She used me as the spark, the push to begin,
To try new things, to shed her old skin.
Yet why couldn't we rise and grow as one?
Why am I the shadow when her journey's begun?

Was I the weight that held her in place,
The tether that slowed her eager pace?
She blossomed beyond, while I stayed the same,
Left wondering if I’m the one to blame.

She never changed when we walked side by side,
But now she blooms with the world open wide.
Was I the barrier she needed to break?
A fleeting chapter, a step she’d forsake.

They say pain builds strength, but not for me,
It carved out doubts where hope should be.
Each scar, a whisper, each wound, a sigh,
It didn’t make me stronger, it made me ask why.

Why did love turn to fleeting sand,
Why did it crumble right from my hand?
The life I built, the years I gave,
Now feel like echoes in an empty cave.

Was it all real, or was it pretend?
A fragile story with a sudden end.
This pain doesn’t forge, it doesn’t renew,
It just leaves me asking, “What was true?”

And still, her shadow lingers near,
A haunting presence I’ll always fear.
No time can bury, no peace can hide,
The ghost of her that lives inside.

I don't remember when it started.
The silence.
The leaving.
The ache that never asks for attention,
but never stops asking to be felt.

People say time heals.
I think it just teaches you how to walk
while carrying everything you've buried.
Grief has no finish line.
It just learns to sit beside you,
uninvited,
unmoving.

I've lost more than names.
I've lost voices I used to hear every day.
Hands I used to hold.
Warmth I used to believe would stay.
And not all of them died,
some just left,
as if I was easy to unlove.

My father is a memory now.
So are my dogs.
So are the parts of me
that once believed the world could be soft.

And the worst part?
I keep trying.
I still open up,
still let people in,
even when the past keeps warning me not to.

But they always go.
Quietly.
Suddenly.
Like they were never here to begin with.

Sometimes I wonder what's wrong with me.
Other times I'm just too tired to wonder.

I laugh with people.
I listen.
I stay up helping everyone else heal,
but I come home to an empty inbox.
To a room that forgets I exist
the moment I close the door.

It's not just loneliness.
It's being unseen,
even when you're right in front of them.
It's realizing your absence
doesn't interrupt anyone's life but your own.

I've cried in the dark
so no one would have to carry it.
I've hidden so much pain
just to be easier to love.
And still, they leave.

Still,
they leave.

I wish I was cold.
Detached.
Untouched by it all.
But I'm not.
I'm soft.
I'm breaking and still offering my hands.
I'm hurting and still hoping someone
might choose to stay.

Even now,
I want to be seen.
Not for what I pretend to be,
but for all of it,
the mess,
the ache,
the heart that never stopped opening,
even when it kept getting torn apart.

If I am a story,
I am one no one finishes reading.
But I write myself anyway.

Just in case someone
ever wants to know how it ends.

It’s startling how fast they forget,
How swiftly their hearts reset.
Barely a pause, not even a sigh,
Before someone new catches their eye.

Was I so easy to leave behind?
All the years gone in the blink of time.
Their love replaced in a hurried stride,
While I’m still lost on the other side.

If love was real, wouldn’t it stay?
But they found another without delay.
And here I stand, watching them go,
Wondering if I ever mattered, though.

You were never truly in love,
I was just a fleeting shove.
A phase to test, a trial to break,
A hurdle crossed for your own sake.

A burden you craved to set free,
A heart discarded so easily.
No matter the years, no matter the space,
The ache remains, I can't erase.

Even as we grow, worlds apart,
Your shadow lingers in my heart.
For you, I was nothing, just a place to stray,
But these feelings of mine won’t fade away.

She’s out there, living, laughing, free,
Connecting in ways I wish I could be.
She’s found her rhythm, both online and real,
While I remain with wounds I can’t heal.

I’m glad for her, truly I am,
Even though my heart feels a little slammed.
As an introvert, I find it tough,
But her joy is a reminder that life’s still enough.

