you I'm losing grip of where we stand, will you hold my hands and tell me no one's going anywhere? If I search for you among these faces, will you wave your hand and smile at me?

Is it bad to think that I'm beginning to fade away in your mind? That maybe I wasn't there at all in the beginning. That I never actually got to enter your thoughts. That everything you said were just lies to give me happiness for the time being. That you were simply kind enough to make a fool of this heart. Do not worry; it isn't bitterness I'm feeling. It is happiness and gratitude that after all this time, I am finally free.

I have fallen for you too deep from up high, but today, tonight, is the turning point of everything. 0ne by one, memories of you will slip away but I will be standing with eyes closed, calm and resisting not in the slightest hint. I'd let go every thread of you because every thread lost is a smile curved in my lips.

I'd tell myself it's going to be alright while I murmur my last I love you.

147.

Hush

It doesn't matter
how many times you get lost
I'll always find you.

Kaleidoscope Monologue

You have no right to utter those words. The only thing that held you back from asking her was yourself. What held him back was her. He perfectly knew her thoughts and he respected every bit of them. He certainly had second thoughts but in the end, he kept his resolution. He dared not break her again, while you only feared to break yourself.

You said none of them had to try hard. That he didn't need to. After all, they were closer than you and her together, but that's just bullshit. You're just a bystander. You know nothing of what they have gone through.You are completely clueless that the smiles you see from them now are products of their resilience. Tears were shed and hearts were broken but they held on.

When you see them walk together, the only thing that goes through your mind is that you should have been him. It has always been about yourself never about them, never about her. Always do you tell her that you will protect her but do you not see that she already has her knight?

The Past Lover

I hate seeing that face. Those eyes that need not look at me to show what's going on. Those lips that need no words to tell me what's happening. That face that I do not know so well but knows me perfectly well.

We are the sum of all our masks.

I knew she'd die of a choke. After all, she shoved in heaps after heaps of money into that foul mouth of hers. I actually despised her for that. Well, at first. After years of bringing her coffee and reminding her of her meetings, I got used to it and now that she's dead, I think I actually miss her. Wait, no. I miss her greed, her vile methods of piling up more bills, her absolute wickedness that seemed to know no bounds.

She was my mother. Or at least she should have been. She was caring and gave me advice when she noticed I was having a hard time playing the piano. Or at least that's what they want me to say. She stood up for me when someone bullied me in class day after day. Or at least that's what the books tell me. She gave me gifts during my birthday and Christmas day. Or at least that's what other parents do. She died one morning and responded to me no longer. Or at least that's what I've always known.

It was morning of the 5th of July and I just found out that my father had gotten ill. I badly wanted to take my leave and make my way home but I simply couldn't. I was Madame's driver and she was to meet with a company executive. I was so distressed, juggling one thought after another, until Madame called me and said she wanted to take the cab and I was free the whole day. It was only afterwards that I found out that she overheard from the maids that my father was in a bad condition and decided to give me a day off. What a kind soul, she was!

I kind of want to add more "eulogies" and have a well-thought flow of the negatives and positives but I don't seem to be fond of very long posts. 

I'll just end this  abruptly and say it's poetic license. 

Sinking

I have been waiting

and searching for that one place

welcoming me home.

fail haiku, I know.

Last Breath Excerpt

We are all destined to die. From the moment we take in our first breath, death has already tied itself around our ankles. Like a shadow, it silently watches our every move. It hides beneath the immediate concerns of the present and when we least expect it, strikes us and cuts this thread of life we have carefully fostered (or utterly destroyed). It strips us of our achievements and failures. Death brings us back to the dust where we first came from.

Then, what difference does it make? If one day our souls should fade away, would anything even mean anything at all? The worth and essence of the countless choices that we make, the ones that are unconsciously decided and the ones that dwell months long in our brains and haunt us in our dreams before they are sorted out, diminish to nothing. The weight of our actions begin to disappear. The incentives and the consequences cease to matter. Little by little, life proves itself lacking of purpose and value to be given life.

On a side note, I should stop using "breathing" in stead of "living."

Click Excerpt

Rise. Wake up. See.These are the cries of the souls breathing their last. Stand. Feel. Move. These are the cries of the souls breathing their first. We live not in a world that has stumbled and has slowly destroyed itself but in a world that is getting back up and is carefully healing itself.

Beside In Peace

We were lying a few feet away from one another

and both with closed eyes.

My head was facing down; yours was facing up.

Without a blanket, I was shivering cold.

With framed walls, you were still. 

I did not know you well.

You did not remember me either.

An expanse of silence stretched between us

but it didn't matter.

I was asleep.

You were dead.

[UPDATE: This has been edited three months after posting.]

A (The) Guide to (the After)life Deleted Section

                We live. We breathe. We die.

                Such is the cycle of life. It is a recurring pattern that none of us can alter. None can escape. Once you’re in, the only way is out. The moment you take in your first breath, death has already tied itself to you and an unbreakable bond begins to exist. It dwells in your shadows, overlooked but keen on your every move. It follows (and haunts) you to the ends of this world until you can no longer go further and in a snap, you are engulfed by its darkness and led to the afterlife.

When she cries, she only knows the reason for half her tears.

Things Do Happen Pt. 1

A kiss on the cheek. A tickle under the chin. A hug around the waist.  She was watching this scene from across her seat on the bus. "Must be the kiddy kind of love in our youth," she had thought. She felt the playful innocence of the little child dissipate into the long been hushed atmosphere amongst the passengers as his tiny chubby fingers made their way across his mother's nose and lips that gently curved into a smile.

It was an uplifting sight to behold. A melody of giggles and brief pauses of looking into each other's eyes overflowing with trust and hope filled the air. Occasionally, the young boy's eyes would wander into other people's but always will they return to that one entity beside him whose presence seems to drive him to give his utmost attention.

For a while, she was entranced by their genial spirits but soon enough, her eyes that had looked in awe saw her own childhood life. It had been completely the same except there would be no kisses, no tickles, and no hugs. It was everything but the existence of displays of affection. It was nothing..

*to be continued*
 

District Twelve

I'm finally home
but the warmth I try to seek
lost in the ashes

Cowardice or Courage

Cease to be part of
reality, so come fall
asleep in my arms

Chemical Painting Excerpts

Love is like an abstract painting. It stands right before us and yet we fail to grasp its entirety: its meaning, its purpose. Lines, curves, and shades that were meant to form threads of thoughts and ideas, simply float in empty spaces in our brains; sometimes caught but always slipping away. Every time, we attempt to break it down into simpler things, to translate it into words into conversational sentences. But rarely do we succeed. It’s a spectrum of emotions, carefully transitioned from pity to longing to hope. It’s creatively designed to be moulded by our own feelings and experiences to create a kind of love only we can portray. And so, we can never explain love in a universal sense. We are constantly unconsciously swayed by both our sorrow and happiness. We explain inclusive of subjectivity and exclusive of pure logic and reason.

...

I do not dare say love is more than a chemical reaction and less than all our individual thoughts for I believe it is a combination of both. It is a chemical reaction carefully knitted alongside the desires and heartaches within us. It is the blending of our innate objective to survive and our wanting to experience something abstract in our lives. It is love in its entirety: in our minds and in our souls. Love is one of the countless things in this world that merges senselessness and reason, opinions and facts, art and science.

Seventy-three Words

Hues of brown, yellow, and orange
falling to the ground
one life after another
swayed by the wind
but never resisting
Bare branches that once sang
with the rising of the sun
now hung motionless
without a word
without a single breath
The life that once danced
as water fell from above
now gone with the wind
lost with the passing of time
Slowly decaying
returning to the earth
where it all began