this is the
hundredth and
two

a poem about
me and you.

suffering, crying,
and hyperventilating.

from the sound
of the unwanted
truth.

hoping that every
sound, words, and
flickers,
would shine light
to what we had, we have
and we won't have.

and yes
this is the hundredth and
two,
and here i am,
saying
i love you.

everything was
foreign
everything was
loudly silent.

those flat lines
made her burst
into tears and
blood.

those tears
like rain
dried from above,
hurt her more
than having
a broken love.

the well
was deep
and hollow.

was dry,
harsh, and
no wallows.

was empty,
hard, rough
and tough.

was sad,
bad,
and red.

was uncertain,
unknown,
doubt.

where her voice,
cries and shouts
were rejected and
and full of unimaginable
clouts.

he shared his book,
she listened to his stories.
he shared his music,
she wrote him notes.
he shared his poems,
she sang him words.

he mentioned the labyrinth
she remembered it all.

yet,
what he's uncertain,
or say, untold,
was that
she had her own
well.

the day was nice,
she read her
usual reads,
she listened to her
usual music,
she spoke with her
usual someone.

suddenly,
she saw the yellow
sunset
gradually fading,
slowly reaching
and painting
the skies with
deep blue.

no lights,
no shines,
no glimmers
and shimmers,
no flickering eyes
that lighted her night.

there's an endless,
eternal solstice
of the unknown.

velvet lips
auburn eyes
curly hair
mysterious glare

from those
raining rays
of sunshine

from the
singing sound
of winding
breeze

she felt his warmth
from across the room
she felt his stride
towards her side
and he
grayed her sight
she felt the
slightest, and most
gentle touch
of velvet.

throughout the happiness
that occured
within the surface

throughout the laughter
that she murmured
for you to hear

throughout every advice
she gave
for you to word

throughout every smile
she brought you
for you to be happy

she had an endless
longing for
something

she'd been forlorn
every single time
she steps on the
treshhold
between her house
and her home.

i wish i wasn't
i wish you weren't
but.

as he made his way
towards her
end of the day,
she was all that happy,
looking at his
endless beauty,

his arms intertwined
with hers,
her melody reaching
his chuckles and screams
and cries.

they leave those soaring
individuals,
roaming inside the familiar,
spectacular room.

then they walk
along the busy
pavements,
with sounds of
the pouring rain.

as she steps away
from her light of day,
as the sun sets and
the moon awakens from
its slumber,
she remembers and treasures
every foot step he takes
away from her distance
and slowly, gradually,
she writes a poem,
a letter, a song,
about how she loved
how he walks away.

she was breaking

there were two
boys sitting, standing
underneath those
auburn trees,
seemingly mine
yet aren't.

there were two
people who carved
marks and scars
on those beautiful
auburn trees.

there were two
people who left
the auburn lonely trees,

no,

there was only one.

and that was...

he ran away
she stumbled,
struggled,
and was baffled.

she was drowning,
not because she didn't
know how to swim,
but because the tides
were too high.

she was crying,
they didn't know
that she was,
even him.

she was dying,
they can't see
and hear
what she is
and what she has,
how she is
and how
she was.

she held out.

the day was tiresome,
we had to rush stuff
and we needed to
recuperate ourselves.

the day was too short,
it was lacking some
things that were left
unsaid, unheard, and
unshared.

the day was too frigid,
our hands were shaking,
our bodies weren't entwining,
but tears came down
pouring.

the day was laughable,
smiles and chuckles
filled our sad faces.

but, still...

she was never happy
with how she ended
everything about him.

she was all
but lonely,
when she bid
her last farewell
with silence
and greetings,
with wishes
and expectations.

she hopes to see
him soon.

tonight was cold,
indeed.
tonight was short,
indeed.
tonight was lovely,
indeed.
tonight was lonely,
indeed.

i should have known
better
about the latter.

i should have anticipated,
not all efforts
were equally
reciprocated.

i hope tomorrow's
good and would
be little less lonely,
for you are all
i seek,
your hugs are all
i need,
you comforting words
are all
i want to hear
and let me bear
the pain of losing him,
not you but
"him."

a "yes"

stranded they were
on that cold morn,
struggles did come
still,
peace came across.

she was baffled
he was weary
she was hurt
he was aching.

they were together
from that time
till end.

they played,
she laughed,
and so he did.

happy they were
from giving each other
with hugs, hugs, hugs.

as she looked back
stretched her arms
'round his shoulders
and her words were
"i love you."

he played the role
of stupidity
she bought the act
she asked him why
suddenly,
he covered her
shoulders
with his arms,
so wide, soft, tanned.

tad red they were
happy how the day ended
they were adorable,
loving, endearing,
cute and sweet.

nothing.

he let words
of his own
criticism
be heard
by her.

