from the very
first night
we shared
these bearable
adorations
these happy
emotions,
i was so happy
i hope you were too
i wasn't desperate
like you were too,
i wasn't expressive
like you were too.

we both were
playing it safe,
way too fun
way too out
of the "ordinary"

beyond what i know
there lives this
competition within you
there lives this
confusion succumbing you
there lives this
remnant of what's before
the beautiful execution
of pure moving on
from such twinny tragedy
from such uncalled happening

and i am now
regretting
that something took
place last september
and all i can remember
is that i felt the "feels"
of such sudden forever.

am i starting
to lose sight
of what's within?

i am beggining
to reminice
such melancholy
which made me happy,
doleful, loathful and
insane.

yes,
after that night
after that fated
day, that "yesternight"
i was filled with tears,
tears, sadness, tears,
and again,
tears.

crossing those
wildfire bridge
he cried

feeling,
indulging
every sweet
sensation
such display
gave him.

thus,
that ephipany
remained.


he was stunned
and eventually
danced
from happiness
that florished
from those lovebirds'
tragedy.

t'was a moonlit night
when she and he
had a fight.

t'was a blue sunlit
sky
when he and i
met.

t'was a translucent
daylight
where surprising
movements
took place.

at first,
t'was formidable,
daunting, and daring.

she was haunted.

the second time,
t'was sweet,
sweaty,
red,
and tired.

t'was
him and me
under the hidden,
private, and
quiet sun room,
full of kisses,
hugs,
breaths,
temptations,
chaos,
trickery,
and all
terpsichore.

everything was
foreign
everything was
loudly silent.

those flat lines
made her burst
into tears and
blood.

those tears
like rain
dried from above,
hurt her more
than having
a broken love.

what now,
has become of us?
what now
has happened to us?
though, there was
never an "us"
there has always been
this uncalled fantasy,
lonely reality,
pure emphaty,
blurry clarity,
imperfect friendship,
perfect mistakes
and clear remakes
of what we did
of what took place
from before
till now.

i've chosen
to remain
and retain
what's now.

you've chosen
the same thing.
now, what?
you never chose this
but you chose "that"

was it he
or is it her?
there's nothing
more
she can infer.

well, he, as always,
has all the freedom,
unbroken wings,
untamed boredom
from some
thoughts,
yes, "some"

but what about
"she?"
it was he
him, all along
now, what's this for?
basically, she's torn
is it her,
was it she,
is it him,
or he?

the cont.

forlorn thorns
and sweet peace,
were carried out like
leaves of trees.

she thought
her "love" was
ineffable.

in those ephemeral
moments when
infatuation seemed love
and
lassitude was masked with
scintilla of joy,
nothing hurt like
the words,
"i'm sorry,
we're over."

tears leaked
from the sparkle
of his eyes,
a plethora of
sadness woke
from its dormant
slumber,
waiting for the clock
to tick and tock.

he may have hoped
for a sanguine
ending, which she
did too,
but the paradox of life
led her to decide
that love was far
from over, near,
and ever after.


she was ebullience
and she hoped he was too.

a dear friend
mentioned about
how to
redirect the stars

a dear she
thought me
how to make
something
from those
stars

but
a dear he
told her
to enter
a beginning
from the amusing,
entertaining,
stitched and
loved ending.

she was for he.

during this
lovely epoch
she so seeks,
from those
wistful streets
she walks with him
she hears
the sonorous,
imposing sound
of silence.

with each words
resonating
within their
inner selves,
after every step,
indulging
such ephemeral
such denouement
they've long foreseen.

she was too
nefarious
for this man
made of
flowery words
sly actions
and
warm hugs.

an entire moment
of silence
which led her towards
the art of perverse
glamour
lead her to bed.

there goes this
loud noise.

she witnessed it
with those two ears.

she heard those
smirks.

she lived her
love for that man.

she gave him
her everything
in return,
she received nothing.

a 2-minute call
wasted her two years,
wasted?
hated?
destroyed?
ruined!

he said
he hates her.
she said so too.
he said
he cant trust
her any longer.
she said so too.
he said she doesnt
understand him.
she said so too.
he said she was
really immature.
she said so too.
he said she never cared.
she said so too.
he said she irritates
him, a lot.
she said so too.

scared and crying
she apologized and
asked to make up,
he said so too.
she asked him
not to leave her,
he said so too.
she said she loved
and she loves him.
he said so too.

she was the first.

