the cont.

forlorn thorns
and sweet peace,
were carried out like
leaves of trees.

she thought
her "love" was
ineffable.

in those ephemeral
moments when
infatuation seemed love
and
lassitude was masked with
scintilla of joy,
nothing hurt like
the words,
"i'm sorry,
we're over."

tears leaked
from the sparkle
of his eyes,
a plethora of
sadness woke
from its dormant
slumber,
waiting for the clock
to tick and tock.

he may have hoped
for a sanguine
ending, which she
did too,
but the paradox of life
led her to decide
that love was far
from over, near,
and ever after.


she was ebullience
and she hoped he was too.

i open my eyes,
each sunrise
to feel
his warm breeze.

i walk the pavements
of wisdom
just to sense
his saturated touch.

i look up and witness
the horizontal thin layers
of autumn skies,
forcefully done
like his breathless goodbyes.

yes, there were
ambivalence
at first.

or maybe,
there weren't
who knows?

i had to
do
what i did
just to
dissemble
the fact that-
that there were fear
in her eyes,
yours truly,
and yes,
i was able.

although
languor
caressed my cheeks
like no one else did
my mind
my heart,
up to my thalamus
down to my tummy butterflies,
i was filled
with
mild
jubilation.

felicitous
thoughts
overflowed,
lik­e halcyon notes
and waves
refracted on the walls,
and scenic moonshine
and sun rays
draw my days like
it was them
asking me
to saunter,
and to murmur
the words
"you" wanted to hear

but the sound
the keycaps make
doesn't end
with simple
"hey and hello"

it actually started
with a "ping"
and there she goes:
"hey, i have
a not-so-huge crush
on you,
a tiny little crush,
like vapors
no roar."

thirteen nights passed,
thirteen days trashed,
she thought t'was done,
over, capped,
she thought that
it was just a snippet of
likeness and will
soon conclude.

so, step 1: deny? maybe
i was wrong? or was he?
step 2: wrath! rant?
oh trust me, she had
thirteen people to chat
step 3: no more bargains,
no more trades,
no room for sadness
just proceed with
step 5: acceptance

but.

he said but this:
"your name, yes yours
were the first
to enter in this
quadrilateral dialogue
box, and yes
thirteen moons passed
and still, you're
all that "cached"
in my memory,
not too blurry to skim
and not too
drunken to spill."

there he and she started
typing the cynosure
story.


maybe i like you,
or maybe i don't
and today,
this day,
this night,
is when you'll see
and
when you'll hear
with your human lens
and mundane ears
what we are
how we are
and what we may be
and that is the
denouement
of our story,
so,

this is my proposal:
thirteen days sketched to three

maybe not
exactly a
panoply,

maybe not
really a being
of quintessential
remarks,

maybe not
a person who's
a redolent
of anyone,

maybe not,
maybe not,
or maybe yes?

"you"
bucolic,
idyllic,
scenic,
and
a voice of music,
a cynosure
perhaps?

you, yes you,
you,
always have been.

,

yes, there were
ambivalence
at first.

or maybe,
there weren't
who knows?

i had to
do
what i did
just to
dissemble
yours truly,
and yes,
i was able.

although
languor
caressed my cheeks
like no one else did
my mind
and heart
was filled
with
mild
jubilation.

felicitous
thoughts
overflowed,
hal­cyon notes
and waves
refracted on the walls,
and scenic moonshine
and sun rays
draw my days like
it was them
asking me
to saunter,
and to murmur
the words
i like you,
and that is the
denouement
of our story,
so,
will you be

his eyes,
still.

his hair,
thick.

his person,
so dear.

standing amidst
the bordeline
of darkness
and
of hope,
he widened his arms,
reached towards her,
the anchor
of his
in between
till
his last
breathe
disappeared.

the affirmation
that this
limerence fate
we should have had,

caused us great
surrender to
the despotic
actuality.

and that
made us this
and this
is all we
first had.

she
beyond the desperate
twinkle in her eyes,
lies prestigious
gestures that
only he understands.

it's the way
irony wraps
itself, tight
in her arms,
then her hands,
her legs,
then her feet,
and one day
she found out,
she was covered
in a hoax
of adoration.

he
the crevice
behind the
face of trauma
lies a beam
of serendipity,
of love,
and of liberation.

it's funny
how moments
like this
collide like
atomic particles,
it makes us
feel heat,
light,
and life.

they
and there
they were,
in complete
awe of such
luminance,
faded
and branded
in the cromulent
beautiful skies
of wonders
and of idyllic
setting.

the world
in between
smiles
hidden within

you were
like the stars
beneath the
blazing city lights,
too high, too low
too far, too close.

because you are
because i am,
we met and
beyond the crusade
of endless petrichor
there we sang
the hymn of long lost halves.

