I listened to you talk about the person you used to love.
You didn't describe her like rainbows and butterflies.
You made it seem like she was all chaos and hurricanes.
Yet in the end, you still chose to be with her.

― apbq,  so what made you change your mind?

Let me tell you,
I didn't relentlessly tell you
about my scars and wounds
so you could just
cut them wide open.

Let me tell you,
I expected you to help me,
to heal me, to hold me
but you just reawakened
my pain.

– apbq, not everyone deserves second chances

maybe we didn't really fall out of love.
maybe we just refused to give each other up.
or perhaps you were to blame,
for you stopped choosing "us" when that day came.
i know i didn't.

― apbq, when i used to say 'always' i meant it

There are pauses in between musical notes and stops between an artist's strokes and periods in between a writer's sentences. We have come to an end. We have come to a stop. But sometimes the only way to continue is to halt. The only way to begin is to end.

- apbq, pauses and stops

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

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

if you are looking
for constellations and cosmos
in her eyes,
you are
at the wrong door.
she's half a hurricane
and half a rainstorm.
she isn't beauty.
she's captured
vividness
in human skin.

and the scariest thing about having
all these late night thoughts
is the possibility of them all being true.

looking down
from the top of the world's tallest building
doesn't seem so scary
when you aren't afraid to fall.

my heart breaks a little
knowing that one day,
we'll be miles apart.

my heart breaks a little
thinking about the fact
that we'll have to battle distance.

my heart breaks a little
considering that someday,
we'll be in different timezones.

my heart breaks a little,
but as i realize how blessed i am
to love someone like you,
my heart starts to break a little less.

my heart breaks a little.
my heart breaks a little less.
my heart will always yearn for you
and i'll certainly wait 'til i get to hold you again.

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."

I was still young when my dad told me that my grandmother had Alzeihmer's Disease. I could not fathom how it was possible to forget everything - the people you dearly love, the most breathtaking place in the world where you seek refuge, everything you've learned, and memories you've made along the way.

I could not understand how she could not remember. I wondered how she was feeling. How does it feel like to forget? I wondered if it scared the hell out of her or if she felt a sense of relief in unremembering.

We came to see her. As expected, she did not know who I was - not even my father, his own son, her favorite one among eight. It was painful because after everything, she had forgetten me. I just stood there - unrecognized. I looked at her, agonized. That was the day I learned how heartbreaking it was - to look at the eyes of someone you love and realize that you're just a mere stranger to them.

My grandmother looked away. Her eyes caught my grandfather's eyes. She stared at him. It took her a long time, but she was able to utter his name. She smiled. That was also the day I learned that perhaps your mind can forget, but your heart cannot. Your heart can and will always remember.

watch what she photographs.
not in digital, but in film.
where the shots are limited,
where the photographs are quite unexpected,
where she takes the picture carefully,
because she's worried that it would be blurry.

thirty-six decisions, thirty-six shutters.
watch what she spends her film for.
preserving conversations,
preserving memories,
preserving sensations,
all shared with you.

perhaps she wants to keep,
not just photographs but fragments of you.
through capturing photographs,
between flares and grains,
or even negatives and shadows,
she has thirty-six memories all kept in a roll.

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.

I remember sitting with my legs crossed
at an empty parking lot with you.
Burning our lungs,
sharing our deepest secrets at 3am
while I rest my head
on your shoulder that cold summer night.
I sang along our favorite songs
and you wished that time stopped
so we could still be together.

But alas,

You are still too damaged.
You think too much.
You are too practical.
You are not yet ready for anything.

And I’m left confused
and angry
and frustrated
and a little bit hurt, I guess.

So here we are again,
so here we go again.

Who would have thought
that we would actually
burn even faster
than our cigarettes?

                                                    ­                        
 — apbq

She puts the cigarette between her lips
and I imagine myself in it's place.
She smiles and I see
the sparkle in her eyes that I live for.

My mind becomes cloudy
as she blows smoke from her mouth.
"Smoking is bad for you."
I say, looking over her.

"So am I."
I say, before she turns away.

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’ve spent countless nights with you,
getting to know you —  even the messiest parts of you,
over a cup of coffee or a bottle of beer.
amidst having a list of maybe’s,
perhaps i should give this a try, i whispered.

when i realized how i wanted you,
you decided to run away.
only you have taught me how silence,
deafening silence,
can seem so loud.

you left and came back
and then left again.
while you were away, i began to understand
why we can never be together,
even if we like(d) each other.

either it was your indecisive mind,
or maybe it was how loneliness,
absolute loneliness,
can make us run into arms of people
we know we should not choose to be with.

i was not the right one for you.
perhaps, i was not enough for you.
but you were right and enough for me.
i chose you but you weren't strong enough,
to choose me — that's why we ended.

                                                       ­                       
— apbq

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.

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?

i have swollen, light rose eyes
because of the sea of tears  
rushing down my face.

one wave for love,
one wave for fake friendships,
one wave for my family,
and another for myself.

there is a reason
for my courage.
there is a reason
for my mess.

i let it all out,
that one night.
but oh, how come i didn't stay afloat?

i felt like i was drowning.
i'm still drowning.

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.

Truth is, I am your five minute cigarette break. I’m your scotch on the rocks at 10am, and the bottle of wine after a long day at work. I’m everything I don’t want to be, yet everything you want. You can put me out after lighting me up, throw me out once I lose my flavor and empty me out like a bottle of wine. You don’t do it because you can, you can because I let you.

someday,
my eyes will forget
how to search for you.
my ears will forget
how to listen to you.
my lips will quit
craving for yours.
and my hands
will no longer reach for you.