Once upon a time
As what stories would rhyme
There lived a girl
Living in a faraway town

But then again
There lived "I"
It all began
Last tuesday night

I was under the trees,
Trying to whisper,
Trying to converse
Trying to quench the thirst
Of finding love under
The falling leaves
There he sat
Across the street
With such endless
Melody

He waved, i didn't care
He smiled, out of respect
I did too. But i didn't care

Suddenly, he walked
And stood by me
He talked
And so i did, i didn't care

As the trees bring out their calmness
As the stars indulge skies' darkness
As the pavements lose its color
From the shadows of walking passengers
He stood out.

Wednesday's made for
Felicitous demeanor
Where sun's up
Wind's chasin' butterflies
And leaves, again,
Falling from the trees.
We talked.

Thursday? T'was a tiring one
From dusk till dawn
My eyes were hurting
But still, they're searching
For him. We talked.
But i didn't care

Friday then saturday,
Nice days for bouquet
Nice days for a walk
Along the ocean-dyed walls
In front of the pastry shop
Near the cafe
Across the bench
Under the trees.

Sunday
I waited
And waited
And waited
And we talked
But i did care

Finally!
There came the first monday
Where i found love in the summer
Under the sunlit trees
There he stood
There i witnessed
What love awaits for me
What hope you gave
From you to me.

i cant touch the keys
i cant touch the strings
i cant touch literary
i cant touch eevrything
i cant touch them
i cant touch him
who once did,
i cant touch me.

"us"
at first, twas good,
me, him, everyday
is fun-filled,
so thrilling,
those enormous
subjective emotions
which rush from
his spine
to mine.

those vigorous
sweatful and youthful
days were lit,
firey, no trickery and mockery.

he doesnt understand
me before,
but he tries,
he says he'll try
and the he tried.

but now,
"us" came crumbling down,
too loud! too loud!
oh such a frown!

i dont know,
maybe i missed him too much,
not talking,
communicating,
seeing,
and smelling each others
scents and humor.
i feel he s moving,
in a backward and sad motion.
he draws attention,
that most cant do,
he draws companies,
that most cant do,
he is subjected to every crowd,
that most cant do,
even being stupidly being chased
by the homecoming,
that most cant do,
and even I cant do.

he ia far too wise
far too nice,
far too dark
and very apart.

he closed his doors
for my rants,
for my sounds,
for my music
words, and love.

i thought he is the one
and i still believe that
he IS that one person
who can share
these unapealing
sounds at night,
these unsightly
paints of gestures,
these seemingly
truthful facades,
these explicit and
exclusive love.

i wanted to go far,
far from where he belonged.
i wanted to go near,
near to where he resides.

i wanted to tear
this contract,
i believed, has faded.

now,
if i did do it,
what comes next?
sorrow?
this grief i must hold,
this woe i must cease,
this beauty who once
loved me i must leave,

either i disappear
or i will leave
this kind of habit
he became.

she was everything
to me
she was my
eternity,
my endless jewelry.

i loved, cared for her
and cherished her
with all my kindest,
finest manners.

i chased her for
a couple of years,
had her when i'm
in pain and in tears,
hugged her for oxygen
kissed her for love
and owned her for me.

we broke up last spring
i found a new tranquil
person who found me
when i hid myself.

however,
she came back that summer.
the midnight sun's watching
far from behind
but she came back like
everything "was" nothing,
asking for a new treaty,
getting back and back
from the past.

i was pestered,
when she had
the homecoming.

she remembered
what happened
on that cold
dawn...

she was so drawn
to this "he"
indeed there are others
but they were
seemingly alone.

again, on that
frosty morn
she was stunned
she was stupefied
from that atmosphere
so calm, so tranquil
he did something
and she was blushing,
tad red, she was
and from that
scurried glance
there filled his eyes
with the sight
of satisfaction
and affection.

