here. hold a knife. point it at my chest. stab the strife.
here. hold a blade. place it at my wrist. cut the hate.
here hold a gun. aim it at my head. shoot then run.
here. hold a bomb. throw it in the air. watch it explode.
here. hold my heart. smash it to my face. witness me fall.

that's for me, for falling in love with the boy who murdered love.

He was a blanket, covering all of me. Fabricated by the most delicate hands, he kept me warm on cold nights. And one of my favorite parts of him is that one string attached to the right side of his neck; it was as if his life depends on it. Because that very string diverged into tiny threads which spread out to his hands and feet, and converged with four other strings that lead to his heart. They are rich in color, and I wonder how just those strands of life sustain him. But sometimes his strings would loop, link, twist and turn, and I would get so tired of being pulled along; every fiber in me started to turn into a knot of uncertainty.
...
He tugged on my heart strings that night though, as soon as I was about to cut the twine we had made with our fingers braided together. That's when I realized I can never really untangle myself from him and from the cross stitch of our crossed fates. Because for us to live, we need all strings attached.

And he told me, "You, my dear, are not a collection of people's memories. You don't need to house and protect everyone; you don't need to display and be proud for what they've done; you don't need to preserve them when all they do is walk over you. There will be moments that you have to guard them, but there will be much more of you having to watch out for your own self. You live for yourself and have confidence in it. You may be broken at times, but it's the fragments which make you much more intricately detailed.  You have the potential to be the main attraction. All you have to do is to let it show. Remember, you are not a museum, but a masterpiece of art."

Sometimes, it's hard to wake him up. It was one of those nights, where his earliest alarm rang two hours again before the sun could even rise. I wriggled out of his arms groggily just to turn off all his other remaining alarms that would disturb him. Sleep better and don't worry, my dear. That's why I'm here with you, to wake you up, I thought, as I looked at his calm countenance. He was a man whose stature towered over me, with arms so strong, that I struggled to put them around me as I laid back in bed next to him. His breathing was quick and shallow; he was in the midst of a dream. I wondered what was going on in his head. Or was it because I was right beside him? I hate assuming, but hope surges through me like how I could feel his built through his plain white tee.

All of a sudden, his voice, like cold coffee in the morning and warm milk at night, refreshed the moment of my ambiguous soliloquy. "Why are you awake? Get back to sleep. I'll wake you later." He pulled me closer to him and rested his cheek against my hair.

I could only internally laugh at his statement and at his pouted face when he whispered the words in my ticklish ear. How could he, the one who has troubles with waking up, tell me that? God, I love this man so much. He wants the best for me, but I know he deserves the best all the more. For now, let him sleep peacefully, protect him and keep him safe in my embrace. And hopefully both of us will wake up at the same time.