They gathered around her when I let go,
Her hopeless heart, saved by those she now knows.
Grateful, she smiles at the one who's near,
A friend of a year, erasing my years.

I see her turn to him, the boy I once feared,
Confessing his heart while I disappear.
Seven long years, now shadows in vain,
While he holds the space I can’t reclaim.

I was her anchor through storms and despair,
But my presence now vanishes, thin as the air.
Jealousy burns, yet I stand here alone,
Watching her heal in a world I don’t own.

Useless, the love I gave, now a ghost,
She found in another what I valued most.
Seven years wasted, or so it feels—
Replaced by a bond that suddenly heals.

Bakit? Bakit nga ba laging sa tula?

Bakit sa lahat ng pagkakataon, ito'y ginagawa?

Bakit emosyon at damdami'y,  dito napunta?

Bakit hindi maibigkas, at sayo'y maipakita?

-----------------------------------------------------­------------

Bakit sa bawat pagsulyap, sakit ang nadarama?

Bakit sa tuwing lalapitan, pagka-ilang ay nangunguna?

Bakit 'pag nakakasama, wala manlang saya?

Bakit 'pag nakakausap, may patlang na 'di mapuna?

  ------------------------------------------------------------­-----  

Bakit ganon, hindi saya ang nadarama?

Bakit ganon, walang ngiti na maipakita?

Bakit ganon, bawat kirot lumalala?

Bakit ganon, parang wala lang talaga?

  ------------------------------------------------------------­-----  

Bakit nga ba? Bakit laging ganito?

Bakit laging may hapdi, ang nararamdaman ko?

Bakit? Ako naman ay totoo?

Kaya pala, ako nga pala ay minsan ng naloko, at nabigo.

He gave her everything, or so it seemed,
Love poured out like rivers in the quiet stream.
But now she only recalls the storms, the rain,
As if all he ever brought was pain.

He wonders if she sees the man he became,
Or if she’s blinded by the ghosts of blame.
Mistakes, he admits, he made his share,
Yet he changed, but she acts like he’s still there.

She tells the world of her heart’s disdain,
Of memories that still cause her pain.
But what of the moments he held her close,
Of the love that endured when she needed it most?

She paints him in shades of darkness and strife,
As if he never added light to her life.
All the wrongs she remembers, clear and stark,
But what of the times he mended her heart?

He forgave the wounds she left behind,
The scars she carved, the battles unkind.
But now she turns, with anger so deep,
And casts him away, into shadows she keeps.

Perhaps it’s easier for her to forget,
The love, the kindness, the times they met.
For all that remains in her mind’s twisted maze,
Is the version of him that she couldn’t erase.

Binibini, isang liham ang aking isinulat para sa iyo,
Maaari mo bang ibahagi sa akin ang kislap ng iyong kagandahan?
Marami ang nakakakita ng kagandahan ngunit, naipakita mo na ba ang kailaliman?
Sa isang kupas na imaheng namumuo sa aking isipan,
Higit pa ang kalawakan at kung maikukumpara ko sa mga tala sa kalangitan,
Iisa ang isinasaad ng iyong kagandahan. Yun ay ang kalungkutan.
Isang sulyap na tila ba wala ka ng ibang nanaisin pa, o hihilingin.
Ang paghahangad ay labis subalit sasapat sa nagkukulang kong damdamin.
Binibini, bakit nga ba namumuo sa'yong mata ang labis na kalungkutan?
Bakit tila, sa aking pananaw ay nagsasabi na ika'y pagod na?
Bakit ako ang nakakakita ng iyong paghihirap?
Binibini, sa kabila ng lahat ng iyon, nagagawa mo parin na magtiis?
Hanga ako sayo binibini.
Hindi lang paghanga ang aking nadarama.
Higit pa sa matatamis na salita.
Higit pa sa pagpaparamdam ko sa'yo.
Binibini, lubos akong nagmamahal sa iyo.
Maaari ba'ng ako naman ang pakinggan mo?
Na sana ay makarating sa'yo ang lahat ng hangad ko?
Hangad ko ang iyong kaligayahan.
Ngunit hindi ko maipapangako na sa bawat sandali ay naroroon ako para sa iyo.
Hindi ko maipapangako na hindi kita sasaktan.
Hindi ko maipapangako sa iyo na ang bawat alaala sa aking piling ay magiging espesyal.
Sapagkat sa likod ng matatamis na salita ay ang pagkukubli ng masamang hangarin.
Hangarin na ika'y saktan.
Hangarin na sa bawat pangakong binitawan ay walang matupad.
Hangarin na iwanan ka'ng nag-iisa.
At hangarin na mag-iiwan sa iyo ng bakas na magdudulot ng iyong pagkahina.
Hindi ko man maipangako na hindi ka saktan,
Ang aking saloobin sa iyo ay totoo at walang bahid ng kasamaan.
Hindi ko man magawang makapunta sa iyong tabi,
Nakasisiguro ako na makararating sa'yo ang aking alab na damdamin.