clasping his hands
were nothing but pain.

embracing his goodbyes
and listening to his
wrath,
were more than hell,
and lesser than any
mundane pleasures.

but letting go
of those torns
which she once loved,
held, and touched,
gave her peace,
joy, opportunities,
and open heart.

she loved him indeed,
he loved her too,
but,
they were just
a chapter in each other's diaries
and their wisdoms and
memories
both shall live
and fuel
their pens
to write their
own stories.

how do i live,
a life that i
so seek?

how do i kiss
farewell
to companions i
so unloved?

how do i sing
my poems
to people i
so care for?

how do i die
and say goodbye
to this "her"
and offer
some "real"
excuse letter,
rope, venom,
knives,
oh, never mind
the latter...

He said she was "she"
He said he loves "she"
He said he adores "she"

She says he was "he"
She says she loves "he"
She says she adores "he"

But why does she says
and he said?
Is she really "she"
and he is really "he?"

She and he were bounded by a red string
She and he were fated with lingering
attachments to a "he" and "she"
really, they were meant to be

Bounded by fate and destiny
That...they can see
a knot of friendship
only "them" can unleash

Bounded by fate and destiny
not by love and intimacy
but by morale and respect,
and friendship so unwrecked

no more time
lesser will
no more hates
lesser tears
no more swears
lesser mistakes
no more scars
lesser darts.

falling out
of the stairway
was the most
hurtful thing
she ever felt.

worse than dying
worse than living
worse than worst
worst of worst.

everyday was filthy,
*****,
teary,
furious,
curious,
woe,
loathe,
gloat?

feli­citous smiles
bargained
additional lies.

feline's wet
with sweats
of the eyes.

doggo's dead,
by the hands
of her love.

he was lost
when she was found.

there's not a
a girl
in this world
who never
had a
mr. Black.

mr. Black
is everything,
is cute,
is gorgeus,
is lovable.

mr. Black's
cover doesn't
really matter
and
others would utter,
"why?"

mr. Black
is mystique,
unique,
different.

he accepts,
he declines,
he's rough,
he's smooth,
mostly,
he's dubious,
he's idyllic,
he's an unvivid
character
in the blank
pages of some
chapters
of her diary.

he can make
her feel
such halcyon moments
that no one can
ever do,
he can make
her indulge
such gentle
nuzzles,
tight hugs,
and forehead kisses.

after friday's love
comes nth-day's love,
she then awaits
the next
mr. Black.

i may have been
too dense
to notice
i may have been
too incompetent
to absorb
that it was him
then and the day
before.

beyond the beautiful
vast blanket of stars,
underneath the gleams
of fireworks and
shooting stars,
some sort of
miscommunication
therefore bloomed
like a nightsky's
sudden gloom.

some sort of a knot
tangled itself
and
gave her and him
some forlorn kisses
and goodnights.
trying to hide
every tear in
their eyes
resides.

some sort of happiness
then showered
from the scent
the candle wicks made,
then they clamored
for endless love
and beauty,
for eternal friendship
and clarity.

she was an
ailurophile
he was a
cynophilist
now,
how come
she likes him?
and
he likes her?
when both
can only offer
the opposites
of the other.

how did they
find such
unraveled red
knots?
when they were
too twisted,
too unread.

how were they
able to say
that they liked
each other's
symphony
with wafture
of those warm hands
reaching for such
woebegone faces
with little traces
of summery
and misery.

and finally
how can she
and he
stay with each
other's plea
in a world
full of
uncertainties?

if they could,
and would,
they are pyrrichs.

there blossomed
illicit love
last spring,
approaching summer,
nearing winter,
repeating the cycle,
twice for now,
we don't know
what's for later.

what her love was
she purports
but he said
twas spurious
and he's curious
how she can say
something in such a way
he would't understand
for she can never
truly deliver
the truth
which her mind speaks
but her body
won't let her be.

the day came
when she stopped
asking,
begging,
for something,
friday's love
used to have,
and
can never give.

the night came
when she
never asked
for something,
someone,
a helpless distraction,
a lovely contrast.