1) We might have met with a hello, and I might have brushed it off by saying "later", but you were patient and waited for me. That's how I came to know of and learned to love you.
2) You keep telling me I was a carat in your diamond, that when I'm with you, you shine brighter and become stronger. Up to this day, you still make me feel so appreciated, needed and worthy, that I have learned to value what it means to live.
3) You adored me so much, that even with dried lips, you never failed to make my day with you smiling so wide at me, telling me over and over again that I'm the one you love, despite me telling you to stop because it was getting a little too cheesy.
4) And when you raised your hands up in the air, cheering me on, I  felt so much support, energy and positivity to get me through the hell days of life. "Long live us," you said. And I cling on to those special three words for the hope of future.
5) To win a race in life, you pushed me on, endlessly shouting "Ah yeah!" with every accomplishment and dream I fulfilled.
6) Being a risk-taker, you beckoned me to venture out with you to experience new things, moments, feelings and places. I never knew I could jam into myself so much in one day, but I did because you were there to help carry it all.
7) Even from our teens, into and past the twenties, I know we'll be here for each other. We've waited for each other for so long; finally we have a chance to be the mornings and nights we dreamed of.
8) When we grow up all the more, we'll understand each other more, and the both of us will change. But wouldn't it be true love already if our love for our changed selves still stay the same?
9) When you danced and took my hand in yours, I swear that was the time when you entered my heart with admiration bursting out of me, feeding my five senses alive.
10) And you were both a bliss and pain of mine. Whatever bad or good you've been through, I felt it all because we belong to each other.
11) Sometimes you fool around, but I love how you can be such a gentleman. Telling me to cover my knees, wear buttoned shirts all the way to my neck to prevent my collarbones from peeking out. But you don't know sometimes I like to see your collarbones, or neck veins. You're only human and I just stare in awe at your jawline, with my jaws dropping so in an unladylike fashion.
12) Who could forget February 14th? The first day you called me yours. I love how smart it was of you to do that; every Valentine's will be our anniversary. You were far away on that day, but you sent me flowers. Polaroids of you holding flowers, to be exact. I love how you were funny like that.
13) And chocolate. I love chocolate. You sang me songs about chocolate. Sweet, rich and just the right texture-- both your voice and chocolate.
14) The time you've spent staying up all night for me and my happiness; honestly was sometimes making me sad to see you weren't getting enough sleep or rest. You sacrificed so much for me, but all I can do is just love you more and more each day. Tell me, how can I make up for it? Appreciating every talent you have and every single thing and detail you created, was not enough. Even this writing is not enough.
15) There are countless times where you danced for me. Til now, you have never failed to sweep me off of my feet. Literally. But that's okay, if I fall. I know you'll be there to catch me.
16) And here is a new era. In the past, no matter how many times you complimented how good I look, I never really took you seriously or believed such words. Who knew a song about calling me pretty changed my viewpoint? At times, I don't get myself too for changing my thinking so quickly, but you still accept and love me anyways.
17) I may have been here since day one or not, I may have been here since the fourteenth or not, but rest assured, I promise you: I will be here until the end. And as cliche as it sounds, or as overused as it is, I'll always say the most raw and barest line of affection: I love you.

and they don't call him a garden fairy without a reason. the garden fairy secretly visits his favorite place in the world, every morning and night. his smile, like the warm morning sun, makes the flowers grow. his deft hands, like water, caress the young floral buds, quenching the thirst. his feet walk through the weeds, turning them into blossoms. his fingers, like the wind, skim the blades of high grass, without his flesh being cut. his voice, like growth nutrients, nurtured the changing. he never failed to tend to his garden that it was so taken care of, it flourished under his love. both the garden fairy and his garden bloomed in every season imaginable, in every time of the day, month and year. she was his garden, and he was her garden fairy.

maybe i will learn to love the moon again when it's far away. but i swear, i loved you so much to the point where even my words loved you. and i could see your craters of flaws where you got from absorbing my negativity, only to radiate positivity. and the gray skin under your eyes where you got from watching over me all night, only to make sure i was asleep safe and sound in your arms. even if i don't see you on some nights, i know you're there, quiet in the dark sky. you may have left me for now to continue orbiting the world, but I'm your astronaut and I'll always continue to watch and love you.

we both had two different painting styles. he was into calligraphy, the bold and gentle strokes of black ink on white paper; i was into watercolor, the translucent colors slowly spreading to a gradient on a Canson. we were two painters with brush styles of stark contrasts.

three objects. a flower arrangement, an antique vase and grecian sculpture. we were asked to pick the most eye-catching one out of the three, paint it in our of style of representation. and so we began.

him: what will you be painting?
me: i can't tell, you might judge me for it.
him: alright, but promise me you'll show it to me once you're done.
me: okay. same to you too, then.

hours passed, and while i often discreetly glimpsed at him, he caught my eye sometimes and would make funny faces or just softly smiled at me. i could not deny that my hands were shaking as i dunked my brushes into the watercolor jar and continued to finish my painting.

him: i'm finally done. this is a masterpiece.
me: i believe it's the same for me too.
him: should we count down as we turn our boards to each other?
me: nothing better than a surprise of what's the most beautiful thing out of all the objects before us.