I hope she finds the love she deserves,
A hand to hold when the world unnerves.
If someone else can give her peace,
Then maybe that’s where her heart can cease.

But deep inside, it breaks me still,
To know it won’t be me who fills
The spaces in her soul, once mine,
As she moves forward, leaving me behind.

Every single time, it is always because of me.
I am the reason why it happens.
I am the one at fault.
Felt as if guilt-tripping.

It wasn't anything special,
just a way of showing up,
laughs a little too loud,
says things without weighing them,
because not everything
needs to mean something.

People watched from the edge,
turned moments into stories,
shared glances like headlines.
Suddenly, I was someone
they had figured out
without asking.

I've seen the way
quiet shifts in a room,
how sarcasm replaces names,
how people choose
what fits their version of you
and stick with it.

They said they cared,
said they respected distance,
but only when it made
enough sense to them.
Everything else?
Fair game for guessing.

So I stopped explaining.
Not out of pride,
just exhaustion.
Some truths aren't meant
to be repeated
just to be ignored again.

Not everything I do
is a secret message.
Some things are just me,
existing,
without needing
to be decoded.

If it looked a certain way,
it probably did,
to those watching
without context,
without asking,
but still certain they knew.

Can you save that person?
Or will you save that person?
Can you not let them hurt again?
Or will you not let them hurt again?

Can you make that person happy, one more time?
Or will you make that person happy, like it's the last time?
Can you give that person the feeling that they've been longing for?
Or will you let that person feel that, no matter what comes?

Can you consider their worthless self?
Or will you decide to accept it?
Can you also be the person that decides?
Or will you be the person that initiates?

Making them feel and having them feel are both different
It isn't a matter of questions or actions
It's in the willingness, of the mind, of the heart
Now, can you do it? Or will you do it?

Years have passed since I last heard the Fool speak of the Fox.

Time, as it does, has softened the lines of his face and bent his shoulders forward, but it has not dulled the weight in his voice when her name, though he never spoke it, lingers in the air between sentences. Even silence has a way of carrying her.

I have walked the valley as he once did, retracing the paths he described. I have stood beneath the great oak where the Fox would hum, leaned over the river’s edge where laughter once spilled like water, and felt the stillness that remains. It is not an empty stillness, no, it is a stillness that remembers.

People here speak of the Fox and the Fool in hushed tones, not as a love story, but as a warning. They say it is easy to lose what is rare, and even easier to convince yourself it will wait for you. They say trust is not something you hold in your hand, but something you breathe, and once you choke on it, the air is never the same.

The Fool no longer searches. That part of him has gone quiet.

But when the wind moves through the valley just right, I have seen him pause, head tilted, eyes narrowing, as if some faint thread of that strange, foxlike laugh has drifted back to him. And every time, his face tightens with that same expression I saw by the fire years ago: the silent confession that the most precious thing he’d ever been given was also the one he shattered with his own hands.

