When your tears just flow without hesitance
Or when someone asks why you look so sad but nothing's on your mind
And it seems that your existence wants to stop existing itself
But you just don't know anymore
And you don't know how to answer anyone or yourself about how you really feel
All you know is sometimes you feel high
When you feel down

i will love you
endlessly

i will love you
unconditionally

i will love you
completely

i will love you
truly

i will love you
sincerely

i will
and i do
love you

Seven years. It has been seven years since that day.

And now here they were in the alfresco of that overrated café, with the man sitting across the lady: he was sipping his black coffee and she, her jasmine tea. The scenario almost seemed impossible in the past, but for someone with her tenacious personality, something ‘impossible’ just meant ‘a little later’ than ‘never at all.’ This moment played by fate was comparable to the persistent rainstorm that forced them to stay together a little longer in the coffee shop than planned.

“I’ve been thinking,” he sighed into his coffee mug, “About leaving this place and heading to the States. Study more on film and acting from the professionals themselves. Get into showbiz of the global standard. Be a real director. What do you think?”

She straightened her posture and settled her cup down on the table, nodding in acquiescence at his idea of endeavors that appeared promising for his future.

“Well… Why not? I say go for it. I support you in that decision.”
He diverted his eyes to hers, trying to read the gaze behind those wide eyes. Though wide and nonchalant they may seem to be, only a few can notice and genuinely understand what swims in those dark depths. Their staring game ended as her voice surfaced once again through the sound of rainfall.

“I support you. If you’re ever wondering why, it’s because I had to make a decision just like that—seven years ago.”

This time it was his eyes that widened, and he placed his mug alongside hers.

“What kind of decision was it? You definitely weren’t aiming to be an actor like me, considering you’re a licensed interior designer, not to mention writer, right now,” he chuckled, leaning back onto his chair.

A soft smile of nostalgia emerged on her lips as she remembered what she wrote on the night of the sixteenth, a day before the significant seventeenth.

April 16, 2017; 11:15 P.M. — I’m satisfied of this unrequited love. I’m happy this is all one-sided. I’m glad everything is ending before it can even truly begin. It would be easier for me to leave him who doesn’t even have the slightest knowledge of my existence, who doesn’t even know my sentiments, who doesn’t even miss me, yet alone think of me. It’s all good; perfect, even. A broken heart is better than two. At least there will be some times when I might let him and his strong hands put my weak heart back together and restore it to me. I’d rather have that than us both losing and scattering the pieces of our mutually shattered hearts. He must never be broken; I need to protect him from being so—I will take myself away from him. I’ve never been any happier to be in a love that’s unknown and unreturned. He will be happy, and I will be too. In the end, his happiness will always be mine.

“I had to leave the places and people I love, to be where I am and who I am today,” she exhaled. “It was tough, but thinking of those moments and people I held onto and appreciated… all of that kept me going.”

“Was it a happy one? I mean, did you find the happiness or ending you were looking for?”

“If I were to be dead honest, yes. More than happy, actually. I’m not just relieved, or satisfied; I’m overwhelmingly grateful. I earned the careers and lifestyle I aimed for. I managed to travel all over the world and see the places and people I’ve wanted to see. My soul roams free, finding home in the many corners of this earth. I’ve finally come home, and this time I know I’m not alone.”

The man was a grown man in a smart-casual attire, but he sure maintained the curious eyes of the child that he furtively kept in himself. Being under his scrutinizing eyes, she reminisced of the same intensity he gave back when they were still twenty-one and on the verge of growing up.

“But what about ‘him’ whom you left behind? Did you come to know him this time, maybe love him too, again?”

She picked up her teacup, providing a little wall between them both, and swallowed the remaining aromatic drops along with the thoughts she wanted to tell him ever since then.

I came to know him—you—but I don’t love him ‘again’. The feelings, which I harbored for you for all these years, never left me even when I left you back then. I know I was told to reach for the moon that I may land among the stars even if I failed to reach it. But I realized I had to reach beyond the moon—the sun, the Milky Way, the entire universe—because I wanted and needed to be worthy of my existence. I wanted and needed to prove myself to myself, to you and to everyone else.