we flipped our boards to each other's viewpoint, and we were both shocked to be looking at ourselves, a painting of ourselves, one done by the other. he painted me in black and white, a figure-ground influenced painting, strong in lines, simplicity in its finest state, rendering me bare and raw. i painted him in pale colors, a positive reflection of him lighting up life, and soft shadings to give depth to the meaning of his existence.

after knowing this and scrutinizing our works, his cheeks turned pink as the pink on my palette, while i covered my eyes with my hair as dark as his ink. we burst out laughing and blushing at the fact that the most beautiful object before our eyes was each other.

sometimes, i wonder if he's my muse, the art or the artist. and i felt like a watercolor jar at that exact moment, as if brushes soaked with different colors were being dipped into me all at once, the tint, hue and vibrancy bleeding into the clear liquid, getting murky. it was like those colors are my emotions, and with every emotion mixing, my thoughts get murky. i guess this is how it feels to be in love with all forms of art at once.

Next to his lips and his eyes, his hands are the most converstional. When he tells stories, his hands gesture persuasion and wisdom. When he shows his care to me, his hands hold mine firmly but gently. When he provides protection, his hands reach out to me and cradle me close. When he gives comfort, his hands stroke my hair and back, letting me know everything will be better with him beside me. And not once have i doubted anything he did with his hands.

//

I reached out for his hand that was placed lightly on my knee.
"What's wrong?" He asked. "Do you feel ticklish again?"
I shook my head and lazily looked up at his face, since we were sprawled on the couch, with my head rested on his shoulder, like his hand that was previously on my knee.
"Dont tell me you've got a hand fetish," he laughs in disbelief.
"I haven't said anything," I replied, drawing circles on his palm. Its amazing he isn't flustered, or at least he's acting not to be flustered, at my action.
He watched me quietly as I tried to read his palm. We sat there, only breathing, with him looking at me and me looking at his hand. This moment, is frozen and embedded into my memory. Just as those lines of his experiences are embedded into his palm.
"I would write a million books about just your hands," I confessed.
Through my dangling hair strands i could see him smile shyly, to which my vision cleared as he put the strands behind my ear.
"You don't have to write about me in books, when im already here always by your side. What's more is, whatever we had, have and will have, will be written on my palm, like its written in the stars."

From the moment he spoke those words and took my hands in his, I never believed in astrology, wishes, 11:11s, fortune telling, mind and palm reading anymore for the luck of love.

I missed him not in raindrops,
But in roaring tidal waves.
We were wild.

I missed him not in breezes,
But in dizzy hurricanes.
We were crazy.

I missed him not in a bouquet,
But in a maze of flower gardens.
We were lost.

I missed him not in a cloud,
But in the heavens above.
We were ethereal.

I missed him not in a rain puddle,
But in the lakes and seas.
We were deep.

I missed him not in the new world,
But in historical lands.
And up to this day, it's still the same,
We are classic.

And you felt every moment of it. He arrived like the night, creeping up to you slowly, to take you into his arms, to embrace you, to tell you it's going to be calm and to tell you it's time to sleep. He shadowed over your figure in bed, he whispered in your ear, his breath like the night breeze touching your hair, his fingers like the moonlight lighting up your ****** features.

But you forgot some things about the night too. How his eyes darkened, how the night was supposed to make you feel scared and alone. How you felt him stand up from the bed, how he slipped right out of your hold, how you suddenly felt the lonely chill like it gets much colder as dawn draws nearer.

And the moment you opened your eyes to the light, you watched him go. He left like night, but your day wasn't bright. You squinted through the sunlight, to see him slowly fade away. It felt like you were on the poles of the earth, waiting for the moon to come around again, getting sick of the sun. It felt all so wrong, to be soaked in the sun but to feel the cold biting at your skin.

The night was all just a dream; the day is nothing but a reality. And to wake up to the exact second where the borderline of the night and day or dream and reality fades, this is how he left you.