He told me once, when I was younger and thought I understood the world, "If you ever find a fox, hold it gently. Never grip too hard, never doubt without cause. Foxes don’t return once frightened, and there are some silences you cannot call back."

I did not understand then.
I do now.

The valley has many stories, of storms, of seasons, of strangers who came and went, but none linger like theirs.

Because the Fool’s tale is not about the Fox’s leaving, not really.

It is about how a man can ruin his own salvation without meaning to, how he can mistake the echo of old wounds for truth, and how he can spend the rest of his days breathing in the absence of something that once made him whole.

And sometimes, when the nights are long and the moonlight cuts through the trees, I wonder if the Fox remembers him, too. I wonder if, somewhere beyond the valley, there is another fire, another listener, hearing the story from the other side.

They say the Fool was not always alone.

I know this because, years ago, on nights when the fire burned low and the wind howled against the shutters, he told me his story.
He didn’t tell it like a tale meant to entertain.
He told it like a man laying out pieces of himself, as if speaking the memories aloud might keep them from fading, or maybe, as if saying them aloud was the only way to bear their weight.

It always began the same way.

"The first time I saw the Fox," he would say, "it was standing in the light just before dusk, that strange, golden hour where the world looks softer than it really is."

He told me how the Fox’s fur caught that dying sunlight like embers holding their last heat, and how its laugh, gods, the laugh, bent the air around it. Not a common laugh, but one that could slice through the stillness and make even the trees pause, as though they feared missing it.

The Fox did not give that laugh freely.
To strangers, it was quiet, even withdrawn. But to those it trusted… it came alive. Wild. Untamed. Pure.
The Fool had been one of the chosen few.

He said they were an unlikely pair, the Fox, with eyes like sharpened amber, and himself, a man weighed down with shadows he’d never shaken. The Fool had lived with silence for so long that he’d begun to believe it was safer that way. Yet the Fox slipped past his guard with the ease of sunlight through cracks in old stone.

"It never tried to fix me," he told me once, voice low. "It just… stayed. And that was enough."

The valley became theirs. They walked the narrow paths beside the river, where the Fox would tell stories so absurd that the Fool would laugh until his ribs ached. They would linger beneath the great oak, where the Fox would hum tunelessly, and somehow the Fool would feel lighter just hearing it.

The Fool learned the cadence of the Fox’s steps, the tilt of its head when it was amused, the slight pause in its breathing when it was about to say something it thought might be too much. The Fox, in turn, learned the way the Fool’s shoulders eased when rain was coming, how he would bite the inside of his cheek when swallowing hard truths, and how his eyes softened when looking at things he feared to lose.

They were different in every way, yet they fit.

The Fool told me once, with a distant smile, "It felt like finding a missing part of myself I didn’t know I’d lost."

And yet, even as he spoke of it, there was always something in his voice, a tremor, almost too faint to notice, that told me he had known, even then, that it could not last.

Because every perfect day in the valley carried the whisper of an ending.
The laugh that filled the air could be stolen by silence.
The warmth of a shoulder against his could turn cold in an instant.
The paths they walked together could one day be walked alone.

The Fool said he pushed those thoughts away at the time, telling himself not to ruin what was still his to hold. But memory is cruel, it does not only remember the joy, it remembers the shape of the loss before it comes.

And then, one day, the Fox was simply gone.

No storm. No quarrel. No final words.
Only absence, sharp and sudden, as if the forest itself had reclaimed what it had lent him.

He searched, not wildly, but with the quiet desperation of a man trying to prove the past was real. The valley, once filled with the Fox’s voice, seemed larger now, its silence heavier. Every place they had been together was still there, but smaller, emptier, like an echo stripped of its sound.

He told me that the weeks with the Fox had been the shortest and most important in his life. That for the first time in years, he had believed his heart could open again. That love could live even in a man who had learned to bury it.

And then, as the firelight flickered across his face, he said the words I will never forget:

"This," he murmured, his gaze fixed on nothing, "is the most beautiful thing I have ever ruined."

