The sound of rain tapping hard on the roof and the howling wind against the window pane sound like a classical music to her nerves that stimulate all her dying senses. She looked up at him as he drifted off silently. How peaceful you are, she thought, like a sweet child unknown of the harsh blanket clouting your little playground. His shallow breathing formed a light moist against her forehead; sweet and tender with a tinge of grapes. She closed her eyes as she reminisced about how she loved it; nights spent in a cold and dark room as the two of them seek fire from each other’s touch. As though their skins are of great combination to ignite flames through a delicious friction only them could make. She gently skimmed his bare chest with her candle-like fingers, savored every inch of his flesh, every chest hair that seemed like unstrummed guitar strings. She left butterfly kisses on and felt the warmth of his soft lips. Continue reading “Butterfly Kisses”
I stare at the journal resting in my clammy and trembling hands, couldn’t summon to look in her pained eyes as guilt hits me with promises that never come to reality. Standing right now with her, at the cottage near the end of a beach boardwalk where together we smiled, laughed and shared our darkest secrets, she seems away from me—facing further in the sea. Then she turns—blank from the hints of her emotions. I pause for a moment, trying to gather words that could fit. I have no right to keep her long for nothing.
Continue reading “See You Again”
I once had a conversation with someone who loves reading and has a great potential to creative writing, but the person was so reluctant into figuring out how to enrich that talent; the same thing I had felt years before I even go out and build a blog and start publishing stuff, because the idea of not being good enough frightens me. The thought of my works not being good enough for readers scares me. And no one, I’m pretty much sure of that, no one likes rejection. Whether it be for their opinion, idea or craft.
Continue reading “Things I Learned and a Piece of Advice”
Old friends, acquaintances.
Between me and you?
I hope you do well
With the life of your own.
Continue reading “Change”
Her fingers are like compasses that knew, without even looking, where to trace displeasing marks left four years ago. One by one, slowly, they touched the fragile dotted flesh on her elbow, down to her left foot, the three coin-like keloids at her back torso and that one patch of still aching flesh on her back head. As fingers trace them, her mind races back to that very day: a Chinese man holding a rose close up to his nose, a book she just bought and the white truck. Her reconciliation knew perfectly that it was a white truck, but everyone proves her otherwise. Those things flashed frantically in her mind, making collisions of unwanted images as her body flew and concur barbarically against the hard, heated asphalt like a pile of papers scatters everywhere by the howling November wind. Before she figured it all out; before she felt pain staggering her every inch and the thick liquid spilled on the ground, consciousness was taken away from her. But she didn’t fall out of it, surely, someone must have done it for her.
Continue reading “Scars”
O, fly me away,
Wing me through gentle touch—
Let me embrace deity
Amongst aloft clouds.
Beyond is to find solace
While winds blow me adept.
O, seize me higher!
Soar me with your ardent wings
Until grounds retract,
And touch me no more.
‘Hi’, you said
slyly yet unyielding voice
I have never heard.
couldn’t find my own words
but I smiled anyway.
it was eight years ago
when all was innocence
and bliss. Continue reading “Weary Knight”
From summer’s midday air,
to winter’s evening breeze,
it may be bound to happen,
we know, but
was it something inevitable,
like any other
seasons of the year,
or was letting the stars
slip off our fingertips—
a decision you chose
instead of keeping your promise?
I am finally beginning to see the things I was blinded about when I loved you.
I cannot tell you the things I feel about
or how funny the joke was on the radio
or how I got lost and still found my way out of an unfamiliar place,
I cannot tell you the joy which to me the sunset brings
and the glimmer of each dotted star on a clear sky
and the breeze of the wind from the shoreline,
For I know
they won’t change a thing
whatever your mind thinks
or the way you feel,
But would you help me in this task?
Only this little favor of mine,
hoping it won’t take up too much of your time:
No matter how hard it is for you.
Do not lose your fingers, slipping one by one from gripping that single string of hope.
You may not see it now, or tomorrow, or the coming days,
but like a caterpillar in its cocoon, eventually a butterfly will come out,
there will come a time,
the end to all the sufferings, heartache and pain.
I’m reaching you my hand, you can hold it,
any way you want,
on your own terms, I won’t mind.
Just hold on.
with you I will stay,
trust me darling, i will
till we both see the light
at the end of the tunnel.
We were each other’s poison
a love so incomprehensible
it struck us like a venom,
You had to get your way out of death
while I cling to it—
cradled like a child in its dying breath.
I just cannot seem to, every time I try to write and find the words to articulate the extent of my love for him, and how painful it was to let him go.
But then somehow I came to realize, these feelings need not words and need not explaining after all, for I know that no matter what—we may drift far from each other as time unfolds—he will always occupy a special place in my heart, and my soul will never forget how it was to be touched by his love that was once so joyful and pure.
And that sure is enough, more than any words could do.
This is me, finally forgiving and freeing myself from the chains of any memory and heartache that may hold me back from healing and moving forward every day, and to hoping that I will find peace and comfort in my own journey.
That’s not what I crave for. Tell me your biggest fears, your worst nightmares. The person you always dreamed of becoming when you were a kid, and why you think it’s an improbable dream now that you’re grown up. The reason why you never finished reading a particular book. Tell me what ticks you off and how you’re able to find peace just by looking at the serene night sky. Tell me about that old man you saw in the train, clutching his own cane, alone. Or how you would rather not wear your jacket in the midst of a February midnight breeze. Tell me about your frustrations and what makes you hate people so much. Tell me something you’ve never told anyone else before.
I wanna know the depths of your mind, see the shadows of your heart. I want to embrace your humanity—you as a person of vulnerability and strength, not just another being forced to live just because you were given life. I want to trace my fingers through every inch of the scars your soul acquires every time you find yourself lost and no one heard your cries. Because I want to be that person who hears. I want to kiss all your bruises whenever life knocks you down yet you still find a way to wake up everyday with a forgiving smile. I want to be the person who helps you heal your ache. I want to be the one you find yourself at home with whenever you cannot seem to find a place where you can fit in this desolate world.
All I want is to be that someone who never leaves you at your lowest point. Who bears with you no matter how rough and ugly things could get. That someone who believes in you when you don’t. Not because I want the same intense of affection from you in return, but because I know exactly what it feels to yearn for a company that’s never there, and I don’t want you to feel that way.
And it’s okay, if you cannot be the same for me, trust me.
I’ll be okay.
You speak to me
as bright as winter’s glow
catching each breath of snow
I take in dearly;
You speak to me
as though the sun had set
for the stars to shine free,
as though rainbow’s end
You speak to me
like how chains clink
off of prisoner’s wrist,
leaving marks of sentence
but none of his regrets;
You speak to me
like those of artworks in a gallery
an incomprehensible picture
none ever understood
but you and me;
like nobody ever did,
and with those mem’ries I’ll keep
’til tremors of thunder
muffled our harmony.