I don't love you anymore yet there's still the part of me that searches for you in the features of others' faces. Each time I ask myself why, yet I never have an answer.

Sometimes I find eyes similar to yours but when I look into them, I find that they are different and somehow, purer than yours ever were; and ever could be.

Other times, I feel hands on my body that feel like yours but they never are and although I don't love you anymore, I find myself hoping that you somehow you feel me.

Sometimes, I wish you knew how it felt - how it felt to be me and how it felt when you broke my heart and tore me apart. I wish you felt my pain with your bare hands and I wish you could see with your own eyes, what it did to me.

I  don't want you to know what you did to me because you already do. I want you to feel it and see it for yourself so you know it's true.

I'm the kind of person
who loves to
look at the stars at night.
I feel comfortable
as I'm staring at the beautiful dark,
not knowing if there's anything
gazing at me too.

I guess that's why
I fell in love with you.
I always see the beauty
in everything you do,
even if I didn't know
about the darkness inside of you.
I love you even in the dark,
not knowing what's hidden within.

And I'm embracing everything,
even your pitch-black darkness.
Because the moon and the stars
won't shine as bright in daylight.
I want to waltz with your darkness,
even if I'm afraid of the dark.
Tell me, darling, will you do this for me too?

the most impactful sentences ever written,
which captured and touched your life
are rotting away on a bookcase;
waiting for the next time,
you'll be needing to flip through the pages,
to find comfort in those familiar words.

There are days when words are rushing through my mind, just waiting to be written. I attempted to write about you but words don't seem to add up. They can't seem to find the right positions.

It was all chaotic - the beautiful kind of chaos. I believe that there's a reason why I can't unscramble the words and decipher what I truly want to say, what I feel deep inside.

It's quite ironic how I'm in love with the idea of you, but never with the idea of us. It's a concept that I have never imagined coming together.

Just like words, there are words that are beautifully written, having the most colourful meanings, but they just don't make sense when they are combined. That's how I feel about us.

you taught me something new,
something simple but true;
something important but only realized by a few.

you taught me that weary hearts can feel again,
and even scarred hearts can be freed from strain.
you made me forget my fear of feeling pain.
you, yes you, keep me sane.

you came into my life
and struck me like lightning;
sudden, spontaneous, and gone
in the blink of an eye.
all you left behind was
the destruction of the storm.
i want to come home.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
She can make you realize
how bare and naked your soul is,
stripped into words,
inked on pages,
read by everyone,
but only appreciated by a few.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
You'll see how she holds hurricane
and tranquility
in the same pair of eyes,
but never learned
to find beauty within herself.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
She can make you realize
how calm chaos can be.
You will see how
she has constellations
streaming down her mind
and somehow, she has created
a space for you among those
cosmic clusters,
being a part of the galaxy
she held within her.

Don't fall in love with a writer.
Because even after
everything is over,
once things did not work out
between the two of you,
she'll still write about you
and your legacy will always
live through words and pages.

Sometimes, you lie down alone and wonder whether you actually meant as much to her as you thought you did.

You contemplate whether she thinks of you when she can't sleep and dream at night and you hope that she misses you like the way you miss her.

You question the decisions you made and you begin to think deeply; could you have done things differently to make her stay?

You get angry - furious even, that she could be so selfish and inconsiderate to accept your love when she highly likely had no intentions of sticking around.

You’re a mess. You’re a vortex of emotions that words can’t even describe and the worst part is - even though you want to tell them how they made you feel, you can’t.

And that makes you feel pathetic.

Trust me, I know how it feels.

it breaks my heart because i would do so much for you,
despite knowing you wouldn't do half of it for me.

i do not desire to love you
as if you were a bright sunflower or a radiant moon,
or anything that is easy to adore.

i desire to love you
as how certain imperfections are to be loved,
cherishing even your withered petals and massive craters.

i want to love you
when you're happy
while your eyes glisten of euphoria,
and your mouth flashes a mirthful laugh.

i want to love you
when you're messed up,
while your tears rush across your face,
and your hands tremble as you yearn for an embrace.

this is how i desire to love you.
i want to give more radiance to your smile
and bring order to your chaos.
i want your lights and shadows,
even the in-betweens.

i desire to love you
both in your highest of highs
and lowest of lows.
so light up your cold heart
and rest your heart on me.

And sometimes you lie down alone and wonder whether you actually meant as much to her as you thought you did.

You wonder whether she thinks of you when she can't sleep at night and miss you like the way you miss her.

You question the decisions you made; could you have done things differently to make them stay?

You get angry – furious even, that they could be so selfish and inconsiderate to accept your love when they likely had no intention of sticking around to reciprocate it.

You’re a mess. You’re a vortex of emotions that words can’t even describe and the worst part is, even though you want to tell them how they made you feel, you can’t.

And that makes you feel pathetic.

Trust me, I know how it feels.

We’re left with empty paper sheets where the next chapter of our almost never-ending story should have been written. We both ran out of ink— no refills, nothing left to give, no more.