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.

I opened the old iPhone I had two years ago and I stumbled upon notes I wrote for her. It happened too long ago which is why I don’t remember if I ever sent any of it.

Reading through them, I remembered how it felt like but not entirely. It’s like knowing how something tastes in your mouth without having the actual thing on your tongue. Looking back, there are parts of me that have not changed. I still believe in changing my ways for that one person, going beyond my threshold in spite of the voices telling me to run away. And still, I also believe in letting go when I know I’m not the person who would make you realize you are better than the ******* you portray yourself to be.

Not too long ago, a friend asked me how I was when I fell in love for the first time. I told her I’m not sure if it really was love that I felt back then. But reading through these notes again, I guess it really was love.

And there it is again; the taste of it without having the very thing. I might have forgotten how it was to be in love. But I have also forgotten how real the pain was. Reading the notes through the voice in my head, I could hear myself breaking. My insides churned, but the sensation didn’t feel complete. So I guess this is how it’s like to remember love that’s no longer there.

"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.

even a bee,
forgets and leaves,
even the most beautiful flower,
once it extracts
everything
from it.

"Don't touch that. You'll get hurt" my mom exclaimed as I was playing with candles on the first of November.

As a child, I was always fascinated with fire. Who wouldn't? A fire starts with just a flicker, just a tiny hot spark which ignites a flame. It shifts its colors from oranges and reds to blues and purples. I could spend hours watching how it dances, how it moves - always so gentle and soothing. It gave me comfort and warmth.

I never understood why I was forbidden to touch it, but it never scared me. I was told that it could cause pain, but I still continued to touch even the warmest, flaming fires. I got hurt in the process.

When I turned fifteen, I fell in love with a girl. I felt a spark. We ignited, unexpectedly blazed. Just like the fire, she gave me comfort and warmth. Just like the fire, she lights up and glistens even in the dark. "Be very careful" I was told. "You wouldn't want to get hurt again."

But even the warmest fires can turn cool down. Even the brightest fires can be extinguished. Even the blazing flames can turn into smoldering embers. Maybe that's why I was told not to touch anything on fire. It was a lot like love. Even if it brings warmth, too much of it can burn you. Even if it brings comfort, too much if it can hurt you.

Fire can die out.
Love can die out.

Maybe I should have listened. Maybe forbidding me from fire is my mother's way of teaching me about how love burns.

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.

there is congruence and harmony
in the meaning behind your name
and the time when you waltzed in my life.
i discovered that today.

it was during my lowest of lows,
and darkest of darks,
seemingly devastated by a storm,
when you came along.

your name means rainbow in greek.
perhaps you live out and uphold its meaning.
for you gave back the missing colors,
in my once pitch-black world.

Early on, you already knew
That for me, this is the worst way
To lose a person –
Clueless, oblivious,
Unaware.

Hey, don't go disappearing. ​
You swore you wouldn't.
But you left without a warning,
Just like everyone else
who didn't have the guts to explain.

Are we over?
You've been missing for days now.
I'm going to walk away.
Enough, I tell myself.
Enough, I repeat it all over again.

I'm no longer nurturing the flame.
It will take a single breath to blow it out.
I'm leaving.
I'm going.
After this, I'll be gone.

Hey, this is goodbye.
I guess.

With a heavy heart and a sinking feeling, I slowly realized that we would never have worked out, that we weren't good for each other. I wanted what she couldn't give me and she needed something that I didn't have – something she got used to, something she's familiar with. We lived in perhaps separate universes, and it was only through some mistake, some unfortunate collision we both shared that we had met and fallen in love – if it was even real love.

I knew what I saw in her and how I felt and somehow, despite my instinct that it would all end in tears and heartbreak, made me dive completely in, made me offer all my love and made me irrevocably careless. I knew. I had known. But that did not stop me.

If you knew her, you couldn't blame me.

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?

You have knocked on the high walls
I've built for myself.
I let you in, believing that maybe
you found something about me,
that would make you stay.

I disregarded my walls for you,
but I shouldn't have.
I learned my lesson the hard way -
I should never break down for people
who wouldn't even try to climb them.

I made a home out of you
but little did I know,
I was just your temporary shelter.

Now that the hurricane has passed
  - the hurricane of us
the strong winds departed
and so did you.

You left.
Now, I am homeless.


— apbq

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.

I have found words scribbled in books,
words that made me feel the most alive,
words that have understood me completely,
words that have clutched me to safety,
more than anyone has ever done in this lifetime.

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.

When you told me that you love me
I knew
I knew,
I would love you for a long time
and the entirety of you would leave a mark
in all corners of my heart,
in all corners of my mind.

Perhaps, time was never be on our side.
Perhaps, the universe played us too many times.
Perhaps, we tried too much or we didn't.
But I'll never forget when you said "I love you"
I knew,
I knew,
You're going to be a big heartache.

– apbq, i knew, i knew, but that didn't stop me from loving you.

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.

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

Stuck in traffic, with all cars hitting their brakes, my best friend suddenly asked me, are you already sure about her?

In a heartbeat, I immediately responded, "yes." For once in my life, I am that certain, I am sure that I want to spend the rest of my life with her.

Then it hit me, that I was able to respond without a doubt, without any hesitations. At the back of my mind, I began to think - I wish you feel the same way too.

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."

Perhaps no one knows
how tough life has been for me lately,
and how close I am from giving up.

But when I hear you laugh,
life goes from tough to the easiest thing
and you keep me going somehow.

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.

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.

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.