then midnight came
rushing like the blood
circulating within her self,
he came knocking,
like a real stranger,
mingling with
another,
and opened the
sealed green envelope.

he shared his book,
she listened to his stories.
he shared his music,
she wrote him notes.
he shared his poems,
she sang him words.

he mentioned the labyrinth
she remembered it all.

yet,
what he's uncertain,
or say, untold,
was that
she had her own
well.

the long day
is finally over
far from one
another,
they are.

nearest in
each other's
heart,
they are.

apart from
the world
they used to stay.
they made a way
for them to
keep their
bond.

yes, t'was nice
him and her
together,
forever and ever?
nope, they were
ephemeral.

i open my eyes,
each sunrise
to feel
his warm breeze.

i walk the pavements
of wisdom
just to sense
his saturated touch.

i look up and witness
the horizontal thin layers
of autumn skies,
forcefully done
like his breathless goodbyes.

yes, there were
ambivalence
at first.

or maybe,
there weren't
who knows?

i had to
do
what i did
just to
dissemble
the fact that-
that there were fear
in her eyes,
yours truly,
and yes,
i was able.

although
languor
caressed my cheeks
like no one else did
my mind
my heart,
up to my thalamus
down to my tummy butterflies,
i was filled
with
mild
jubilation.

felicitous
thoughts
overflowed,
lik­e halcyon notes
and waves
refracted on the walls,
and scenic moonshine
and sun rays
draw my days like
it was them
asking me
to saunter,
and to murmur
the words
"you" wanted to hear

but the sound
the keycaps make
doesn't end
with simple
"hey and hello"

it actually started
with a "ping"
and there she goes:
"hey, i have
a not-so-huge crush
on you,
a tiny little crush,
like vapors
no roar."

thirteen nights passed,
thirteen days trashed,
she thought t'was done,
over, capped,
she thought that
it was just a snippet of
likeness and will
soon conclude.

so, step 1: deny? maybe
i was wrong? or was he?
step 2: wrath! rant?
oh trust me, she had
thirteen people to chat
step 3: no more bargains,
no more trades,
no room for sadness
just proceed with
step 5: acceptance

but.

he said but this:
"your name, yes yours
were the first
to enter in this
quadrilateral dialogue
box, and yes
thirteen moons passed
and still, you're
all that "cached"
in my memory,
not too blurry to skim
and not too
drunken to spill."

there he and she started
typing the cynosure
story.


maybe i like you,
or maybe i don't
and today,
this day,
this night,
is when you'll see
and
when you'll hear
with your human lens
and mundane ears
what we are
how we are
and what we may be
and that is the
denouement
of our story,
so,

this is my proposal:
thirteen days sketched to three

cold breeze
touches her skin
lovable scent
of coffee is
what he'd seen

blissful talks,
walks,
and songs

unsaid thoughts
resonates within
their inner selves
for what could
she have upheld

unheard words
untouched hands
unloved hearts
no such thing
as "relationships"
can tear them
apart

even if
the stars can't
grant
my wishes

even if
superlatives
can't stitch those
broken pieces

even if
freedom
can embrace those
lived boredom

i still care
for this pair

i still live
for this "she"

i still thrive
for whatever it is
that he will leave
behind.

t'was a cold
rainy night
when i began
loving you
too much.

t'was another
summery night
when i began
doubting "me"
too much.

one query and everything
was bewildered
t'was too perplex
to be answered.

one poem
one letter
one word
was heard
and all were
better.

"if ever i fall
in love with
another "him"
shall everything
be the same?"

he answered...

"either with a smile
or a vile
gratitude would be
my sire...for in such
quick moments
i had you to
love me...everything will
be...till love comes
again
and friendship shall
never end."

deep, it's way too
deep to sink it,
way too inconceivable,
way too much
to comprehend,
to understand,
to interpret,
what those words
meant
what those phrases
were for
was it something
to be hated, or
adored?

now, what do i have
to feel
from this surreal
sensation,
way too superb,
absurd as it is?

those phrases
was it to hurt me?
or encourage me?

thus,
t'was meant
for nothing more
nothing less.

