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I think about his death a lot. They said i should write when i feel things, write write, just write until all the feelings are passed onto the sheet. But that day, when i discovered, i didn't, i just couldn't. I was just paralyzed, looking at the screen of my laptop. I stared at the word. Suicide. He committed suicide. I don't know how he did it. I don't want to know. But he did.
I know we don't know each other personally but that really does not matter, that's not the point. I stood beside him, with all the others, fighting for the same cause, wearing the same color, shouting the same chants. I felt my surroundings, the colors inside the house, the sound of the fan, the lights flickering at my side, stopped. They all stopped. Altogether, they stopped being what they were and then nothing made sense.
I thought about his death today. Again.
No, not really about his death. Its about the moments right before it. Right before he decided to do it. I imagine his heart just sinking, or full of grief or maybe just hollow and empty. I imagine how helpless he was, how nothing could possibly save him, no, not now, not a single call or text, not a thing, it was all too late. I imagine him slowly but decidedly, surely, letting go of the delicate line of his life.
It's too noisy and just too loud. Imagine how enticed he was with the thought of quiet, of peace, of nothingness.
my heart cannot comprehend the hurt that must be feeling by those who were close to him, his family, his friends, his orgmates. i hope he is well now. i hope he found the peace and the quiet.
wala namang magtatanong
o maghahanap
normal naman na ika'y mawala
sumasama ka sa dilim
pero kailan ka mananatili,
kailan ka hindi babalik?
i am fine
we were walking back
hearing all your worries, taking a second everytime you move your lips with an answer
you were worried about a boy carrying all his scars and delivering them to you
i was there, you dont have to retell
i stopped and took all my courage
maybe i could give mine too
you looked at me clueless
okay, you say
you proceed like you never heard me

all my life ive been told i wasnt important
that my problems are mine to keep
and hush now, the world isnt ready for that yet
how selfish am i to even speak of it
am i not satisfied with whats given to me?
do i really have to be that loud
c'mon, there are many out there that actually have their life on the line

why the **** are you crying?
your eyes told me that
and i never knew that a stare could deliver a message as loud as that
you add:
sorry, i just forgot that today is the day you die
that today you're pathetic enough to think that you need help
that today is the day you think its necessary for you to be selfish
because thats what you are

and im sorry you think im not worth it
i swear im trying to be
and with all your reasons you chose not to look at me
you just handed me a ten-month notice
and im sorry i forgot what day it is
why do i choose all the wrong people every ******* time

Also, pls dont tell them
I need a sense of familiarity
One that could anchor my body to the ground
'cause things have been strange lately
And lately the faces and places register as strangers in my brain

Only the voices retained their familiarity,
convinced me that they are the only one to trust
'cause anyone that can hold me easily
Can let go just as fast
It's not even a matter of 'if' anymore, it's a matter of 'when'
You called me sin. A natural-born sin, you say. Something unchangeable, indomitable evil.
But its okay, you say, we are all born sinners. That, your lying tongue and your shaky hands wandering through the things that arent yours as well as your lustful eyes, and those guns you carry around that screams the bullets through the heads of the innocent, these things you made balance on one side of the weighing scale with the sin of loving the same.
You say things about nurture and nature. Its nature, you say, and never nurture, therefore you are born w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶i̶t̶ no born as it. Im not the sinner, i am the sin.
Walang umagang gumising nang may bulaklak sa dibdib, tipong makulay at umaalingasaw ang bango. Ibang bulaklak ang nais, tipong puti at binulungan na ng mga panalangin na para sa akin at sa akin lang.
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