Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Oct 2017
Lunar
i'd give anything
to hold those hands again

those hands which have
caressed piano keys
and carefully held my broken heart
which you do all too well

i'd buy every piano
and score sheet in the world
if it meant for you to play again

i'd break my heart over and over
if it meant for you to be here
and hold me together again

i'd give anything and my everything
to hold the hands of the piano man
a jumble of incoherent words for wjh.
i wanted to save this for a future draft to see if i can polish it better, but perhaps i just want to let it all go now. words are words, no matter how unrefined.
(j.m.)
 Apr 2017
Lunar
with his passion for reading
and my passion to write,

with all of my heart
and all of my might,

I want to pen the words
which he’ll imprint onto his mind:

because my words are the only piece of me,
with him, that I will leave behind
slowly
but surely
i know i am running
out of my favorite ink
 Apr 2017
Lunar
Seven years. It has been seven years since that day.

And now here they were in the alfresco of that overrated café, with the man sitting across the lady: he was sipping his black coffee and she, her jasmine tea. The scenario almost seemed impossible in the past, but for someone with her tenacious personality, something ‘impossible’ just meant ‘a little later’ than ‘never at all.’ This moment played by fate was comparable to the persistent rainstorm that forced them to stay together a little longer in the coffee shop than planned.

“I’ve been thinking,” he sighed into his coffee mug, “About leaving this place and heading to the States. Study more on film and acting from the professionals themselves. Get into showbiz of the global standard. Be a real director. What do you think?”

She straightened her posture and settled her cup down on the table, nodding in acquiescence at his idea of endeavors that appeared promising for his future.

“Well… Why not? I say go for it. I support you in that decision.”
He diverted his eyes to hers, trying to read the gaze behind those wide eyes. Though wide and nonchalant they may seem to be, only a few can notice and genuinely understand what swims in those dark depths. Their staring game ended as her voice surfaced once again through the sound of rainfall.

“I support you. If you’re ever wondering why, it’s because I had to make a decision just like that—seven years ago.”

This time it was his eyes that widened, and he placed his mug alongside hers.

“What kind of decision was it? You definitely weren’t aiming to be an actor like me, considering you’re a licensed interior designer, not to mention writer, right now,” he chuckled, leaning back onto his chair.

A soft smile of nostalgia emerged on her lips as she remembered what she wrote on the night of the sixteenth, a day before the significant seventeenth.

April 16, 2017; 11:15 P.M. — I’m satisfied of this unrequited love. I’m happy this is all one-sided. I’m glad everything is ending before it can even truly begin. It would be easier for me to leave him who doesn’t even have the slightest knowledge of my existence, who doesn’t even know my sentiments, who doesn’t even miss me, yet alone think of me. It’s all good; perfect, even. A broken heart is better than two. At least there will be some times when I might let him and his strong hands put my weak heart back together and restore it to me. I’d rather have that than us both losing and scattering the pieces of our mutually shattered hearts. He must never be broken; I need to protect him from being so—I will take myself away from him. I’ve never been any happier to be in a love that’s unknown and unreturned. He will be happy, and I will be too. In the end, his happiness will always be mine.

“I had to leave the places and people I love, to be where I am and who I am today,” she exhaled. “It was tough, but thinking of those moments and people I held onto and appreciated… all of that kept me going.”

“Was it a happy one? I mean, did you find the happiness or ending you were looking for?”

“If I were to be dead honest, yes. More than happy, actually. I’m not just relieved, or satisfied; I’m overwhelmingly grateful. I earned the careers and lifestyle I aimed for. I managed to travel all over the world and see the places and people I’ve wanted to see. My soul roams free, finding home in the many corners of this earth. I’ve finally come home, and this time I know I’m not alone.”

The man was a grown man in a smart-casual attire, but he sure maintained the curious eyes of the child that he furtively kept in himself. Being under his scrutinizing eyes, she reminisced of the same intensity he gave back when they were still twenty-one and on the verge of growing up.

“But what about ‘him’ whom you left behind? Did you come to know him this time, maybe love him too, again?”

She picked up her teacup, providing a little wall between them both, and swallowed the remaining aromatic drops along with the thoughts she wanted to tell him ever since then.

I came to know him—you—but I don’t love him ‘again’. The feelings, which I harbored for you for all these years, never left me even when I left you back then. I know I was told to reach for the moon that I may land among the stars even if I failed to reach it. But I realized I had to reach beyond the moon—the sun, the Milky Way, the entire universe—because I wanted and needed to be worthy of my existence. I wanted and needed to prove myself to myself, to you and to everyone else.

“I did. And I’m happy with how we are right now, even if it seems like we’re back to zero this time round.  Though I’m not sure how my feelings are for him now, if I seek him as a friend or as a potential love interest.”

He seemed doubtful of her response hence did he hesitantly express his last thoughts: “So you’re happy now because you left him previously. But what if he’s the one who leaves this time? Would you still be happy?”

The clouds were emptying now as the pouring rain concluded to a light shower; likewise the people they were surrounded with under the alfresco umbrellas. She knew that she was prepared to answer this question. For the past years, concerned individuals would ask her the very same thing, and for this was she thankful. She herself would recite the words to her reflection every day, much like a prayerful mantra.