“I did. And I’m happy with how we are right now, even if it seems like we’re back to zero this time round.  Though I’m not sure how my feelings are for him now, if I seek him as a friend or as a potential love interest.”

He seemed doubtful of her response hence did he hesitantly express his last thoughts: “So you’re happy now because you left him previously. But what if he’s the one who leaves this time? Would you still be happy?”

The clouds were emptying now as the pouring rain concluded to a light shower; likewise the people they were surrounded with under the alfresco umbrellas. She knew that she was prepared to answer this question. For the past years, concerned individuals would ask her the very same thing, and for this was she thankful. She herself would recite the words to her reflection every day, much like a prayerful mantra.

He caught a faint twinkle in her eye, a proof of which her answer would be echoing with conviction and it made him realize that those particular words to be said would be one of those things that would remind him of her.

“It won’t matter if he learns how I feel then or now, and yet doesn’t feel the same way. If leaving me would direct him to his happiness, then so be it. Perhaps we aren’t meant to love each other in this lifetime, any other lifetime, or even in parallel worlds, but I still am and would be happy about it. What’s greater than this feeling of being able to love someone so much? Like I said: in the end, his happiness will always be mine.”

You know that moment when you're in bed
Just after the sun has risen
And the softest of its light touches your face
And you smile a little because of its warmth
On your cold skin and bed sheets

You just want to embrace that warmth
and fall back to sleep,
fall all over again in love

That's how I felt
when I saw you first thing
in the morning

a lady of colorful blood
prepped in white uniform
she'll put your heart back together
whenever you feel down or torn

she deeply loves a boy
as if he's from her books
way past his words and actions,
way past his looks

ointments of her embrace
and her medicinal laughter
she dreams and doesn't know it
but she's already a doctor

sometimes her puns are die-worthy
yet sometimes they give life
she cures with her compassion
and bandages the strife

people give her their sadness
in return, is happiness, she gave
all will be unnumbered--
those lives which she saved

i liken her to the sun
i liken her to the stars
i liken her to the brightness
outshining the scars of dark hearts

she's no plain jane
she's no ordinary girl
i brought her into my life
and she brought healing to my world

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.

with your imperfect edges
you are perfect enough
to be filled in
you may be cracked
you may be broken, even

but what matters is
you know how to put yourself
back together
with gold
called self-love

you see,
you're holding yourself up
and you can see your old crack marks
emphasized from the gold
but that only adds to your life story
of how you became whole again

many people think brokenness
is destruction
but it's an art
when you realize you can fix yourself
you know you're unbreakable within
so just be and stay you

i've been kissed by the wind
by my parents
by my dog
by the waves
by the sunshine
by my best friends
but i haven't been kissed by you

They say you're in true love
When you close your eyes
While kissing someone you love

Why yes,
I've kissed him many times
With my eyes closed
Whenever I sleep
And it is only
In my dreams

i think it's hard to be friends or lovers with a writer. here's why:

1) you have to be careful of what you say, because the writers mostly take every word of yours literally and try to find the meaning in it. say what you mean, and mean what you say.

2) you also have to be wary of your grammar. those people, whom you know as writers, are grammar nazis. if they don't correct you in speech, fret not; it has been done in their word-mazed minds.

3) they will rant and rant and rant, because written words are what cool them off without having them to speak aloud. curse words, words which carry a tune, words which burn into brains... hear them out. do not be lazy to read their rants if they trust you with it. (they could rant about you TO YOU in the end.)

4) this is the hardest part. just remember that they will write about you no matter who you are or what you've done (or maybe you haven't even done anything). these people will write about how they see you. and most of the time, those writings are not so favorable. if you do not want to (literally) end up in their bad books, beware. their words may not last in ink forever but embedded into the hearts of those who read them.

happy reading and living with a reader!