The unseen picture of Christ lies beyond my own imagery
The Phantom of the Opera of everyone’s dreams
The sweet mother in labor of my infancy
And the righteous guide of my infamy

With him are the Angels of the heavens
The spiritual guardians who guards us twenty-four seven
The winged creature who dances along those dazzling seasonal winds
That covered my dreams with lights of dim

The spring that flower and fly, the rebirth of love
The summer that warmed my dream, the youth of love
The autumn that rained the picture with leaves, the adolescent of love
& the snowflakes that blacken my fantasy, the death of love

Those four seasons of love that crushed the idea of eternity
But with God, forever you live, soul in state of serenity
With the Angels and Christ, you’re free
of dreaming your own dreams and fantasies

every answers
she ever
wanted.

can i say something
way beyond
what you
thought
i was?

you said
"i love you"
on the 14th
holloween.

you said
"it"
countless times,
nothing rhymes,
oh dear,
it's been made clear,
we've been circling
from hi's
then hey's,
now none?

what did i do
what did i say
what did i miss
what did i?

aren't you too...
selfish?

the day came
when she stopped
asking,
begging,
for something,
friday's love
used to have,
and
can never give.

the night came
when she
never asked
for something,
someone,
a helpless distraction,
a lovely contrast.

then midnight came
rushing like the blood
circulating within her self,
he came knocking,
like a real stranger,
mingling with
another,
and opened the
sealed green envelope.

when things were
too cloudy,
too unclear,
she thought
she was hopeless,
that she was
embraced by such
langour,
hate and
anger.

she once
possessed such a
plethora of sorrow,
it caused her
more than tears,
no lesser than
blood.

and blood
became tears
and the sobs
became laughs,
she was now inured.

maybe because,
he came?
who then?
the next mr. Black?
the next apeiroginic love?
how about who?

maybe because,
when things were
at peace,
she heard such
melliflouos melody
coming from the
bluest sky
she always eyed.

maybe because,
when things were
lovely and quite
dainty,
he came,
ringing her bells,
strumming the
sincerest G string.

hi there!

clasping his hands
were nothing but pain.

embracing his goodbyes
and listening to his
wrath,
were more than hell,
and lesser than any
mundane pleasures.

but letting go
of those torns
which she once loved,
held, and touched,
gave her peace,
joy, opportunities,
and open heart.

she loved him indeed,
he loved her too,
but,
they were just
a chapter in each other's diaries
and their wisdoms and
memories
both shall live
and fuel
their pens
to write their
own stories.

there's not a
a girl
in this world
who never
had a
mr. Black.

mr. Black
is everything,
is cute,
is gorgeus,
is lovable.

mr. Black's
cover doesn't
really matter
and
others would utter,
"why?"

mr. Black
is mystique,
unique,
different.

he accepts,
he declines,
he's rough,
he's smooth,
mostly,
he's dubious,
he's idyllic,
he's an unvivid
character
in the blank
pages of some
chapters
of her diary.

he can make
her feel
such halcyon moments
that no one can
ever do,
he can make
her indulge
such gentle
nuzzles,
tight hugs,
and forehead kisses.

after friday's love
comes nth-day's love,
she then awaits
the next
mr. Black.

after the twenty-2nd
day, some things
came to be.

he was reckless,
heartless,
stupid,
yet caring.

he says rumors
weren't true,
that he has no one
"but i HAD you."

he says stories
weren't necessary,
that he was innocent
and he was pure.

he says it's not
like that, nor
like "this,"
that he was in
deep solitude
and no more
them's and you's.

the rumored newest
was a friend,
so sweet and lovely,
innocent and God-sent,
light and less fluffy,
tanned and less lonely?
no, less happy,
trying and striving.

she:
i didn't want to
dark-mind.
i didn't want to
self-harm.
yet, his words
contradict
what he does.
then...

endless trades of words,
of hurts, of trusts,
of pains,
rushed through
their typically untypical
veins.

murmurs  weren't true.