"For all the air that's in your lungs,
For all the joy that is to come,
For all the things that you're alive to feel,
Just let the pain remind you hearts can heal."

And Darling, we all have a little demon called "sadness" sleeping in all of us. You may not know it but it attacks sometimes, if not always, randomly and openly. It will call upon its henchmen "grief", "stress" or "heartbreak", to name a few out of many others. They will bite you individually, or all at once. Your head or heart may ache; your eyes are going to bleed salty tears.

But let me assure you- everything will be okay. The pain of this world is temporary. Never take it seriously. You are not yet a goner, and you won't be as long as you find and keep hope. Your hope may come in an animal, a person, an experience. And you will learn from it.

My dear, it is okay to feel empty once in a while. It only proves more that there is more space for many, newer things out there that can fill you up. To be honest, it does not mean you're greedy either, it only means your capacity as a better living person has grown. And you are going to love searching for things that make you happy; for happiness.

The negatives need to be there and it is impossible to extinguish them because they put a flag to what is the positive, and vice versa. This world is a magnet, and opposites attract. You may be a negative person but you'll mostly fall in love with a positive person, because he or she will get the magnetic pull inside them that you'll need them. You may be a positive person and you'll fall in love with s negative person, to save him from living the lonely, outcast life. Zen is never acquired without ying or yang; colors can never be achieved without black or white. Feelings can never be feelings without sadness or happiness. Life won't be life without death or survival.

To top it off, I'd like to say everything tomorrow will always end up better than yesterday. If it's not tomorrow, then the day after tomorrow, and so forth. You just need to have the will and the hope for it all. You'll be better than okay, stronger than fine. It might take you a day, or years.

Never stop living. Take all the time you need.

It was a rainy night. He took out his umbrella, opened it, and it soon engulfed the both of us. "Hey, you're getting wet," he said. He pulled me closer to him, his arms like the umbrella protecting me, protecting us from the drizzle.

I snapped out of my daydream to find him weirdly staring at me, and asked him, "What, do I have something on my face?"

"No, it's just... why are you staring into space?"

Our footsteps made little splashes, puddles reflected a thousand images of us. These pictures from nature will not last for a lifetime but the rain was our witness, as if the skies were crying at a matrimonial ceremony.

I took a step away from him to let the memory of him soak in me. He stands there in the rain innocently, with umbrella in hand, waiting for me to respond. Breathing out, I told him: "Ask me what I think of you right now."

"Wait, what? Are we going to play a game?" That usual what-is-going-on look still stupidly plastered on his angelic face. "Well, what do you think of me right now, then?"

I didn't hesitate and the first word that automatically left my lips were 'umbrella'.

"Umbrella? Do I look that thin to you, really?" He said dryly as he gave me an uninspired look. He shook his head in disbelief and pouted. "And I thought you'd relate me at least to the rain."

"Umbrella: definition for a protecting force or influence," I told him as I stood in place. I side-glanced at him to find a spark lighted up in his eyes as his shoulders loosened. "You're my umbrella because I need you in rainy days and sunny ones. Literally because of your stature to block the sun or cover me when it rains," I laughed. "And it's not because you're thin like one, silly. But how you comfortingly stretch out your arms to me when it's a bad day for me. How you guard me from others' icy remarks. It feels like a need to have you around wherever I go."

He cleared his throat jokingly and added, "Might I say I also take you high like Mary Poppins' umbrella." He burst out laughing as I glared at him for his poorly done innuendo.

But right there and then as I rolled my eyes at him, he dropped the umbrella, grabbed me by my waist and kissed me as light as the raindrops kissing our skin. He broke off after a while and said, "Getting wet, are we?"

Before I could claw at him for his second pun, he released me as I chased him down, not caring if I would get a fever later. But sometimes I just wonder how did I come to like, fall in love, and love him-- basically feel every emotion with him. In all truth, he wasn't just my umbrella, but also my home whom I'll always return to at the end of all my days. Umbrella or home, he is my shelter.