It’s sad that we ended tragically, but what’s even more miserable is the thought that perhaps we are bound to write a whole new book in the arms of someone else.

If only we didn’t spill some ink, we could’ve still written some more.

the truth hurts,
i knew.

but i was wrong,
for her truth did not just hurt,
it destroyed.
yet somehow, she expected me
to smile through the destruction.

i demanded for the truth,
until the truth destroyed me.

You and I are
the written words on a book's back cover,
the two-minute movie trailer,
the first sip from a cup of earl grey.

We’re a beginning,

a preview of what might happen,

of what could possibly occur
if the stars ever align for us.


But for now, I’m satisfied with

coincidental blurs of sojourns,
occasional tastes of your lips,
with hopes that perchance we shall meet again.

It's okay, I tell myself. It's absolutely okay to feel deep sadness about the things I thought I've moved on from. Go easy, go easy on yourself. I know I want to be free. I'll get there eventually. But tonight, I'll allow myself to feel. I'll allow myself to grieve. I'll allow myself to succumb to all the lonely feelings. It doesn't mean I'm weak. It just goes to show how truly and how deeply I cared. I'm not gonna shrug it off.

It might take a little longer. It might require buckets of tears. But I know that in time, I'd look back and remember tonight - I'll remember how lonely I felt, but I still believed that life is significant. I'll remember tonight and feel relieved, that this amount of unhappiness can turn into golden, genuine smiles ...in time.

And so I got drunk with her, even though the 12 year-old me swore that I would never take a shot of ***** or a bottle of beer. I bent my morals for her most of the time, but I didn't mind. I sat next to her in a bar with other people and kept my eyes locked on hers, memorized every detail and felt alive as ever.

And when she told jokes, I laughed. Amidst my boisterous, embarrassing, weird laugh, I did. I laughed so much that I could barely breathe. And when I looked up, her eyes were still gazing at me as I intently looked away.

And at some point, there were moments when she reached for my hand and I let her. I found my fingers curling around hers, like they knew something that I didn't and couldn't admit – I'd keep her, only if I could.

And I was happy and it was like I'd never felt that kind of happiness before. It was new and unfamiliar, but in a good way. I told her carelessly, while my head on her chest, "please don't hurt me, I probably couldn't take it if you do."

And she kissed my forehead and said, "alright." And somehow, somehow, her "alright" was enough for me, even if I knew that meant "I'm not sure if I couldn't hurt you, but I'll try."

And we all know that "I'll try" almost always means "I can't but I don't have the guts to tell you that."

You’ve managed
to get in my system
no matter how I exert
effort to ignore your
existence.

You’ve managed to
make my heart
feel the warmth of
love again.

But it didn’t occur
in my mind that
you’ll make it colder
than it was before
you came.

Making me wonder,
am I made to be cold
forever?

I used to be her. I used to be the person you'd take out for wings and beers, the person you'd share silly songs to, the person you used to point to when you feel like the lyrics hit you.

I used to be her. I used to be the person you spend hours texting, the person you call when you have no where else to go. I used to be her, the person you spend hours on an empty parking lot with, even if it starts to drizzle, you wouldn't mind.

I used to be her, the person you kiss and hug tightly, the person you couldn't bare spending days away from, the person you greet once your eyes meet the daylight.

But I realized, it wasn't really me. It was never about me.

It was still her. Everything was, is, and will be about her. I just convinced myself that maybe, it can be about me. But I guess it still wasn't.

― apbq,  i was just the girl who was there when she wasnt

and at the end of a busy day, i still wonder how you are. i wonder how your day went. i wonder how many times those lines in your forehead creased from confusion or anger or curiosity. i wonder how many times your eyes disappeared when you laughed. did you even laugh today?

that day, i knew i wasn’t anyone special to you. i was just someone who stayed for a while. someone you thought would leave you. i proved you right, didn’t i? i did leave. but i still think about you all the ******* time.

but don’t we all have someone we secretly look out for but don’t talk to anymore?

"throw that cigarette away," she said.
i continued to inhale
the nicotine into my lungs.

"you're ****** fixated," she said.
i exhaled the smoke, alongside with my pains.
little did she know, i'm fixated on her.

I have all of these
unspoken words in my heart.
I wish I could blurt them out.

I write letters and messages,
scripts and speeches,
of the things I want to tell you.

But at the end of the day,
they are tucked away in my heart,
for they remain unspoken.

And yet a huge part of me says,
somehow, somewhere,
I'll let you know how much you meant to me;
perhaps how much you still mean.

People always leave. People are temporary. Even the person you love the most, will leave you on a Sunday morning. She'll kiss you goodbye, for the last time.

But you wouldn't know that it's the last. You won't.

When you look back, you'll reminisce how she lingered in those fleeting moments, right before she walked away. You'll remember where her hands touched you, where her lips rested on your skin. You'll remember every bit of it.

On terrible nights, you'll find yourself screaming. "How could you?" Of all the people in the world, I trusted that you would stay. Out of all the temporariness, all the flux, all the transience —you were supposed to be the only exception.

