you’re not an
episode
worth skipping.

you’re a
series
worth bingeing.

to the alternate us;
the universe where we’re together
— i love you.

to the version of you
that i embrace on a cold weather
— i love you.

to my “what if”
in this world
but my “what is”
in another
— i love you.

if in this timeline
we’re not meant to be,
then i’d gladly accept it with glee.
because i know
a version of you out there,
is happily loving a version of me.

i was ready.

i was ready to fall again.
ready to jump without any hesitation.
to see my lips form to a smile for another person.
to feel the butterflies in my stomach come alive again.
to know that i’m falling and someone’s going to catch me, as soon as possible, before i hit the ground again.

i was ready to open myself again.
to show what has been hidden inside of me:
all the darkness that i’ve fought, all the light that i’ve ignored.
to know that i’ll be welcomed, no matter how ugly my past must’ve been, with open arms.

i was ready to be with someone again.
to hold their hands, fingers intertwined, in broad daylight.
to sing my favorite songs in the car as we drive late at night.
to feel the warmth of their face as they pull their face close to mine for what seemed to be a kiss.

i was ready for it all.

but he wasn’t.

in a meeting in a small room and you want to throw your trash at the other side of the room.

it’s a small room for some. it’s not that hard to stand up, go to the corner and throw it down the bin.

but not for you.

as soon as you see the distance, it just gets farther. it’s as if the room itself multiplied its space 10 times.

your chair clings on to you as if its weight is connected to your body. with its pegs all drilled down to the floor.

the eyes of everyone, oh dear, their judging eyes once you do decide to stand up and walk, you’d feel as if they were just waiting for you to make a mistake. to trip and fall, to spill the coffee you were holding on to your shirt because we all know it’s not the caffeine that makes your hands quiver.

you wait. you wait till everyone in the room goes out.

you, holding that piece of trash in your hand, unlatch yourself to your chair, walk calmly and quietly towards the bin, giving one last glance at the trash you held as if it were the only witness that could tesify the whole story.

you let it go and walk out of the room.

di ko alam kung ako lang ang ganito
o marami ring taong nahihirapan ang emosyon ay ipagtanto.

nahihirapan isulat, ilagay sa kwaderno,
buhatin ang lapis, at gumawa ng mga letrang bubuo sa isang kantang ikaw lang nakakarinig.

isang kantang sumusigaw sa puso’t isipan
isang boses na nagsasabing “ako’y pakinggan.”
isang bugkos ng mga salita na di mo alam kung pag pinagtabi tabi mo na sa iyong papel
ay magkakaroon ng kahulugan.

oo.
madalas akong ganito.
na andaming gustong sabihin ng utak ko
pero ni bibig ko o ang kamay ko ay di alam kung paano ito ibubuo.

bakit ang dali magsulat?
pero ang emosyon, hirap na hirap ibuklat?

minsan,
nananalangin ako
na sana may taong lalapit dito
para turuan akong sabihin kung ano nasa utak ko.

ngunit kahit meron mang ganung tao,
alam ko di parin niya makukuha ang aking gusto.
dahil ang mga salita na galing sa utak ko,
na para sa akin ay kumakanta ng napakagandang musika
ay sa kanya naman, halos pareho, pero di gaanong tugma sa pagkanta.

kaya oo.
kahit hirap na hirap ako,
na sabihin sa lahat ang emosyong sinisigaw ng mga piyesa sa utak ko,
tuloy parin ako sa pagsulat kagaya nito.

dahil onti onti kong naiintindihan
na ang lungkot, saya, o mapa ano man,
ay iba iba ang kahulugan sa tao.

pero pare parehong ang dama ng nagagawa nito sa puso.