After that, he didn’t speak for a long time. But I understood something then, the story was not for me, not really. It was for the Fox, wherever it had gone.
A story meant to keep it alive, even if only in the telling.

tol kung ako tatanungin, pa'no masasabing eto na 'yon?
kase diba 'pag nagmamahal ka dapat nasa tamang panahon?
pa'no nga ba masasabing tama na 'yon?
mahal mo, mahal ka

tol kagaya rin noong una
pero 'di ka naiiba kase lahat ng 'yan sa umpisa talaga
pero 'pag nagtagal na tol dun na magsisimulang magbago
lahat ng kamustahan magbabago

lahat ng pag-iintindihan sa isa't-isa, maglalaho
lahat ng lambingan, o pangako, napapako
pero tol ano nga bang dahilan?
ang tanong, anong magiging dahilan?

I wish
I had you
Lying next to me
Doing the things we love
Sharing the things we would have
Talking to each other all the time
Wishing the distance in between us was short
Looking to each other, it was my only wish
I hope this distance would not make you forget me
I could see you in my dreams every night
It would be great if it was real
I could hear you from the phone
It seemed like it was surreal
That I met you personally
I talked to you
I held you
Almost, but
Temporarily.

We stood once, hand in hand,
against the world and its cruel demands.
We whispered vows, beneath the sky—
no storm would break us, no tear could pry.

We promised to fight, to always hold on,
yet now, it seems, that bond is gone.
You remembered the hurts, the weight of the past,
and forgiveness you spoke of was never to last.

But what of the love I gave in return?
The trust I rebuilt when it wasn’t my turn.
I held your flaws, your every mistake,
because for you, my heart would break and remake.

Do we have to say goodbye to dreams we once knew?
To a future we built, where love carried us through?
I loved you deeply, beyond every scar,
but now, you choose to drift afar.

Was it all for nothing, this love we embraced?
Do promises fade, like tears left erased?
Maybe goodbye is what you need to move on,
but a part of me wonders where we went wrong.

So, I stand here, torn and confused,
clutching a love that I never abused.
Perhaps the answer is letting you go,
but this heart—it's too slow to know.

The weight feels lighter as days go by,
A fragile peace grows in its place.
The pain, though present, starts to wane,
A quiet calm begins its trace.

Yet when the night wraps 'round my mind,
And silence reigns beneath the moon,
Her name still whispers through the dark,
A bittersweet and fleeting tune.

Her memory lingers in the still,
A shadow soft, yet sharp and clear.
Though I’ve convinced myself I’ve healed,
She finds a way to reappear.

Time gently works to mend the scars,
And hope is something I’ve begun,
But even now, her ghost remains,
A chapter that I can’t outrun.

Each day, the quiet feels heavier and long, missing the chats that felt like a song.
Seven years spent talking from dawn till night, now silence fills where you brought light.
You rush to move on, leave it all in the past, while I’m stuck watching memories last,
Holding pieces that won’t let me be, haunted by echoes you can’t see.

Forgive me if I linger, scrolling through your trace, still tied to the warmth of your fading face,
Watching you find ways to let go, as I stay where our moments flow.
I see your posts, seeking love, seeking care, searching for something we used to share,
While I wonder if I did enough, or if I was never truly what you dreamed of.

Seven years, scattered like dust in the air, gone in a blink while I’m still there,
Tracing memories like lines in sand, wishing you'd reach back, to take my hand.
But I know you’re trying to start anew, letting go of all we once knew,
While I hold the weight of what we were, feeling like just a fading blur.

I want to speak, to tell you I care, to remind you of the love we shared there,
But I know reaching out would feel wrong, like trying to keep you where you don’t belong.
So here I am, with memories tight, holding onto pieces each day and night,
Watching you go, finding someone else’s light, while I fade into the shadowed night.

They say every fable ends with a lesson,
but not every lesson comes with closure.

The Fool did not return to the valley to seek the Fox again. He knew the forest kept what it wanted, and the Fox was now part of that hush.