"not all you see is true."

why can't everything
be innitiated?
given at free will?
said with genuinity?
and done
with no rules,
no biases,
no implied philosopies,
no more laws?
as the sun sets,
from last eleventh,
she had begun
to be in deep
slumber,
she had been
lesser frustrated,
lesser stressed.

no more time
lesser will
no more hates
lesser tears
no more swears
lesser mistakes
no more scars
lesser darts.

falling out
of the stairway
was the most
hurtful thing
she ever felt.

worse than dying
worse than living
worse than worst
worst of worst.

everyday was filthy,
*****,
teary,
furious,
curious,
woe,
loathe,
gloat?

feli­citous smiles
bargained
additional lies.

feline's wet
with sweats
of the eyes.

doggo's dead,
by the hands
of her love.

he was lost
when she was found.

he's a walking
narrative
of us,
of him,
of me.

a constant,
living reminder
that love
was austere,
pure,
and no blur.

an unending
breathing story
of how she used
to love
and how he used
to love.

broken and ended
still and calm.

at first.

she tried to understand,
even if it meant nothing
to that person,
knowing
everything's
a given,
"a...given."

this event severed
her.

this event killed her.

as he began
to once again,
drive her to
insanity,
she began to
crumble,
stumble,
and began to
fall.

she then saw
the shining,
sharpness
of the needle
of a newly bought
spinning wheel.

she mumbled nonsense.

he wasn't there
nor he would be.

he can't be there
nor he could.

he chose not to
nor he thought of so.

the sanity was far,
far from reach,
far from this eternity-
entitled suffering she had.

she was hurt.
nope. she was
mad.

she pressed her finger
towards that waking needle.
t'was pleasurable.
she pressed? nope,
she pushed her arms
towards the warmth
of the sharpness of
that newly bought
spinning wheel.

she dropped.

~thought
~was healed,
but then
~wasn't.

an entire moment
of silence
which led her towards
the art of perverse
glamour
lead her to bed.

there goes this
loud noise.

she witnessed it
with those two ears.

she heard those
smirks.

she lived her
love for that man.

she gave him
her everything
in return,
she received nothing.

a 2-minute call
wasted her two years,
wasted?
hated?
destroyed?
ruined!

he said
he hates her.
she said so too.
he said
he cant trust
her any longer.
she said so too.
he said she doesnt
understand him.
she said so too.
he said she was
really immature.
she said so too.
he said she never cared.
she said so too.
he said she irritates
him, a lot.
she said so too.

scared and crying
she apologized and
asked to make up,
he said so too.
she asked him
not to leave her,
he said so too.
she said she loved
and she loves him.
he said so too.

she was the first.

i cant touch the keys
i cant touch the strings
i cant touch literary
i cant touch eevrything
i cant touch them
i cant touch him
who once did,
i cant touch me.

"us"
at first, twas good,
me, him, everyday
is fun-filled,
so thrilling,
those enormous
subjective emotions
which rush from
his spine
to mine.

those vigorous
sweatful and youthful
days were lit,
firey, no trickery and mockery.

he doesnt understand
me before,
but he tries,
he says he'll try
and the he tried.

but now,
"us" came crumbling down,
too loud! too loud!
oh such a frown!

i dont know,
maybe i missed him too much,
not talking,
communicating,
seeing,
and smelling each others
scents and humor.
i feel he s moving,
in a backward and sad motion.
he draws attention,
that most cant do,
he draws companies,
that most cant do,
he is subjected to every crowd,
that most cant do,
even being stupidly being chased
by the homecoming,
that most cant do,
and even I cant do.

he ia far too wise
far too nice,
far too dark
and very apart.

he closed his doors
for my rants,
for my sounds,
for my music
words, and love.

i thought he is the one
and i still believe that
he IS that one person
who can share
these unapealing
sounds at night,
these unsightly
paints of gestures,
these seemingly
truthful facades,
these explicit and
exclusive love.

i wanted to go far,
far from where he belonged.
i wanted to go near,
near to where he resides.

i wanted to tear
this contract,
i believed, has faded.

now,
if i did do it,
what comes next?
sorrow?
this grief i must hold,
this woe i must cease,
this beauty who once
loved me i must leave,

either i disappear
or i will leave
this kind of habit
he became.

to be gone.

on a wednesday
yet saturday
or whatever-day
he went somewhere
far, too far
he drank somewhere
far, too far
dark, too dark
far, too far.

