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.

I look out to the sea
Which reminds me of you
My thoughts reach out
But you get carried further away
To the depths of despair
To the farthest corner
You leave me behind
But my boat still stays

He skipped and he hopped.
He popped and he locked.
He danced with his feet,
to Mcdonalds' fast beat.

He puffed up with pride;
warm in the inside.
And fresh with his lettuce;
junk food is his fetish.

He never thought what would come;
he thought it was all fun.
In a funky yellow wrapper
and into the warmer he went.
He heard the kaching of the cashier--
someone's money was spent.
He was dragged to the front line
where the lights were all bright.
Like he was sent in for interrogation;
Like in a murderer's plight.

And like that he went.
A tear from his bread skin:
the top of his sesame seed bun head
human teeth sank in.
He yelled and he screamed
with all that he got.

He thought he was happy.
But he's everything he's not.

The little Toblerone bar,
a sweet one he is,
with his heart all a flutter.
He wanted to be mighty,
with as much strength
as he could muster.

Powerful as the pyramids!
Cool as the Swiss Alps!
Majestic as the Everest!
He dreamed of it all;
to become
greater than China's Wall.

But what he never realized
Through his chocolate brown eyes
Was his pride before his own fall.

Like the Everest, Swiss Alps,
Even the mysteious Pyramids,
Humans have stripped them
of their treasure.
Because Toblerone was broken down
to be eaten just for pleasure.

whenever i feel down, i look on to my favorite things:

angels
books
chocolate
dogs
environment
flowers
guitar
h­ugs
ivory
juice
kisses
love
mercy
nirvana
oasis
pizza
queens
rock­s
sweaters
tea
_
vivaldi
wonderland
x-men
yogurt
zebras

but i'm missing
u

AND SOMETIMES I WISH I COULD JUST GRAB YOU AND TELL YOU THAT I WOULD COME TO LOVE YOU AND YOUR PAST CRAP-HOLE LIFE AGAIN IF YOU GAVE ME A SECOND CHANCE AND I WOULDNT MIND OR CARE ABOUT THE FACT THAT WE DONT DESERVE EACH OTHER-- IM TOO GOOD FOR YOU AND YOU'RE TOO UNTAMED FOR ME, BUT ISN'T THAT THE REASON WHY I COULD SUPPORT YOU? TO BRING YOU BACK TO YOUR FEET. IF ONLY YOU WOULD LOOK ME IN THE EYES AT FIRST AND READ THROUGH MY SOUL HOW SERIOUS I AM ABOUT SAVING YOU

i would've
saved you
had you
reached out
for me

not many people favor
the flavor
of the green tea latte
sweet from the start
with a slight bitter aftertaste
as the matcha on your tongue fades

i remember the time
we went to your favorite cafe
and you commented on how your
green tea latte
was a little sweeter than the usual
and now i comment how
it is a little more bitter
compared to when i had it with you

the green tea latte
is my memory of you
sweet—for every time
we sat in that same spot
sipping the warm green drink
and bitter— for the moment
i drank my
green tea latte
alone

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.

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."

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.

other people like to pretend that airplanes are shooting stars in the night sky, destined to fulfill wishes as they dance about the air.

as for me, i like to imagine that stars are airplanes suspended in time, frozen in travel, bound for a place across the expanse of the atmosphere.

more than anything, you're either the airplanes or the stars to me.

Trace the scars at her back.
You'll find a constellation.
Trace her tears when it streaks down her cheeks.
You'll find a lonely river.
Trace her hair strands.
You'll find an aromatic flowerbed.
Trace her fingertips.
You'll find hurricanes and tornadoes.
Trace her soul.
You'll find yourself.

"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.

He was calm
But he was drowning
And i was panicking
Trying to save him
He thought he could swim away
From all his problems
But he only ended up
Diving deeper into them

And i'm losing my breath for you
But i dont think that i could save us

Dont let go of me
But hold on
At least one of us wont drown alone

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.

today my friend's best friend died
and i really empathized with her

Her best friend was
Charming
       brave
Affectionate
       smart
Lively
       gigantic
Versatile
       playful
Innocent
       silly
Noisy

And he was one of the best, someone whom she could lean on, someone who would cheer her up with a cuddle.