You usually make breakfast,
But this morning you were in bed.
To find your arms around me,
On your shoulder lies my head.
You normally don't use perfume,
So I breathe in the human smell,
Your arms around me get tighter,
Longing, is what our actions yell.
I nuzzle my face to your collarbones,
Your face buried in my hair.
I pulled your ear and said,
"Make breakfast, I'm hungry.
We can just share."
But you laughed as you bit my ear,
"But I'm already having it.
You're my breakfast in bed."

i'll summarize the painting
of my life with him in it.
it's a priceless work of art,
only love is the profit.

i raged crimson,
for the time you had to leave.
out of my stubborn anger,
the truth, i couldn't perceive.

i splashed shades of blue,
for the time i spent alone.
to feel so sad from everything,
melancholy was monochrome.

i planted green,
for the growing bitterness
of hating and loving you,
simultaneously like this.

i shined yellow
for the murderous thought
of the both of us,
turning brown, it rot.

i built up gray
for the concrete walls
of my cold, bare heart
every time you called.

then to black it faded,
everything was gone.
but white invaded
because light has come.

the pinks and purples,
suddenly arrived.
you finally came
yet somehow i have survived.

but for you to leave,
or if it's me to go,
let's stop each other.
for an unfinished painting
we wouldn't want to know.

Her writings overflowed with emotion,
But she herself was an empty shell.
She took it as a precaution,
That true love is never felt.

She killed everyone with her words,
But she herself is immortal.
And so this she hated herself for it,
Even if she earns the poet label.

Then she suddenly met him,
To which her poems were given life.
But to still feel helpless and cold,
She just wanted to die.

But he never let her go,
Her leaving as much as she tried to,
He sought to bring back life into her arms,
To bring me back to you.

And in this summer heat,
I'm frozen like snow.
as soon as I fell like fall,
like spring, you had to go.

I wake up at daybreak,
but you were like the moon.
I tried to catch you like falling stars,
but night time left so soon.

In the waters, I'm a natural,
I can swim so I can't drown.
But you were my breath,
and I sunk without a sound.

Whenever you come around,
I know I'll never be spared.
You are my natural disaster,
and I'll always be unprepared.

He was sleeping so soundly,
I couldn't help but stare
At his figure lying on the bed,
No barriers surround him there.
I leaned in closer for a look,
His hands resting near his face.
The feeling of my arms around him,
The feeling of his strong embrace.
I yearned to relive that moment,
But this time he's asleep.
All memories of him conscious and not,
All these I want keep.
So I stared too long at his lips,
I stared too long at his cheeks.
And when i got to his eyes,
He was staring back at me.

The last thing i remembered
Was falling asleep on you.
It started with us talking in bed,
You were still in your white cap and i was still in my shoes.
And vaguely but imprinted in my mind,
i recall you taking off your pullover,
Putting on a plain shirt,
My eyes, i tried to cover.
But to see your arms, your neck
Sculpted with veins,
I know you're ontological,
Despite your occasional back pains.
Then you slipped under the sheets next to me, stared into my eyes and said:
"To see you last before i close my eyes,
to see you first before the sunrise,
To hold you in my arms this way,
Tell me, is it with me will you stay?"
I moved my head onto his chest
Your breathing was steady, but loud and bold.
And on your heart, my hand did rest,
My breathing, did i surprisingly hold.
"With you, I'll be, forever and always,
To sleep to your voice like a lullaby,
To wake up to it like an alarm on days,
To be your warm hellos and good goodbyes."
I feel your chin nod against my head,
Your exhale makes a few hair strands fly.
Before we knew it, we fell asleep to each other,
And we didn't even have to try.