For two moons, she had been his spring,
a season too brief to be called forever, yet deep enough to change the soil where he stood.

Her laughter had been the wind in his sails,
her presence a shelter against nights when the cold bit deeper than loneliness. And for that short, blazing time, he had believed in warmth again.

But stories are not meant to be cages.
They are meant to be carried, to be told and retold until the ache softens, and the lesson remains even when the faces fade.

So the Fool stepped away from the valley.
He did not rush, nor look back more than once. Because some love is not meant to be reclaimed, only remembered.

And in the quiet of his journey, he realized the truth:
He had loved the Fox as wholly as a heart could love, and though the story had ended, it had given him something precious, the proof that he could love again.

The valley remained behind him.
The road stretched before him.
And somewhere, far away,
the Fox’s laughter still lived in the wind.

It wasn’t the act,
but the knowing.

The way silence held the weight
of a promise once made,
then broken
with ease.

Not a mistake,
a decision,
deliberate,
measured
in the echo of things once said.

“I won’t, I promise.”
became
“it just happened.”

But nothing just happens
when you already know
what it would do
to someone
who trusted you
anyway.

They watched the ground split open
and still walked
the fault line.

Not blind.
Just willing.

And I, the after.
The leftover ache.
Learning again
that people can mean what they say
only until it’s inconvenient.

Waking up feels like a task.
Breathing, an obligation.
Each day repeats with no meaning.
I move, because stopping feels worse.
But moving leads nowhere.

People say, “keep going.”
They don’t know what they’re asking.
They’ve never carried this weight.
Or maybe they have, and they’re lying too.

Food has no taste.
Sleep brings no rest.
Laughter sounds distant.
Hope feels fake.

There is no dream.
No fire.
No reason.

I do what’s needed.
I wear the face.
I show up.

But inside,
Nothing changes.
Nothing feels.

Living isn’t living.
It’s just not dying yet.

We ended like a storm that passed too fast,
Leaving nothing but silence in the aftermath.
The words we never spoke now hang in the air,
Like smoke from a flame that was never quite there.

Each day feels like a ship lost at sea,
Drifting farther from where we used to be.
Hope fades like the evening light,
And I fear she’ll never see me, even in the night.

I was once fooled by you,
Your words, your promises
I handled it, said it was a thing of the past
I got through it

Then I got fooled again.
Twice.
By your words, your promises,
I let myself believe you.

I knew you weren't gonna change,
Not your past mistakes,
Not your past actions,
You're the same as you were,
Before.

I know she's happy with someone else now
And I feel glad about it
At the same time, I feel conflicted
How did things turn out this way?

Sensitibo akong tao, kaunting pangungutya, malaki na ang epekto.
Nabuhay ako sa paniniwalang lahat ng babae, tumitingin lang sa gwapo.
Kasalanan ko bang maging pangit? Siguro hindi, siguro oo.
Sabi nila walang pangit. Ugali lang ang pangit sa ibang tao.

Nakasanayan ko nalang na walang naririnig, kahit lantaran akong laitin.
Ininda lahat ng pananakit, maswerte nalang kung minsa'y daplisin.
Hindi ko kayang lumaban, patay malisya lang ang damdamin.
Ayoko ng gulo, ni isang salita wala akong binanggit kahit aking isipin.

Aking babaguhin, karamihan sa kababaihan ay tumitingin sa gwapo.
"Ano bang meron sa mga gwapo?" Pare-pareho lang naman kaming tao.
Alam kong mahalaga din ang panlabas na kaanyuan pero,
Yun ba ang minamahal? Yun nalang ba ang basehan sa mundong ito?

Lahat ng 'yan nakaraan nalang sa akin.
Magmula nung dumating ka, pinaniwala **** mali ang aking hangarin.
Hangarin na tanggapin na walang kaaya-aya sa akin.
Kahit anong pilit ko, pilit **** itinatanggi at hindi pinapansin.