he needn't have to ask
just tell
but,
why lie?
oh well.

far too evil
yes,
too evil.

wordless,
deaf,
and cold.

she thought
it was a hundred
and eighty degrees turn
but
it was a three hundred
and sixty opposite turn.

he did
and
she did
parallel music,
parallel art,
parallel mistakes,
yet perpendicular love.

she's back.

had nothing
to say.

in a cold,
dark room
where no one
else knew,
a little infant
made his way
to deep and
sound
slumber.

the music
played reminded
her
of last summer,
so hot, humid,
not much to
remember.

she faded,
when he did.

the walls
were white
and cold.

it's time for the
ocean sky to
gyrate its way to
crimson sunset.

she and he
were standing,
gazing at the
clueless crowd.

suddenly,
he began to
move and
touch her
velvet lips,
up & down,
all around.

there they went,
wilder than the
rush of the
screeching cars.

he asked for
her permission
for the stairs to be
less leveled,
less balanced,
surely torrid,
surely sultry.

as they went
with the
stairs not leveled,
lips but velvet
and still tangled,
necks' just clammy,
and their
way's so classy,
she lifted her
right limb
and twist it to
his left part,
she was
insensible.

the second time,
he responded
and grabbed her
right limb
towards his.

the time was too
rapid, too
swift.

he held her tight,
his hands
from her nape,
to her neck,
to her shoulders,
to her back,
down to her
waist
as she awaits
and made her chase
from the levels
of both's
wavering stairs.

everything ends
with a sweet
and light
touch of their
velvet lips.

the flower bloomed
never late,
never doomed.

the flower was
indeed,
hyacinth still,
but something
worth of
a pink carnation.

t'was a moonlit night
when she and he
had a fight.

t'was a blue sunlit
sky
when he and i
met.

t'was a translucent
daylight
where surprising
movements
took place.

at first,
t'was formidable,
daunting, and daring.

she was haunted.

the second time,
t'was sweet,
sweaty,
red,
and tired.

t'was
him and me
under the hidden,
private, and
quiet sun room,
full of kisses,
hugs,
breaths,
temptations,
chaos,
trickery,
and all
terpsichore.

the dawn was
waving its
morning greetings
at me.

the dusk is
far from sight.

the sunrise was
singing the luna's
song, still.

the morning breeze
had such ambience
with lesser interests.

noontime approaches
and touches
her skin.

the afternoon sunshine
fell to the grounds,
ghastly indeed.

dusk haunted her
down and asked
her to die.

but the evening
moonlight caressed
her softly,
gently,
quietly.

the midnight satellite,
with its relentless
love for the sun,
seem to be too frail,
too feeble, and blind.

but in truth,
he was all
that mattered,
when she wasn't.

she was everything
to me
she was my
eternity,
my endless jewelry.

i loved, cared for her
and cherished her
with all my kindest,
finest manners.

i chased her for
a couple of years,
had her when i'm
in pain and in tears,
hugged her for oxygen
kissed her for love
and owned her for me.

we broke up last spring
i found a new tranquil
person who found me
when i hid myself.

however,
she came back that summer.
the midnight sun's watching
far from behind
but she came back like
everything "was" nothing,
asking for a new treaty,
getting back and back
from the past.

i was pestered,
when she had
the homecoming.

trees performing
pirouettes,
lights glowing
like stars and embers,
busy feet stumbling
upon the boredom
of pavements,
flickering lights of
airplanes filled the
deep blues of the
pool of clouds
which embraces the
tears of the heavens,
calling out for
the he she can't see.

then,
a sad, sad, sad
glance
was seen
far from a sight.

there he stood
where no one else
could.

there she loses
her ephemeral
self.

in front of the auburn
trees, swaying
with the wind.

she hung herself.
he fell to the ground.
he didn't lose her
she lost him,
once upon a march,
underneath
the wooden arch.

the sensation
of every needle
puncturing the
fair leather
was more than
pleasure.

it's the way
the threads
drip from
those complexion
down to floor,
what a beautiful
enamor.

it's not to ****
the vessel
we don't own.

it's not to hurt
the one thing
we borrowed.

it's just our
escapade
for the
darkest shade
of happiness.

suns and crescents
well-spent
and transparent.

everything rotated
with her,
she,
and me.

everything smiled
like it should,
would,
and could.

everything~
except me and
you.