those remarks
he confidently
made with no signs
of remorse
nor humor.

after another
daylight,
he said
it was the means
of himself,
it was him,
such enormous,
kind,
insensitive, and
silent inconsistency.

once done more,
will it be just as it is?
or will it turn into
a consistently done
habit?

during the new
year's eve,
it was sad to
discover and
remember
how he then
lost what
she has always
had.

it was sad to
utter words
which would
never come to
light nor dark.

it was sad to
end the year
with tears
and sheer
calculation
of what's today
and tomorrow.

it was truly sad
to know
that he never had
what she has always
had.

beyond the beautiful
vast blanket of stars,
underneath the gleams
of fireworks and
shooting stars,
some sort of
miscommunication
therefore bloomed
like a nightsky's
sudden gloom.

some sort of a knot
tangled itself
and
gave her and him
some forlorn kisses
and goodnights.
trying to hide
every tear in
their eyes
resides.

some sort of happiness
then showered
from the scent
the candle wicks made,
then they clamored
for endless love
and beauty,
for eternal friendship
and clarity.

sadly, she was right
that he wasn't
meant for her.

she gave more
than what he
deserved.

but, she got
nothing in return.

maybe she was right
or maybe he has left
maybe she was wise
or maybe he is a dolt.

the long day
is finally over
far from one
another,
they are.

nearest in
each other's
heart,
they are.

apart from
the world
they used to stay.
they made a way
for them to
keep their
bond.

yes, t'was nice
him and her
together,
forever and ever?
nope, they were
ephemeral.

on a wintry,
frosty,
fulfilled night,
he said "stuff"
which left
her some
misery
and trickery.

falling for every
trap, she had
to trip,
all over again,
forgive,
all over again,
for the usual.

angry,
yes, she was?
no, she wasn't
******,
yes, she was?
yes, she was
and is.

some words
aren't meant
to be heard,
but rather
felt.

this is a continuation
of what took place
that frosty night
with glimmering,
shiny
phosphenes,
endless bokeh.

he was right there,
parallel from my
spot,
and we thought
of nothing
but what we are
in, right at that
moment.

as he sweep
my hair from
my cheeks
to my ears,
from my face
towards my back,
he took his hand
placed it on top
of my eyes,
cold they
were,
he then
gently,
touched my
left cheek
with his
chapped lips.

on that friday
night with showers
or rain
t'was chilly
and windy
and loud
and crowded
lost and
shrouded
with endless cheers
and yells.

after everything else
there comes
goodbyes and
farewells.

she then grabbed
him by his arms
neared her face
towards his side
and with one stride
she left a warm
and frosty touch
on his cheeks
and blurred the
whispering, cold
mob.

under such
grayish, rusty
roof,
with the howling
sound of violins,
there she witnessed
the mini, gentle
foot steps,
the ligth-weighted,
vibrant,
elegant
blush of her dress,
with pure, innocent,
angelic eyes,
dark hair,
and crowned
heir.

she was my darling,
my sweet nightingale,
my beloved strings,
seemingly unwanted,
but completely,
a wish granted
by the stars, the galaxies,
oh, my beautiful
anemony, my antonym.

how do i live,
a life that i
so seek?

how do i kiss
farewell
to companions i
so unloved?

how do i sing
my poems
to people i
so care for?

how do i die
and say goodbye
to this "her"
and offer
some "real"
excuse letter,
rope, venom,
knives,
oh, never mind
the latter...

we are born
to live,
not to die.

we walk
to explore,
not to please.

we sing
to express,
not to keep.

but,
during this
seemingly
endless Saturday,
she was dying,
she was pleasing,
she was keeping.

she had
anhedonia

a dear friend
mentioned about
how to
redirect the stars

a dear she
thought me
how to make
something
from those
stars

but
a dear he
told her
to enter
a beginning
from the amusing,
entertaining,
stitched and
loved ending.

she was for he.

during this
lovely epoch
she so seeks,
from those
wistful streets
she walks with him
she hears
the sonorous,
imposing sound
of silence.

with each words
resonating
within their
inner selves,
after every step,
indulging
such ephemeral
such denouement
they've long foreseen.

she was too
nefarious
for this man
made of
flowery words
sly actions
and
warm hugs.

on that night
with winter
winds,
hums,
and miserable
breeze,
there he sat,
his eyes
wandering
from right to left
up and down
all around
corners to corners
branching
a thought
to another
a note
to a song
a word
to a poem.

him with his
glances,
stands
and built,
under that
moonlit sky
with starlights,
air filled with
warmth and
frost,
i witness his
cries,
heard his tears,
felt his fears.

i became
an overthinker
from worrying
about the other.

she was an
ailurophile
he was a
cynophilist
now,
how come
she likes him?
and
he likes her?
when both
can only offer
the opposites
of the other.