Hindi ako gwapo. Pero kaya kong harapin ng may magandang kalooban ang magulang mo.
Hindi ako mayaman. Pero ipapakita ko sayo na ang kayamanan ay nasa kaya nating ibuo.
Hindi ako yung taong magara ang kasuotan kapag haharap sayo.
Aanhin ko yun? Kinabukasan natin ang aabangan ko, hindi pagiging maluho.

Hindi ako yung lalake na pagkakagastusan ka ng sobra sa tuwing may selebrasyon.
Gusto ko kase maramdaman natin. Hindi sa nakikita, kundi mismo sa pagkakataon.
Hindi ko kayang lumaban, duwag ako, at nananatiling mahinahon.
Pero hindi ko hahayaan na may umapi sayo na kahit sino, makakatikim sakin 'yon.

Hindi ako yung tipong kaya kang pakiligin sa mga salita.
Madalas kasi wala akong tiwala na kaya ko yun magawa.
Panay ang pagkumpara ng itsura ko sa iba.
Kahit ganun naman , lahat ng sinabi ko sayo, totoo at may isang salita.

Hindi ako gwapo, oo.
Hindi ako maporma, oo.
Hindi ako astig, oo.
Hindi ako yung matitipuhan agad kase, oo, ganito lang ako.

She said it wasn’t about someone new,
Yet her actions betray what isn’t true.
Eager, so eager, to find what’s next,
To chase a spark, leaving me perplexed.

Whatever she says, it’s plain to see,
She’s not held back by memories of me.
Her heart has wandered, her gaze elsewhere,
I’m left in the shadows, gasping for air.

Pathetic, isn’t it, how fast she moved,
How little our years together proved.
While I’m here drowning in what we had,
She’s chasing new love, smiling, glad.

She seems happier now than she was with me,
A brightness in her I never could see.
I never stopped her from spreading her wings,
I only asked for respect in small things.

Perhaps my love was too heavy to bear,
A weight she carried but couldn’t repair.
Now she’s free, and I’m left to reflect,
On what I gave and what she could accept.

I hate you,
With all my life.
For the things you made me feel,
The things you made me do,
I hate you.

Have you ever felt being loved back?
Most of us have, but sometimes not
How is it? A feeling of fulfillment right?
It is, indeed, a justified feeling.

Have you ever felt being hurt by that person?
I know all of us will say, it's in it
How is it? Hurts deep right?
It is, indeed, a sorrowful fright.

We love the same person every single day
Without knowing how long can we last, all the way
Love is all about commitment and maturity,
Without that, you can't even love, completely.

Love is kind, and sometimes unfair
But, have you wondered why everyone in love, has a share?
A share of thoughts, experiences, and emotions
Love is good, that kept us all going on.

She said it like a memory
she didn't care to keep
as if saying it aloud
would finally empty it from her chest.

He was once hers.
She was once his.
Two sentences with a shelf life,
said like an obituary
for something that died
before they even noticed it was sick.

There was no crescendo,
no last dramatic scene.
Just a series of quiet exits,
a laugh that didn't reach the eyes,
a message left on read,
a promise that showed up late
and never stayed.

And he?
He didn't even flinch.
Didn't ask for a second chance,
didn't fight for the version of her
he once thought he deserved.

Because maybe he knew.
That everything she said
was the echo of his own undoing.
And maybe he was tired,
not of her,
but of being the man
who only learns when it's too late.

He walks around now,
shoulders light,
heart hollow,
cold, but not frozen.
The kind of cold
you only feel after too many nights
staring at the ceiling,
wondering why the silence
started sounding like home.

And if you ask him what happened,
he'll say this with a calm so sharp
it could cut glass:

“Nothing.
Everything just went the way it always does.”

It was the first time that I met her
She was shy and quiet, pure and innocent
That day was the most memorable for me
It's like we've known each other for long
Like talked to each other for so long
Laughed at each other for so many reasons
Loved each other so hard
Over and over again, it's like a cycle
Vented frustrations at each other
Even to the point that will end our time being together
Happy times have ended so fast,
Each and every moment did not last,
Right doings became wrong, without having the time to ask.