It hurts to lose a dog. A big, furry cream colored friend, with a big loving heart.

It's true that a dog loves you much more than himself. And you could see it in their eyes when you give them food or stroke their bellies.

This fuzzy feeling of friendship will never be forgotten.

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."

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.

no one would love me for these scars and scratches and tears on my skin.  worry, stress and fear embed themselves under my epidermis and i struggle to live a normal  life by wearing my favorite sweaters on most days outside to hide the marks. most of them don't realize or see it. that is good. only at night when it turns itchy and yells to be touched again, to be scratched again, to be bled again, and a fresh wound opens up. i have lived with this for almost seventeen years. and it only surfaced in its prominence at the dawn of my twentieth year. it must be a sign for a premature, impending doom. it keeps me up at night and even my brain wishes to stop my entire system but what can it do? it can only speak and think for so long. it keeps me tired in the day and my suicidal heart pounds in beats of "NO" in my chest, blood rushing faster when i scratch once more. the heart can't even stop itself from feeling the itch, the pain, the anger, the remorse, the pity.

i don't know when this will go, just as i don't know how it came to me.

i just want rest. i just want peace. with others and myself. peace within myself.

Scatter the glitters
onto the velvet sky;
I'll pull it over me
like a blanket,
Kiss in patterns
of a soft good night;
Willingly,
I'll embrace it.
Knowing your hands
made it to keep me
warm and safe;
Dreaming of you,
the Night-Quilt Maker,
to whom, my love I gave.

there wouldn't be success
without hardships

there wouldn't be happiness
without tears

there wouldn't be love
without hate

there wouldn't be glory
without gore

i loved you to the extent
where i would swear upon myself
if you didn't exist in my life
it would be living hell

you showed me it was mutual
but i don't believe in actions without words
'cause what are actions for
if they support nothing

i continued to love you
to the point where it would hurt
where a little pain
in the heart would spurt

one day all of you vanished
and i was left to wonder
what's to become of us now
without you leaving anything

i can't even explain
how hell it is compared to before
i don't blame you for losing me
i blame you for making me scared

scared to fall in love all over again

To you, who has seen him in person:

How did he look like? Was his skin smooth and white as milk; or was it a golden glow bestowed upon him? Did you see the humanistic details known as blemishes or beauty marks which usually get edited out in pictures? Was he the type of person to hold your gaze as he held your hands? Or did he look away after a few seconds? Did you see the mirth that sparkled in his glassy orbs? Did you see the smiles of other people being contained in them, that now he carries an eye smile wherever he goes? Did your eyes keep his gaze, afraid that it would break the staring spell? What of his hands, were they as warm as his eyes, or vice versa? Were they soft like a light feather, or coarse with experience of the harsh outside world? Did your eyes trace the veins that led up to his arms? They're beautiful, aren't they? How those threads of blue, green and red twisted playfully under his skin, giving him the blood to see you. How about his cheeks, did they lift; did he laugh? Did his laughter sound like little bells ringing, or a little stream through a dry desert; it was so refreshing, wasn't it? Did he even smile to the point where his eyes crinkled, forehead wrinkled, and you saw both rows of his teeth? Was his voice deep? Was it too deep that you fell deeper as well, in love? Or was it a smooth one, rich in emotion, or did you hear the innocence in his soul as he gently spoke? Was he relaxed; were his shoulders and breathing calm? Was his hair nearly as disheveled as yours? Was he perspiring from the heat or from the jitters and tension? I bet you couldn't keep calm, and you nearly hyperventilated just from sharing the same air with him. Maybe he made you less nervous with cheesy pickup lines, when you yourself planned to say it to him, in hopes of getting stuck in his head with your jokes or puns. Maybe his grip was too light on your fingers, and you felt him lose his grip and slip away-- you might have held your whole world in your hand but he only held a tiny part of his. Like how he easily walked past you with a quick acknowledging glance, one that's no special from the glances he gave to others. And you wonder if you'll appear in their minds right before they sleep, or even appear in their dreams.