how did they
find such
unraveled red
knots?
when they were
too twisted,
too unread.

how were they
able to say
that they liked
each other's
symphony
with wafture
of those warm hands
reaching for such
woebegone faces
with little traces
of summery
and misery.

and finally
how can she
and he
stay with each
other's plea
in a world
full of
uncertainties?

if they could,
and would,
they are pyrrichs.

well,
what do we
have right here?
that is him
of course it's
him
whom i saw
leaning on
the frozen walls
seeking
thinking
looking
hearing
the incorrect
the imperfection
and pure
imagination,
untouched truth
still lingers
within her
liking
loving
him
were all
that matter

we had our
ups and downs
we fell and we dropped.

we understood
we fought
we cried
we made up
we laughed
and we
loved.

yes, we did.
something's off
isn't it enough?
being honest,
yes it is.
being truthful,
what's with
this sad truth?

is it me
or is it you?
did we both change,
or it's only me?
who's trying to conceal
her facade, he can't fathom
her sorrow, he always show
and her tears and sobs,
that he can never see,
never hear.

yes, twas
a hundred and sixty
days of pure
happiness and love
of pure insanity
and sadness.

those words
werent really meant
to hurt me
nor to encourage me
but
twas meant to
tell me
that those
a hundred and sixty
days were all
untamed,
untrue,
unloved
and then all stars
became blue.

tears wrapped my cheeks
air left my chest
trembles visited my hands
i will never understand
what happened
this night
from felicity
to fondness
to like
to love
to betrayal
to anger
to sadness
and to, again,
loneliness

words can't
sentence how
it hurt her.

music can't
stitch her broken
part.

his presence
may or may not
prolong her
agony,
despair,
and misery.

in his eyes
there live
traces of
sadness.

her actions
push him away
which her mind
can't tell.

he does want that
but she, she wants
it too.
suddenly,
something came out
of the blue.
why is he still
holding onto her?
why is he still
waiting for her?
why is he still
loving her?
she wasn't irreplaceable.

what now,
has become of us?
what now
has happened to us?
though, there was
never an "us"
there has always been
this uncalled fantasy,
lonely reality,
pure emphaty,
blurry clarity,
imperfect friendship,
perfect mistakes
and clear remakes
of what we did
of what took place
from before
till now.

i've chosen
to remain
and retain
what's now.

you've chosen
the same thing.
now, what?
you never chose this
but you chose "that"

my heart tells me
to send you away
to stay away
to look for another
someone, another
love
but a part of me
doesn't want to
let you go.
but,
if you're hurting,
you're sad
because of what we
had,
please do inform,
please say it,
straigh to my face
that everything is gone
and i shall move on

thus, i shall
find for another someone
another man
whom i can, again,
love, like all the guys
i've ever loved and had.

and you must become
one of them,
one of the past,
but, just bit
hurtful and doleful
for me to look back
onto

from the very
first night
we shared
these bearable
adorations
these happy
emotions,
i was so happy
i hope you were too
i wasn't desperate
like you were too,
i wasn't expressive
like you were too.

we both were
playing it safe,
way too fun
way too out
of the "ordinary"

beyond what i know
there lives this
competition within you
there lives this
confusion succumbing you
there lives this
remnant of what's before
the beautiful execution
of pure moving on
from such twinny tragedy
from such uncalled happening

and i am now
regretting
that something took
place last september
and all i can remember
is that i felt the "feels"
of such sudden forever.

am i starting
to lose sight
of what's within?

i am beggining
to reminice
such melancholy
which made me happy,
doleful, loathful and
insane.

yes,
after that night
after that fated
day, that "yesternight"
i was filled with tears,
tears, sadness, tears,
and again,
tears.

deep, it's way too
deep to sink it,
way too inconceivable,
way too much
to comprehend,
to understand,
to interpret,
what those words
meant
what those phrases
were for
was it something
to be hated, or
adored?

now, what do i have
to feel
from this surreal
sensation,
way too superb,
absurd as it is?

those phrases
was it to hurt me?
or encourage me?

thus,
t'was meant
for nothing more
nothing less.

was it he
or is it her?
there's nothing
more
she can infer.

well, he, as always,
has all the freedom,
unbroken wings,
untamed boredom
from some
thoughts,
yes, "some"

but what about
"she?"
it was he
him, all along
now, what's this for?
basically, she's torn
is it her,
was it she,
is it him,
or he?

it contradicts
how every word
he says
how every definition
he conveys
can't come across
can't guarantee any
applause
from her heart
driven with
insanity,
less clarity,
false truth
wanting a glass
of vermouth.

even if
the stars can't
grant
my wishes

even if
superlatives
can't stitch those
broken pieces

even if
freedom
can embrace those
lived boredom

i still care
for this pair

i still live
for this "she"

i still thrive
for whatever it is
that he will leave
behind.