Didn't only get jealous,
But also got the blame.

You only feel like it,
when you're told to.

Go ahead.
Go like someone else.
Love someone new again.
After loving me,
You deserve someone worthy.
Did you really love me?
Because of how fast you find someone else?
Of how quick you are to forget,
That I was once with you,
I was once for you,
But not anymore,
clearly,
You like that person
much more.

for a long time, i experienced everything with you
from sadness to laughter, being crazy too
will it hurt to wish for another chance to do?
will it be okay for us to start again anew?

i know, i know it all too well by now
those feelings of yours have long gone by
but how can i keep myself from tearing apart somehow
if since then you have stopped to try?

i guess this is goodbye
but i still don't want to
this feeling of wanting to keep it together is just an alibi
for the truth is, i never stopped loving you.

It's the small routines that bruise the hardest,
a message left unsent,
a joke half-formed with no one to send it to.
Not tragic. Just unfinished.

There's a certain way the day folds now,
like it skips a line only I notice.
Coffee tastes fine.
Mornings still happen.
But something feels like it forgot to arrive.

Names don't come up anymore,
but there's a pause where they used to.
Like the world's moved on
and my memory's still catching the bus.

I scroll less.
Talk less.
React slower.
Not because I'm sad,
just because fewer things feel like mine to respond to.

It's not about wanting anyone back.
It's not even about love.
It's about remembering what it felt like
to matter in someone's day
without trying.

And yeah,
maybe that was once,
or maybe I imagined most of it.

Either way,
I miss everything
that used to feel
a little bit like home.

Paano ako uusad kung sa bawat minuto hinahanap ko siya?
Sa bawat paglipas ng araw ang nasa isip ko ay siya?
Paano maghahanap ng iba kung sa pagtatapos namin ay nagpanggap lang ako na tanggap ko na?
Paano masasanay na wala nang kami sa panahong kuntento na?
Paano naging ako na lang ang dating ikaw at ako kung ang kapalit ng pagiging malaya ay kawalan ng aking ligaya?

They stopped checking the clock.
Not because time healed anything,
but because time
stopped asking if they were okay.

Some days wore the face of routine,
brushed teeth,
answered calls,
nodded in the right places.
But beneath the rituals,
something hollow played house.

The heart became a landlord
of too many vacant rooms.
Echoes moved in.
Old voices. Unsent replies.
The kind of silence
you can trip over.

They tried planting hope in old soil,
but nothing took root.
Even sunlight felt staged,
like a set piece in a play
they forgot the lines to.

Laughter?
It came like a guest who forgot to knock,
stayed too long,
left without saying goodbye.
They didn’t chase it.
They just cleared the cups.

There were no breakdowns.
Only hairline cracks,
quietly running their course
through bone and habit.

People called it strength.
But it was mostly muscle memory.
The body, after all,
learns how to stand
even when the soul
has long sat down.

They stopped writing about healing.
Started writing about ceilings,
how low they felt,
how often they collapsed
without warning.

And still,
they kept walking.
Not forward,
not toward anything.
Just…
walking.

Because the cruelest part of pain
is that it doesn’t always scream.
Sometimes,
it just stays.

Please, let things be in my favor
Even for a while
Just for once in this life
Let me be free from you

She drifts away, day by day, so slow,
While I’m bound to memories that won’t let go.
She’s healing, living, meeting someone new,
And I’m stuck in shadows, split in two.

She smiles again, while I hold on tight,
To faded moments, lost to the night.
Promises burst like bubbles in air,
Forgotten whispers, no longer there.

She moves with ease, and I fall behind,
Caught in the ties I can’t unwind.
Her world expands, while mine stands still,
Haunted by dreams I can’t fulfill.

So here I stay, as she walks free,
A memory chained, lost at sea.
She’s found her light, her life ahead,
While I’m left with words unsaid.