He caught a faint twinkle in her eye, a proof of which her answer would be echoing with conviction and it made him realize that those particular words to be said would be one of those things that would remind him of her.

“It won’t matter if he learns how I feel then or now, and yet doesn’t feel the same way. If leaving me would direct him to his happiness, then so be it. Perhaps we aren’t meant to love each other in this lifetime, any other lifetime, or even in parallel worlds, but I still am and would be happy about it. What’s greater than this feeling of being able to love someone so much? Like I said: in the end, his happiness will always be mine.”
There's an angel called wjh I've let into my life, and I have to let him go now.
 Apr 2017
Lunar
I don't think I can ever master the art of living without you even if I'm the reclaimed master artist of missing you
It takes time, wjh. but for now your shadows are still the foreground of my art and writing
 Apr 2017
Lunar
I like to dream of the day
I finally will be able to see you

But I feel like what we have now
is a dream
that I don't want to get out of;
a dream where I can continue
loving you without you knowing
I ever did

And what if we did meet one day in the future?
And what if you never saw me the way I saw you?
That is a reality i don't want to reach
―I'd rather be stuck in this dream alone,
no matter how lonely and one-sided this love is
―wjh, i must grow up and grow to leave you soon, but for now I'll let my heart dream in your hands
 Apr 2017
Lunar
I loved too much
wishing I'm the key
of the happiness
that he goes out to seek

I loved too much
but I'm still too weak
to be the writer
I want him to read

I loved too much
too much of he
who didn't even know
of the love that grew inside of me

I love too much
too much to see
the reality
of impossibility
 Apr 2017
Lunar
The most tragic story isn't the one written by Shakespeare
or Hans Christian Andersen

It is not about Romeo, Juliet and their forbidden love, dying together

Nor a man, a mermaid and their impossibility to live for each other

It is about a writer and a reader:
Where the writer has written down, in every language, every realistic & imaginable word & emotion for the world
But the reader doesn't even have a chance to read them

The most tragic story is about the reader who can not read, and in the end, the writer who will not write

The most tragic happily ever after is where the reader and writer end each other
To My Reader
 Apr 2017
Lunar
some things are not meant to be returned
be it a library’s borrowed book
or hands that cannot hold ours and leave us cold

because we need those things
as reminders of the people
who once borrowed or took what belongs to us

and in our story

i know why i remember you so well:
it is my warmth which you borrowed
and my heart that you took
i thought of a friend who hasnt returned my lang leav book.
and i thought of you who has neither returned my heart nor given yours in exchange, wjh
 Apr 2017
Lunar
doubts of man
landing on the moon
and doubts of me
loving you
is it wrong to love someone who doesn't even know they're being loved?
 Apr 2017
Lunar
I was always looking at you, always at your back. Watching your every fall and every rise. It's too unfortunate I'm too close to you. I can't see your face because I'm always behind you, staring with my eyes from afar and with my heart from nearby. I'm afraid that if I touch your back, you'll turn out to be the person I wouldn't have thought of. I can't say hello just to say goodbye in the end. I'd rather have us stay this way, me tailing you and observing you grow. It is better for me not to get to know you and be disappointed with just myself, than have known you and be disappointed with you and myself. That way I can leave easier.
i have doubts too, of seeing wjh soon
 Apr 2017
Lunar
I thought of the boy who has yet to be the best of himself. I thought of how the love I felt for him seemed like a crooked line, wanting to bend and curve into any shape possible. I thought of how his words enraptured me like a tornado with its never-ending cyclonic movement; a cycle of feeling the rush of breathlessness. I thought of how the boy has my heart and mind racing in a circle. I thought of how he was soon to grow into a hurricane, ready to captivate others beside me. I thought again of how he has yet to be the best of himself; give him a thousand rotations of the clock to grow. But I realized how much better I can be for him by then, when now he has already gotten the best of me.
i was given the words best and circle, and this was what came out of those two words.
 Apr 2017
Lunar
it wasn't only a sense
of longing:
it was
belonging
to wjh:
home
is where my heart is
as i found nostalgia in you,
i felt a sense of long on the night of march 3
 Apr 2017
Lunar
his eyes are one of my favorite things about him.
but i can never draw him, much more his eyes.
not even when i try.
i can never capture the way his eyes glow
as soft as a little star when he smiles softly,
or as bright as the sun when he beams.

i can never copy the intensity of his gaze
without my pencil lead breaking or my hand tensely shaking,
in fear of giving injustice to such opened and clear windows
to his beautiful soul.

i can never shade enough to give it the depth similar to reality.
i can never bring out the emotion of his eyes
with my pencils
like the way he does with his heart.
i can never draw the flutter of his eyelids,
the curls of his lashes,
the color of his irises,
or the void of his pupils,
all of which i get entranced and ****** into the blackhole of his soul.

i can never draw him in the simplest way:
his eyes staring at me.
because i can never look into his eyes
or lock gazes with him--
not even with a still portrait.
but guess what i did: i tried to draw wjh's eyes again
Next page