Sino may LoL dito (bukod kay calloweus) tara laro tayo!

Look, let’s think of it this way: we’re both semi-colons simply waiting to be ended. So let’s stop this nonsense. Let’s stop making ourselves think there’s a continuation to this, whatever this is, because there isn’t—we’re tiptoeing on a fire pit, trying to save a sinking boat when there are too many holes, hanging over a cliff that’s almost giving in to our weight. I shouldn’t even be calling us a we. The reality is that we are not; you and I are.

I only wish this could be.

Life lately in black and white photos! It’s only been the second day of the week and I’m this happy (and full) already. Let’s hope the week doesn’t turn shitty. Have a great week, guys. I’ll be writing soon. 😁

Spontaneous trip (as always with these Engineering people) to Marikina to grab half-pounder burgers at Boyong’s. At first I was hesitant to come—because, c’mon, an hour and a half commute to Marikina just to eat burgers? (Also, I didn’t have money with me at all!) Thankfully, the boys managed to convince me to go since they wanted me to try it (the best burger for its price according to them), and then that weirdo over there (bottom photo) offered to “sponsor” me just so I wouldn’t say no. We also shared over a plate of pesto, which is my favorite! No regrets! Happy tummy is happy, because true enough, it was the best budget burger I’ve tasted. I really hope we have more food trip adventures like this! Everyone in this barkada eats a shitton of food. :(( =)))

I like writing about sex, and not because it turns me on, or that it turns other people on, but because I love how words set the act into motion. I love how you’re not limited to using “I fucked her hard” and “I sucked his hoo-haa”; you have all the metaphors in the world at your expense! I dunno. It’s a generally sensitive topic, and as a writer, you have to make sure your words don’t offend people; you want your words to evoke emotions like—

this is
what it feels like to have
the universe experience itself
inside your fragile bones
and even though it feels
like you’re being broken
it also sort of feels like
you’re being made

—that sort of thing, you feel me?

Here we are, sprawled out on the wooden floor of my bedroom lying head-to-head, with our favorite album playing in the background as though it were filling the empty spaces. Our silence speaks for us so that we don’t have to: it’s telling me this could be our last happy moment together, because I could lose you as soon as the song ends. Or I could lose you in the middle of it. I could lose you anytime, and it scares me—it terrifies me.

I wonder what it’s telling you. I wonder if it’s telling you the same things. 

Two of my recently-watched-shows: Tokyo Ghoul (★★★★★) and Akame Ga Kill (★★★★☆). I specifically chose *sorta* bloody screen caps for this post without having to give away what these two shows are about, because for some reason, I enjoy the bloodshed. I’ve fallen in love with Tokyo Ghoul mainly because the storytelling is unlike any I’ve read, the characters are not hateful (actually, I love everyone in the series lol), and the art is wonderful too. Akame Ga Kill, on the other hand, has a plot that’s easier to understand, but is equally interesting (though I initially disliked the art). Both shows have been taking much of my (supposedly nonexistent) free time, so I might as well feature them on my blog for my followers who enjoy this sort of thing. If you have a thing for dark fantasy and a bit of horror and gore, do check them out! As of now, both animes are currently running, but if you have zero tolerance in waiting for weekly episode releases (like me), read the manga. Prepare your heart for TK though—I cried so many times! Aaaand, if you have similar anime recommendations for me, do message me as I would very much appreciate it! 

Your works are so beautiful it makes me want to hug you. Have a nice day! :) - carpels

Messages like this never fail to make my heart melt. ♥ Thank you, thank you! Your works are beautiful, too. Looking forward to see more of them on my dash. 

I. You make it seem like today is the first time I have ever fallen in love with someone. You make it seem like you are my first love, even when you aren’t. You are worse.

          II. You make me feel things. You make me feel too much. Stop making me feel things. I thought was through with this. 

III. People tell me that I am blooming. I guess you’re to blame. The mention of your name is enough to paint my cheeks the color of ripe tomatoes. 

          III. When I’m not with you, I look for you in everyone else.

IV. On rainy days, I wonder if you’re falling asleep on a warm bed. On rainy days, I wonder what it would feel like to share a blanket with you. You thaw the cold in my heart in ways you don’t even realize.

          V. I don’t know how many shots of vodka I had already gulped down by the time the clock struck twelve, but I do know this: it never gets me as drunk as my feelings for you do. And I’m always drunk.

VI. I want to kiss your face. No, scratch that. I want to kiss your soul.

          VII. You say you hate how I play with my coffee, and I say I hate how you drink yours. You say I stir and stir and stir, but I never really drink it down. You say that I am not the type to take coffee in the morning seriously, and I want to say I only pretend to love coffee so I can spend the morning with you.

VIII. You are my last stick of cigarette. I hope I won’t ever have to get another one. Or worse, another pack.

          IX. I want your fingers to fracture my fingers. I want you to rip my skin apart and untangle the labyrinth of my bones piece by piece. I want your lips to crash against mine until we find the comfort in our silence. I want to feel your heart beating. I want you to make me feel alive again. I want you to break me. It doesn’t matter if it will hurt. Not having you hurts more.

X. I want you even when you are afraid. I want you even when I am a mess. I want you even when we are thunderstorms colliding with each other.

          XI. You ask me not to fall in love with you.

          Tell me, how do I not fall in love with you, then? 

XII. You are a piece of poetry I have written in the dark. And you are the best I’ve ever written yet. 


7:05 A.M.

     By the time you wake up, I’ll be gone from your life. You’ll find a post-it note stuck to your forehead that says, “Be happy.”

     By the time you wake up, I’ll be someone else—a stranger you haven’t met, and will not meet ever again. Because this was a mistake. All of it. And this is the price I pay for thinking I could make you happy. I can’t.

     By the time you wake up, she will be beside you, holding your hand close to her lips, and she will greet you good morning like she had never even left. And I trust that you will not look for me, because once you do, she will see through your eyes. Don’t look for me. I never existed in your life. 

     By the time you wake up, I’ll be a mess. I’ll hug my knees at a corner of my apartment, diving into an ocean of pain all by myself. And I won’t mind. “Because—” I tell myself, “—I’ve done the right thing.” I left you so that she can come back to her rightful place. I left so that you can be with her again. I’ll be happy for you.

     By the time you wake up, I’ll be long gone, and you will be happier soon—I hope. It’ll be exactly like the way it was before I barged into your life. And though it’s hard to swallow, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay. Because it’s always been this way. I leave before I am left.