too poignant to remember
those revealed moments of felicity
with someone as exceptional as you
with someone as remarkable as your music

from those days of longing
seeking for those flawless keys
that you possess
i see the light,
from that illumination,
i see your smile...
i hear the music,
from that sound,
i hear your voice...

seldom, i think
of what would it be
telling you how i feel
singing a song
with lovable words
with endearing notes
and pleasant hums

of course
it comes
and it goes
leaving you with
multiple scars
multiple marks
but less pain
less happiness
less dainty as it is.

of course
we are free,
we all are
though some
might have
borders, boundaries
oh, for all i care
everything seems
lifeless, all misery,
trickery and
fair and square

the well
was deep
and hollow.

was dry,
harsh, and
no wallows.

was empty,
hard, rough
and tough.

was sad,
bad,
and red.

was uncertain,
unknown,
doubt.

where her voice,
cries and shouts
were rejected and
and full of unimaginable
clouts.

the affirmation
that this
limerence fate
we should have had,

caused us great
surrender to
the despotic
actuality.

and that
made us this
and this
is all we
first had.

in a cold,
dark room
where no one
else knew,
a little infant
made his way
to deep and
sound
slumber.

the music
played reminded
her
of last summer,
so hot, humid,
not much to
remember.

she faded,
when he did.

the dawn was
waving its
morning greetings
at me.

the dusk is
far from sight.

the sunrise was
singing the luna's
song, still.

the morning breeze
had such ambience
with lesser interests.

noontime approaches
and touches
her skin.

the afternoon sunshine
fell to the grounds,
ghastly indeed.

dusk haunted her
down and asked
her to die.

but the evening
moonlight caressed
her softly,
gently,
quietly.

the midnight satellite,
with its relentless
love for the sun,
seem to be too frail,
too feeble, and blind.

but in truth,
he was all
that mattered,
when she wasn't.

when things were
too cloudy,
too unclear,
she thought
she was hopeless,
that she was
embraced by such
langour,
hate and
anger.

she once
possessed such a
plethora of sorrow,
it caused her
more than tears,
no lesser than
blood.

and blood
became tears
and the sobs
became laughs,
she was now inured.

maybe because,
he came?
who then?
the next mr. Black?
the next apeiroginic love?
how about who?

maybe because,
when things were
at peace,
she heard such
melliflouos melody
coming from the
bluest sky
she always eyed.

maybe because,
when things were
lovely and quite
dainty,
he came,
ringing her bells,
strumming the
sincerest G string.

hi there!

stranded they were
on that cold morn,
struggles did come
still,
peace came across.

she was baffled
he was weary
she was hurt
he was aching.

they were together
from that time
till end.

they played,
she laughed,
and so he did.

happy they were
from giving each other
with hugs, hugs, hugs.

as she looked back
stretched her arms
'round his shoulders
and her words were
"i love you."

he played the role
of stupidity
she bought the act
she asked him why
suddenly,
he covered her
shoulders
with his arms,
so wide, soft, tanned.

tad red they were
happy how the day ended
they were adorable,
loving, endearing,
cute and sweet.

maybe not
exactly a
panoply,

maybe not
really a being
of quintessential
remarks,

maybe not
a person who's
a redolent
of anyone,

maybe not,
maybe not,
or maybe yes?

"you"
bucolic,
idyllic,
scenic,
and
a voice of music,
a cynosure
perhaps?

you, yes you,
you,
always have been.

,

beside the
lonely,
busy
streets of
felicity,
i pondered
wondered
and then
discovered
that i was too
naive, too wicked
to say i like you
when i'm not
allowed to.

along those usual
corridors and doors
i wait...
when i needn't have to.

inside the sunlit
room i witness
your smile and
for a while
i get to be happy
and then lonely
knowing i can't
have and hug you
for fate won't let me to.

gratitude always
engulf me
for i have met
such an annoying
yet sweet "you"
not-so-good-looking
not-so-good-sounding
yet full of tragedy "you"
always doleful
but never loathful "you"
filled with cries
yet full of smiles "you"

i know i'm way
too selfish to say
i like you
but i want to
be your friend,
a good, sweet
and caring one at least

on this day
shall i mark
a "supposed" endless
friendship
so steep
and never stark bleak.