There were two piano pieces of Rachmaninoff's: Love's Joy and Love's Sorrow. Now she, the musician who lets the instrument cry for her, always chooses to play the latter piece. And he, the musician who seeks to pursue happiness with his instrument, asks her, "Why do you stick to sorrow?"
.
.
.
"So I can get used to it."

Today my relatives went back to their country.
They said "we'll miss you" and "see you soon".
Those words-- typical words you say to someone before you 'leave'.

When in reality, when you leave,
You don't say anything at all.

it's not you whom
i blame for my pain
the trouble is always with me

i should let you go
release you from my embrace

since you stopped
putting your arms around me

but sometimes it's hard
to just let go of someone
who was your everything

but so help me dear,
it would be much better for us
if i finally bid goodbye
than for me to stay
hanging miraculously on my own

to find out
what we want
is to point out
what we don't want

"Read between the lines," they say.

And I watched you stand there; a living, breathing
existence of lines.

You walked right up to me. Lines are moving dots.
Your being is a point in motion.

I looked at your face to see the bold lines
under your eyes and above your brows—the ones
that made me think of your strength and masculinity.
They are all an aspiring bravado exuded on your face
with your years of experience and hard work.

I love the curved lines of your eyes and lips too
as you smiled at me as I called your name.

Sometimes, I owe my success of finding you in crowds
to your tall height and I freeze whenever I do:
Vertical lines can stop eye movement.

Your dancing also catches my attention.
Did you know every part of your body consists of
dynamic and action-oriented lines?

You.
An important line in my life.
Highly directional, and I now know
where to go to
when I draw or write
the edges of my love.

|   LINES   |   ENDING II   |

Lines act as borders
between ideas and concepts.

They also tell me
to "never cross the line."

It goes the same for my mind
which draws your existence
in front of me, in Picasso style:
the single, drunk and confused
line.

Or those psychic lines that your eyes
connect to mine. I feel them there,
when you're not really looking at me
in person.

Lines allow you to quickly visualize
an object, or someone, with a minimum
of time, space and material.
But all I wanted was to feel
your hand in mine forever.

And all the lines I've ever written
about you and for you
will queue up to lines
of waiting, unrequited feelings.

paint skies dark as ink
where the moonlight is at its peak
solace, what i seek

I guess I would have to let him go.

"But you said he was a part of you."

     *So what about it?

"Then you'd have to lose a part of yourself too."

     *That's the point: it's the time I'll lose myself tonight... But this time it won't be by his side.

washed ashore
onto the hands
of a man
I longed for, dearly.

rugged touch,
tarnished shine
and value,
treasured so merely.

back to home
seeking warmth
in the waters; on land
I was misguided, nearly.

then I knew
it was the sea
whom I belonged to
and who loved me so clearly.

warm weathers with a warmer heart:
i stretched out my arms
and embraced her with all i am.
this girl threw an ocean of words,
of images, of emotions, and even of silence at me
over a mango shake, kimchi fishcake,
and a pair of hot matcha lattes.
she challenged me to a doodle dare
when i told her i don't draw humanity,
as much as i wanted to draw her right there on the spot.
let's draw those people on that side of the cafe
ah, a people-watching activity!
just our kind of hobby that immerses us within society
while being in our own little world!
i noticed she draws people first
then the background according to the proportions of the persons;
yes, a people-watcher observing another people-watcher
unlike me who starts off with the walls and furniture of the space.
she drew the ovals for body proportions;
her pencil marks done gently, focused and magnified,
much like how she holds herself up.
thus we were satisfied with unfinished sketches
and incomplete acapella song covers;
and it definitely was a finished day–
complete with her presence,
photographs taken with cameras and our memory's eyes,
inside jokes about boys and talks about life outside.
the sun is getting lower
as the hour hand is getting higher.

Time continues but we paused.
So I'm up for another round with you, Lou.

love me once,
leave me twice,
the first
i let it go.
school and friends,
compromise,
you told me
"don't do so."

love me once,
leave me twice,
i knew you,
all too well.
promised words;
a broken heart,
down the hole
i fell.

love me once,
leave me twice,
you left me
all alone.
with lack of warmth
and happiness,
without you
was not home.