Even i wonder if i can ever cross his mind as nostalgia when he sees, hears or touches something. Or if I'll be able to meet him even if it's just in our dreams, and we wake up at the same time because of it. Sometimes I fear it when the day arrives to see him; i fear the day when i finally see the look in his eyes, as if he's just staring at no one. I fear the day to hold his hand, knowing his grip wouldn't be as intense as mine. I fear the day to realize he didn't and would never feel the same way. But darling, i look forward to seeing him, because he needs to know at least that he is loved. And that thought alone comforts me.

So right now, just looking at you, my dear, is more than enough. Just having you look me in the eyes, is more than enough. Because i believe and feel his eyes which once stared at yours, are staring back at me too.

From me, who loves him

"ugly as we are,"
                      you said to me
                      as you held my hand,
"the reflection of this horrible world
shown on the mirror
every time we look up."

                      you were slowly fading,
                      and i could see your eyes turning glassy.

                      a tear fell,
                      not only from your eye,
                      but also from the sky
                      to where i looked up
                      and saw the reflection of the world

"ugly as we are,"
                      i said with an empty hand,
"a horrible world
without you in it."

And just like a picture frame
that holds a precious memory,
I looked at you through my car window,
Hoping you'll remember me.

That's what happens in photographs—
You're frozen in time.
And the next thing I knew,
I was saying goodbye.

i fear every night,
that the memory of you,
would enter my room
and sit beside my sleeping form.

except that i can't be able to move,
numb as you kiss me slowly.
drawing breath from my lungs,
i, glued in a helpless position.

and when you're done,
the tears streak my cheeks
at the sight of you
sliding away from me, walking up.

oh- i hate this beautiful nightmare
of having to watch you leave in the end.
but then again, this dream
is the only way to see you again.

and it's truly a shame,
how i could never run after you,
just like in real life,
paralyzed in place.

what had happened
what we made
may be compared to a fishtail braid

the situation
the mess we made
may be likened to a fishtail braid

just as it takes the braid a few minutes
this "love" we had took a few years
woven slowly, outcome dainty
despite the flinches and the fears

just as beautiful the braid is
our "love" was magnificent
oh! the beauty! with sorrow i'll miss
never desired for it to end

and then it happened; then you stopped
the fragile masterpiece, the work of art
slowly, the plait became undone;
messy. ugly was the result

i, the fog that fades
you, last farewell bade
us, the ruined fishtail braid

You would be my sculpture.
I'd spend hours on you.
Your face had taken shape,
Your neck was molded new.
I formed your pale legs,
My clay perfect for the fit.
For days I worked on your torso,
For days I only patiently did sit.
Solidifying was real quick,
And I had to be careful.
You could break if mishandled,
I needed to be gentle.
You still had your eyes closed,
So I kissed your dry lips.
But you still couldn't hold me well,
Despite your arms around my hips.
And so I carved your hands,
And caressed them in mine,
Then finally you entwined our fingers,
At last we held back time.

we fall in love too easily
and fall apart faster
we love too serious
and hate much stronger
we cry over anything
especially boybands and boys
we judge other girls
with one flick of a hand
we eat too much
junk food and desserts
we sleep for too long
and hibernate on our days
we spend thousands
be it on make-up, clothes, or gadgets

all these left us drunk
we think tomorrow's hazy

how do we get sober again?
how do we face reality?

"I know what you're thinking," he says. "That today's just like any other day. That today is just your birthday; that other people are also born on the day you were born. And you're thinking: what is even so special about this day if other people are born too? If other people are much more talented, beautiful and lucky souls, then they deserve so much more than I do."

She replies him with a silent smile, waiting for him to construct his words-- to see what he could possible come up with to make this day, at least, brighter than the others.

"You know I love you, and I say this to you everyday. But just like any other soul, you are just as talented, beautiful and lucky. And what makes you special is that your existence makes me talented, beautiful and lucky in return. That's what makes you special to me. And I don't think I need a special or certain day to say all of this to you, because you're special in your whole life, from the moment you existed. You don't need a special day-- you have a special life."

She nods with a tinge of pride for him as it dusts her cheeks: she is glad she has someone like him who understands her.

He finishes, "This is why you're special to me. This is why I love you. And in the least, this day is a little more special that the others."