You think about calling them, then you'd be reminded that it's not your place anymore. You almost do, but something stops you. You remember these words you've read. It went something like —

People always leave. People are temporary. Even the person you love the most, will leave you on a Sunday morning. She'll kiss you goodbye, for the last time.

Maybe, in a different circumstance,
I would've loved you more.
Maybe, in any other circumstance,
I would have held your hand,
and gone for long walks along the beach,
for quick, secret, countless getaways.
Maybe, in another time,
I would have given you every part of me.
a thousand times over,
unconditionally,
with no regrets and no hesitations.
Perhaps maybe, in a different circumstance.
But in the end, i know,
we were never really just friends.
We seemed pretty cozy for "just friends."

i whispered sweet words
right to your ears.
i let you get used to a routine
that was beautiful to me.

but you like girls
who prefer actions over words.
perhaps you like girls
who prefer spontaneity.

and if someone asks me one day,
what will i leave unspoken
and what will i freely utter?

how much further?
how much deeper?
how much farther?

i have nothing left to give.
you have nothing left to give.
we have nothing left.

just like how an artist
blends two opposing colors,
to create a breathtaking shade,
i carefully choose my words,
no matter how complex
or contradicting,
just to make you feel
important and loved.
please come back.
come back to me.
come home to me.
i feel empty.

i have nothing left to say.
i will keep everything in,
– bottled up, like i always do.

i have nothing left to say.
all our cherished, beautiful dreams,
i'll let them float away upon the sea of oblivion.

towards the far horizon,
i'll quietly surrender.
out of sight, out mind, out of touch.

fading quickly while the moon rises,
i have nothing left to say.
everything comes to an end.

i want to open up and release
everything that has been tearing me apart.
but i don't want to be that person
who killed the littlest rays of sunshine left in you.
i don't ever want to take that away from you.
not now, not ever.

hence,
i have nothing left to say now.

treat melancholy and sadness,
like how you expect the storm to come.
it will destroy you.
it will devastate you.
but just you wait,
one day, someday,
it will cleanse you.

The day we met, we sat on the floor, trying to get to know each other, all the while knowing that there's no way out, we lay with our legs entwined. I love you, and it's the kind of love that feels safe. Do you understand? It feels as if you were the one who removed a thousand knives pressed against my heart. You make my heart beat ever-so quietly.

God knows I love you. I hope this will work out. I hope we won't be breaking each other’s hearts. Because I'm sick and tired of people coming in and out of my life. I don't want you to be another heartache.

I lay here silently, loving the way everything unfolded. It's been two years since we met. I built a home in you, and you in me. I hope this lasts.

It's okay to be the one who
looks back,
hugs tighter,
stares longer,
loves a little more.
It's okay.

I told the moon about you,
how you would always smell nice,
how corny you get just so you
can attempt to see me smile.

I told the moon how you would comfort me
when I am at my lowest.
I told the moon how you would consume my entire being
without me even noticing it.

I told the moon how your eyes would light up
every time you speak something you're passionate about.
But tonight, I'm telling the moon that I want to be loved entirely,
with all your heart and if you can't, don't love me at all.

Love was never destined to be given
in maybe's, possibly's or i think so's.
I want to spend my days with you,
then it'll be like the first time we met, the first time we talked.

With face masks on, and face shields up,
in the midst of the pandemic,
we let our guard down and fell in love.

This is not your typical love story.
In the midst of thousands of covid cases, we went out on dates.
Not minding the peril.

There is nothing quite so pure in love,
when all the fears with safety goes away,
For you, I'll risk it all. For you, it's worth it.

Love is diving headfirst
into someone else's uncertainty,
and finding
that it all makes sense.

We fell in love, in the time of covid.
And oh, I’ll let you into my heart
but wipe your hands.

I think it’s beautiful
the way you glisten,
when you talk about
the things you risked for love.

Last Sunday, the priest told all grandparents to come up front. In celebration for grandparents' day. I couldn't help but feel blue, feel sad, knowing that you're not with us anymore. Tears rolled down my eyes as I felt yearning. I miss you so bad.

It's been three years since you left us. I miss your beautiful smile. I miss seeing you walking around the house. I miss seeing you standing near our fish pond, waiting for a catch. I miss your hugs and kisses. I miss your cooking. I miss you, the entirety of you. I never fully understood the meaning of the  word “mourn” until year 2021.

Grief never left my side once we met.
Grief is a friend for life.
The kind that shows their face in the most unpredictable moments, never fades away or falls out, becoming more aquatinted as we go through life.

Grief is selfish, wanting our undivided attention, expecting us to indulge in its deep dark thoughts with strong pretention.

Grief is harsh, not hiding nor sugarcoating any attack.

Grief is bitter, grief is unkind.
Grief is a thief, stealing my peace of mind.

If only heaven had visiting hours. But I know you're always here guiding us. I know you're still here with us, guiding us every step of the way.

I love you lola.
Three years without you and it feels like yesterday.
Three years without you and the pain is still there.
Three years without you and I'm still yearning for your presence.