"I think it is entirely possible to find solace and joy in the smallest of things," she says.
He narrows his already-****** eyes at her out of curiosity."What makes you say so?"
She takes a deep breath and he lies his head on her lap, both knowing that this would be another long conversation, no, a retelling of the story of how she fell in love with him.
"Just to see you wake up, you're alive. How your eyes smile, conveying more emotions than your mouth. Your hands, I know they talk comfort when you grasp mine. Don't even get me started on your talents, they're what make you you. And your heart, in its simplest form, is pure with sincerity when you do what you love." She stops there and he looks up to her, waiting for more. But she knows she can't blurt it all at one go. It would be too much for her to say, and too much for him to comprehend.
"So is that our story?" He continues to stare up at her. She could sense a hint of discontent. It was equal to reading a book that's unfinished, that nervous anticipation for the author to release the sequel.
But instead of feeling guilty for making him feel that way, she laughed and tugged at his hair. "Why would you want me to tell you the ending? We're still a story incomplete, even if we're complete with just each other. And I don't think we'll ever have an ending."

I wake up to your eyes on me,
Your lips close to my cheek.
Under the sheets, slowly,
It's my hands that yours meet.
Entwining beneath the fabric,
You hold me closer.
I inhale, exhale your morning scent,
It makes the dust particles stir.
My fingers run themselves through your hair,
Like how you keep running in my head.
To fall asleep in your arms,
to fall in love again,
I never want to leave this bed.

it's better when the lights are off,
you shine brighter like the stars.
i feel you nearer, i see you clearer,
when we close our eyes in the dark.
to breathe in the scent of you and the countryside,
to leave our fears in the metropolis and city lights,
makes me love you and nature in its simplest form,
from it you came, that i could have sworn.

"Everything you think of
Will become all of me
Look at me and be my lady
You’re my twenties
As more time passes, when I grow up
I’ll understand you more
My love my love my love, my dear,
Don’t you dare let loose of my hands"

To have you here right by my side,
To be with you both day and night,
To watch you in your highs and lows,
To keep you steady at your toes,
To support you even when you're wrong,
To put you to sleep with a song,
To complement you when you're right,
To be your morning light,
To see you when I open my eyes in reality,
To tell you what I honestly feel,
To see you when I close my eyes in dreams,
To show you we are more than real.

"Shh," she hushes me.

I watch her close her mouth, then her eyes. But her very soul, she exposed to everyone, to me, in the auditorium. The music begins, and I literally see the intro of the song sink into her skin. I notice her shiver; not that i didn't want to put my arm around her to warm her up because it wasn't the temperature of the room. It was the music. She was feeling it. She is it. Her breathing to the piano's notes, her heart beat rhythmic to the dancing fingers on the keys: I can see it all. Her shoulders rising and falling--

"Oh," she softly speaks, pulling me out of my melodic reverie. "Did i just-- A tear, how silly of me to cry."

But before she could wipe her cheek, I took her hand in mine and kissed the tear away. She had this confused look, but it soon melted as I neared her.

She was not only music, she was a symphony. And every fiber of me was in tune with her, and there wasn't anything else in the room which I payed attention to.

my eyes are like a camera,
clicking away at the view.
my heart is like a locket,
keeping a picture of me and you.

we don't need a filter,
to maintain model shots.
it's best when it's stolen,
like it is with our hearts.

the process will be long,
but we know it's worth the wait.
for the best pictures are the memories,
which we patiently create.

"I know i’m still a child now
I can’t catch up to you yet
Only a little while more"

but i can promise you
my love for you is sure,
even with a mind still young
my heart's intentions are pure.
to run into your arms,
for you to kiss my tears away,
to look out for each other:
that moment, for it, i pray

"will i be able to hold your hands someday,
wishing they would never let go?"

and the hours would feel complete
when that day at last arrives,
24/7 my hand's in yours,
the moment day fades into night.
touching fingers, grazing skin,
our life's a polaroid-- white and black,
once our images, hearts and hands are captured,
we can never go back.

