MRS
I washed my hands
for the thirteenth time today,
hoping that the water would rinse
the sins out of my skin.
I watched as the bathroom sink
became a tub full of black
and gray and red again and again,
and the more I looked into
my reflection in the murky water,
the more terrified I was
of the darkness that kept bleeding
through the tips of my fingers.
The more I rinsed to rid of the guilt,
the more I became less of myself—
and more of his.
25 Jul   19 notes

A Graveyard for Fireflies

This is not
a poem about love.

But well,
here you are
and here I am,
so I might as well talk about how
we are at about an arm’s length
of distance, and it’s frightening
because a fraction of a second
feels like leaves
in winter wilting
and eternity melting
as a lighted candle would
when you are breathing.

And that should not be
the case.

In this silence
I could hear your heart
thump as loud as thunder—
but not as loud as mine.

I look at your hands
and see third degree burns.

Your fingers are tinderboxes
waiting to burst into a forest fire
even when the sky is mourning,
and suddenly it rains all around us
and I almost nudge you
with my elbow for a hackneyed joke
about crying deities and weeping willows,
but i do not utter a word and
silence ensues between us.

I gasp for air—

before I steal a glance at you.
Because that’s how it’s always been,
and perhaps that’s how
it will always be,
as if looking at you were a sin
and maybe it is—
maybe it’s a crime
to look at beautiful things.
Maybe it’s a crime
to want to be near them
even when they burn our wings.

Here you are,
and you are as close
as you could ever be—
but also the farthest.
And here I am
with my veins throbbing,
stretching out
like the shadows of trees
chasing for the last ray of light, dying. 
Dying to intertwine with yours like words
perfectly stitched together into 
a pathetic mess of a poem.

And,
I think to myself,
if only I could talk to you.

If only you could read between
the bones that make up my spine
the same way you would read your favorite novel
from cover to cover by faint starlight—
if only I could tell you,
you are my favorite metaphor 
scribbled clumsily with ink
 
on a paper moon.

If only there were an easier way
to navigate through your chest
without having to pass through
those deaf ears of yours;
maybe then it would have been easier.
Maybe then I could tell you—
Here I am,
like I’ve always been.
—without screaming my lungs out
for every syllable.

I’ve always thought
that your eyes were a graveyard 
for fireflies, and I can’t help 
but wonder:

do fireflies die
when their lights burn out,
or do they die
when they have nothing
to devote their lights to?

It’s a silly question.

Someday, maybe
I’ll have the guts to ask you.

For now, here you are
and here I am—
and the silence between us ensues.

For now,
it will have to suffice.

I never expected this.
I never wanted to have someone to answer to.
Someone who would be a reason not to do things
I wouldn’t have sworn myself off of just to get a high.
Someone who would ask my whereabouts when it’s
two a.m. and I’m out there trying to get through
a cold night alone and feeling less alive by the minute.

But now, here you are:
someone I could run to when it’s three a.m.,
and I am shivering. 

I had a past 
but you kissed my sins away
when you said, “I want you, despite.”

I want you, despite.
Those were the prettiest words I’ve ever heard.
Because all my life, the words were always
"I want you, but—"

We’ve had our fair share of doubts,
but I am no longer hesitating.

I now understand why I never found you in some stranger’s lips.

If I’m going to settle down with you
and make myself vulnerable with each passing day,
then so be it. If it means losing my fearless, reckless
days and my one-night stands, then so be it.

I’ll be yours even if it’s a promise I have to fulfill 
every day I get to spend with you, and I know
it’s hard to believe coming from someone like me.

But I mean it. 

If it means sharing my independence with you,
then so be it. If it means an extra plate on my table,
or telling the waiter “for two”, then so be it.
If it means sharing my favorite cake,
then so be it. It’s all yours. 

Your wardrobe will be filled with my stuff 
and your toothbrush will have a place beside mine.
We will fight over who should wake up first
to cook breakfast in the morning, and 
who gets to choose the movie first for the night.
There will always be a spot reserved for you.
Things will be broken, furniture will be moved, bags will be packed,
and we’ll make a mess out of ourselves eventually,
but I know that this is for keeps.
We will linger.

