You promised me a poem.

You promised me a poem.

You promised me a poem.
The room number would have sufficed to begin it with.
The red light gleaming in the darkness.
Blanket our bodies entwined.
I held back as you tried to reel me in.
You relished what’s left of my yearning to be touched.
I shed as much desire.
Let our passion burn to ashes.
We left the room full of dust.
We let the wind blow away that dust.
Left every single speck roam across the universe.
By now, the specks may have reached the end of the galaxy.
And I still wait for the poem you promised.
I haven’t grown tired of waiting.
And here I still wait.
I catch each speck of the long gone dust.
Stitch them together every night.
In hopes of reuniting with a love
That never began yet never ceased.
In a world that made me believe anything could happen,
I could hold onto that at the very least.

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I like you pushing me away.

I like you pushing me away.

I like you pushing me away.
The distance between us
Draws a broken heart
Wanting more tortures.
I like how you can smile
As I stand here smiling
Back at you; not minding
The blood and sweat dripping
From me at the sight of
Your sunlight is my moon.
For a rhyme, here I swoon
Spiral to a doom that only
Your love could cause and
Yet–

Non-existing, unrealistic
Describes the kind of love,
The type of affection you
Bear for me. Such a folly.
That I believe it exists knowing
I could describe them in
Words; whilst you deem it
unreal for you don’t feel.
I describe them in words
That etch to my soul. You–
You leave me wanting for
More. Of open wounds;
More. Of fatal scars. More
And more of you. More
Of the hopes that build me.

While I like how you push
Me away from the love I
Think could still be true.
I hope you like me wanting
You. For such affection that
Wants both body and spirit
Is one you so keenly seek.
And it’s the kind that could
Come from me. Come to me.

Some day.

Some day.

And I was sitting on an office chair for a couple of hours straight until the boss entered the big pink room. He took a chair and sat in front of me. I turned to face him hoping to hear words to refresh the dull mind. Amidst the foreign tongues that sound a little there I was listening to the words of the boss. I didn’t even realize that he was already asking me about my future.

All the pink and white objects that surround me, even the little shades of black in the room all seemed to fade away as if they never exist. In a moment, moment I was stuck in a series of flashes of different realities which I first conceived to be merely dreams, hopes. But there I was, sitting; trying to think of a way to get through the conversation that is seemingly drowning me in my train of thoughts that doesn’t even have a decent direction.

“If you want to make your dreams come true so badly, why are you here?” These are the words. Not the very words that the boss uttered but the words that registered in my head. If anything, he had every right to question my presence in this office. And I had that power more than he did, he just happened to have had the upper hand. I sat there with eyes that lingered in space that even I cannot tell what exactly. If I were to tell, I believe it lingered in the flashes that I may have made true in some nights, some days.

I was there not noticing me swiveling on the chair. Every now and then I smile at the sensation of the refreshing words that he utter: words that remind me that my dreams still exist. They remind me that I still have the chance to see, feel and live them. Then again his question stands; hanging like a mistletoe on the Holidays. But I realize as I chew the metaphor, I have no one to kiss. I have the chance but there is no opportunity at the moment; no solidifying agent that would stretch my smile up to my ears.

I looked at my boss and I finally answered his question. I know I said different words but this is how they sounded to me, “I’m here because this is the place to be.” The place to be is now. And it’s the only place I could be and rather be because this is all I have. However, I didn’t argue by posing the question where else should I be… But I know I was right because it felt right. The right here, right now, is exactly where I should be. But what about the hopes and dreams, the flashes, the other realities that I keep blabbing about?

If I were to recall the very words I have been writing for minutes now, I guess it is safe to say that they are all quite blurry. Even I cannot tell what the future brings. Though I know I want to find them out so badly as early as I now, there is no way I can ever help it nor treat other than to just wait. Because that is all that there is to do. I probably sound like I’m slacking off but that’s all that there is. I do know that I must shoot for the moon and that even if I fail I would land on the stars.

The funny thing though is that even if I fail to land on the stars there are countless galaxies out there. There is a vast space that awaits when I take off. So yes, this is my now and I’m owning it. It does suck to live only in the moment but I guess this is the best way to make my life most special.

People weren’t kidding when they said that we must make sure that each second counts because it’s possible. Even if the some seconds, some minutes, some moments suck so bad, it doesn’t mean that they don’t count.

I saw my boss nod to me in agreement. He must have sensed that I knew what I was doing and whatever it was that I was blabbing about. The surge of temporary joy and contentment overpowered me. And I was still.

The best life that I could live starts in every second. Because that is exactly what constitutes the “now.” Though my dreams do not seem real now, I know I have hope. I know I have countless chances. In fact it’s not tomorrow that I keep praying for to come. “Someday.” That is all I could ask for. That’s what living in the now taught me: Someday will come.

The Analysis of Us

The Analysis of Us

We. Me. The difference between those two are the consonants. And they bear the same sound. We never really want we to be perfect however we strive for “me” to be anything close to that. Because we could be close enough if me is. The arbitrariness of sound and language the same as the arbitrariness of how we fell in love. I guess that’s just how it works.

Breathe, love

Breathe, love

I can still see the sparkle in your eyes
even when tears get in the way.
I sense the wheezing in your breath
even when you compose yourself.
I feel the hurricane inside your head
even with your eyes shut.
I know the train of your thoughts
even with your mouth unopen.

I say “breathe, love” because you need it.
I say “breathe, love” because you have to.
I say “breathe, love” because you know
like I know.

So I say “breathe, love” just because
breathe, really.
Breathe.

She isn’t like any of us.

She isn’t like any of us.

She isn’t like any of us.
She doesn’t taste like coke mixed with ice.
She didn’t just sit there and let the ice melt

to nothingness–
like any other girl you’d come across
on the bus stop, the train, not even in school.

She isn’t like us.
She isn’t one to throw broken pens from the balcony.
She isn’t one to make faces when bored to death.
She isn’t one to be reckless—

one to be as reckless as we are,
one to understand and live the word the way we do.
She isn’t like any of us.

But I didn’t say you cannot love her.
I didn’t say you can’t make her world your world.
But your world isn’t her world.

You better understand that and two more things:
She’s from your heaven.
And you’re from your hell.