**** me, heal me, with your love,
until my heart's confused
and my head is beating,
my lips won't speak,
but our eyes are meeting.
break me, hold me, in your arms,
if that will make you well,
then take me like a pill.
until we stop this lovesickness,
but to stop-- we never will.

i used to be a half-moon
looking for a sun
to help me shine
in the darkest nights

but i never thought about
finding another half-moon
until i saw you

and i have never felt so complete
so now we can glow brighter
when we're together

to the beautiful quiet boy
who lives in a timezone earlier than mine
they may not know it
but your heart beats louder than how you look
i hope you're asleep
it's thirty minutes after one a.m. isn't it?
Recounting the moments i watched you sleep
With an innocent, rested face
with your hands by your sides
you're even beautiful when you sleep
but more so when those dark chocolate eyes gaze upon the windows of my soul
wish i could hold you in my arms now
Even better if you're wrapped around me
While you're with your signature turtleneck
And me with my red pashmina
These thoughts are nothing
but at least something

you were like a library
filled with stories
bounded in different dimensions
you were begging to be visited
by many different people
eating more experiences
as you sat there with a stare
the curious girl that you are
never really understood
what really happens in the real world, far from the books
you haven't lived for too long
to know that authors just write
to escape the harsh reality

to rendezvous, has finally come
she stares ahead, he softly hums
discreetly awaiting the moment
their eyes lock upon each other
the same goes for their hands
he reaches out to her again,
but this time in the flesh
she responds to him
and their heartbeats match
now two separate dreams
have merged into
one fulfilled reality
what used to be him and her,
is now them

she responds in words as well
not in any beat but of the heart's,
she knows he can feel her,
no matter how far apart
she hears his voice in the sun
she feels his fingers in the sea
he's closing in on her
it's his, she longs to be

he's calling out to her
through words with melody
capturing her heart
and all her entity
his hand skim the strings
his voice, soft like clouds
imagining he's caressing her
it's she, whom he surrounds

Her lips may have trembled
But her words were firm
Her eyesight may have blurred
But her gaze was steady
Her hands may have shook
But her grip was strong
She may have been fragile
But her soul was brave

I was at the disco
Then everyone pointed
And said i was panicking
But i looked them in the eye
When i whipped my head around
And said "No, I'm the panic queen."

expectation's a sin in secret
and i think i might know why,
because somehow disappointment is apparent
no matter how many times you try.

to please those around you,
forgetting about yourself.
in the end it's all in vain
if your heart is on the shelf.

please don't expect from me
and don't make me promise
i'll fulfill your dreams.

it already seems like
i'm living your life,
i'm becoming you, it seems.

it's acidic, sour and bitter.
You feel it bubbling within you.
Sometimes you want to ***** it out.
Or let it seep from your eyes.
You might opt for bleeding it with ripped skin or blotched ink on paper.
And after I've done my best to throw sadness out,
I feel full of emptiness.

i heard him call me through the wind
and the smell of his scarf lingers around my neck.
he grabs my frosty fingers
and warms me up with an embrace.
standing outside starbucks,
waiting for his apple pie and my hot choco.
"Let's get inside, it's warmer there," his breath dances in the cold air, arms encircling around me tighter.
I shake my head and snowflakes melt against my beanie, head against his chest, hearing his clumsy heartbeat.
"No, being alone with you here in your arms is warm enough for me."

One decade and nine years. I still don't feel the difference in terms of maturity. Or maybe it could be counted in the number of sleepless nights being stressed over school work. Or the number of heartbreaks I've gone through.

I don't know. All i know is I've been feeling more sad and tired and it's starting to take its toll on me. Pretty soon I'll break down again, but for now I'll try to enjoy and relax on this one day. Here's to the future! Here's to the coming days of hellish preparation for a university - wide anticipated Christmas exhibit! Here's to good grades! Here's to turning 19!

I have been experiencing
a type of bleeding
And it's not those
Monthly lady pains
Nor is it those injuries
Of open wounds or of sliced veins

But rather a cut that's
Deep within in me
Which takes root in my heart
Because ever since you left that day
My whole being was already
Torn apart