**** 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.

FALLING IN LOVE* is only for the
HEARTBROKEN
because they need someone to CATCH them
and PUT THEIR BROKEN PIECES TOGETHER

i, for one, jump and risk.
to get into it myself, and out of it MYSELF...

i can do this myself. *i will be okay myself.

as much as i tried
to dream of the bad things,
i only dreamed of you,
which was good.

but then again,
maybe you were
actually bad.

Dear child,
Don't be afraid,
When the moon
Isn't up in the sky.
He's quiet but there,
Always aware,
Watching you
with loving eyes.

Dear child,
Don't be afraid,
When the moon
Isn't by your side.
He's silent but cares
For you who's so bare
In the dark
of lonely nights.

Dear child,
Don't be afraid,
When the moon
Is out of your sight.
With distance you wonder,
Yet your heart grows fonder,
Hence do you look forward
To living every night.

He reminds me of a mandarin orange,
easy to hold and easy to peel
with a slightly rough yet firm exterior;
sensitive to the cold.

His character is that of the sweet flesh
like his gentle words and actions;
with sour tangs that emerge on rare occasions
like a nudge of loneliness from being homesick.

But his mind and soul are the little seeds buried
deep within the depths of his eyes and his heart:
he stays rooted despite in drought; persevered
and grown to enjoy the fruit of his labor.

There is something about the mandarin and its layers
which bring me much more than luck,
love, and even life.
All of it—he—brings me home.

I hope you won't ever get tired
Of running in my mind
Because I never get tired
Of writing about you all the time

I hope you won't run out
And I hope you will stay
I hope, to you, I'll never run out
Of things to say

in math class
and all we talk about is algebra
adding and subtracting
absolute values and square roots

when all on my mind is you
and as long as i add you to my day
it already sums up my week

but if you subtract yourself from my life
i'd fail even before the day ends
and i'd crumble faster than a
simple division equation

{j.m.}

Have you ever thought why people say, "I am one with the sky," or "Flowers are the best gifts for occasions"? I have a theory. A theory on simplicity, on matter and on souls. I think our souls are made up of matter which is simple and undefined. To put it simply, our souls are made up of many things. Many simple things.

Maybe that's why we feel comfortable, we love the most, and we accept things as they are, even the most plain ones. The simplest things, which stir the deepest and heaviest parts of our souls, matter the most. Our souls are consciously and unconsciously attracted to those things which widen and deepen our existence and the search of its meaning.

Whether it's holding the hand of the one we love or staring into their eyes; gazing at the celestial moving bodies above; watching a sprout grow out below; betiing which raindrop would win the race down a window pane; smelling the earth's freshness and the sea's salty breath; catching a whiff of freshly brewed coffee or tea; finding out the hidden meaning behind every flower specie; a friend's embrace or a stranger's courtesy. Even the most mechanical yet natural thing-- sleep-- we appreciate it all.

It's these things which awaken us to love and feel grateful, all the more. We know these little things belong to the simple matter that makes up our souls, and vice versa-- we belong to them; we are home with them. And it's by these little things which prove that the simplest can make a soul feel the greatest.

perhaps what brings you to me
is the moon's pull
of the ocean's waves:
you, my tides

i'll catch you
when you fall
and i'll hold on to you
when you rise

but this is only possible if
the earth, sun and moon--
our entire universe--
aligns for us

every night
i sing a song
to the man
above the sea

every night
i long to reach
the lone moon
of which is he

every night
i wait to hear
the sailor
call out for me

every day
i hope by the bay
for we,
that cannot be

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."

he was a quiet enigma,
one i yearned to decode.
and i called him a mystery;
no clues that countless keys hold.
i sought to solve the questions
which my curious heart begged,
and one day i discovered them all
when he finally led me by the hand.

so i found my main lead.
and i found the answer in him.

i am right
to say that
you have left me behind
before whatever we had
was headed to a specific direction
they say "what goes up,
must come down"
but i think you stayed up there
and decided to not fall for me over again