If there’s anything at all that I learned from loving you,
it’s ‘not giving up on the one thing you are certain of’. 

You are the one person that’s ever made me realize
what I never realized with anyone else:

love still exists.

It’s been two weeks since the start of school, and it feels like a hell of a week already; hence, the lack of blog posts. Some things to note about my life lately though:

(1) The new classrooms we’re using in the Thomasian Alumni Center are wonderful! Currently, my rooms there are on the 10th and 11th floors, and I’m taking Film Theory, Thesis Writing, and Practicum classes there. How I wish all my classes were there instead! Also, it’s very cold in the entire building! Fuck yeah for centralized aircons (and our rooms have three aircon units, too.)

(2) My hair is growing longer. I think I won’t be cutting it anytime soon, especially since we’ll be taking our graduation pictures this year. My mom’s against me having short hair, anyway.

(3) Self-pierced my ear because it’s been several months since I last wore an earring for it. As soon as it heals, I’m going to pierce my ears some more. *smirk*, and;

(4) I’m being awfully responsible these days. Maybe I’m growing old? Like the Senior life is dawning upon me, something like that? I dunno why, but studying has become so enjoyable these days.

24 Jul   15 notes

And you’re back in my life again,
you and your dimpled half smile,
those upside down Us that are your eyes,
your stupid jokes and your stupid lies.
Here you are again, again for the nth time,
as though you had never even left, and
here I am again, taking you back
with open arms when I promised I wouldn’t,
after all that has been said.
I know I should be happy.
I know I’ve missed you so.
But really, I feel so pathetic
for letting you come back when I know
that one day, like you always do,
and like you’ve always done,
you’ll vanish as you please and
I won’t know where you’ve gone.

23 Jul   26 notes

Post-birthday family dinner at Kimpura, Trinoma last Sunday. Best Japanese food I’ve tasted in my life (so far—and hopefully not the last!).

23 Jul   18 notes

9:01 P.M. Hi.

9:02 P.M. I miss you.

9:11 P.M. I thought that looking for you in strangers would help ease the pain, but it never did. I would only yearn more for the safe places in your body that wouldn’t be in anyone else’s. It only emphasized how incomplete I felt without you. I thought I could get a high out of your absence in the company of strangers.

9:15 P.M. As if it would kill my sadness.

9:16 P.M. As if it would close the void you left me with.

10:03 P.M. I know I am the only one living in the past. I’m the only one walking around with half a heart missing.

10:35 P.M. But my fingers feel cold. And I want to feel your hands warming up my cheeks again. I want to remember how it felt to fall asleep next to you. I want to look up into your eyes and see a happier reflection of myself in them. I want to remember how it felt to be in love with the minute details that make you whole—the way you blink, the way your eyes light up, the way you open your mouth to speak my name as though you were writing them in the air in cursive letters.

11:00 P.M. I miss you.

11:12 P.M. This is not a drunk text.

19 Jul   107 notes

I pull away from people when they get too close. It’s how I am. It’s got nothing to do with anyone; the problem lies in me. It’s not like I enjoy hurting other people, but I’d rather not let them hurt me, so I run away from them instead. Because, honestly, being with people tires me out. Caring wears me out. Feelings wear me out. I enjoy my own company because I have less to deal with that way—it feels less lonelier, too. And though I’m often happy-go-lucky and I have friends to hang out with, I distance myself from them when the situation starts to pose a threat. I don’t hold on to people as much as they hold on to me. It’s not because I have something against them—it just feels safer that way. This is how I deal.This is how I’ve survived until now. Nothing, no one, can change that.

People see their minds as cages; I see mine as the safest place.

17 Jul   38 notes
Anonymous said:
How do you see life?

More than an obligation, I see life as a personal conquest.

15 Jul   9 notes

And soon enough,
we’ll both just be stories to tell—
about a love between two broken people
that could’ve worked out so well.

Would Have Beens

15 Jul   14 notes