they say "believe"

but the logical side of me believes
that we only have a blur chance of being together

and yet the hopeful depths of my soul
lurk in my bedroom at 2a.m.
and in those times whenever
you lurk around campus

i would reach out to you
if i could.

i guess it's the thoughts that keep me going;
running my fingers through your hair
feeling your fingers slide against mine
hearing the steady beat of your heart
seeing the way your brows furrow

and when that time finally arrives,
i'll never let go

I loved you too much
That it stirred a storm within my heart
To the point of my sanity being messed
To the sloppy way i was dressed
It turned into a hurricane
When you left

it's this time of the night again
when all the pain i've kept,
all the anger i've pent up,
all the tears i held
during the day,
are to be released,
until i fall asleep.
and i wake up the next day,
seeming perfectly fine
and the cycle continues.

that moment when the feeling you felt (for him) two years ago slightly hits you-- the feeling of your heart being squeezed slightly.

just slightly.

people say, "expect the worst." well, i say, "expect the inevitable."

sometimes in life, we always think there's an end to everything; a negative end, a sad death of something, that we'd get the idea of not living anymore and join a dead person or relationship in the grave. but in reality, death isn't always about end either, because after a death, you move on. we can't expect a death or an end, and that's it... we have to move on. i think moving on is inevitable. we may not notice it, but soon we find ourselves being okay with the fact that a relative's six feet under or that we don't get sweet 'goodnight' messages from a significant one. we just keep pressing forward and surviving the remaining days of our lives. living just as we used to, only, with a better perspective of everything around us, especially with the inevitable.

Just you alone is home, my home-- I'm sure you already know that. I still see you in places, specific ones, like my kitchen: I picture you rummaging through the fridge and the overhead cabinets for random ingredients of a potential cook-up. Or maybe you'd be seated at your favorite place in the adjacent dining room, at the head of the table, looking over at the kitchen where I would be making your favorite dish.

I see you adjusting your coat by the hallway mirror, and you'd grab my hands, asking for my help as I'd walk by. On nights you are framed by the sheets on the bed, smoothing out a pillow and patting the spot by your side for me to get in. Some nights, you sit up against the headboard and whip out a book from your literary collection. On mornings, you live so well in the living room, with the news on, while having a newspaper on hand as well.

You've become my definition of home. But now that you're gone, I am lost on finding a new place to move my heart into.

I could never count
the three words
for you.

It was always
just one, two, or four.
"Us," "What if,"
And "What could have been."

On days like these,
It isn't distance that
Keeps you away from me,
But time.
As I look at your life
Through images
And hear your voice
Through recordings,
I can't help but think
If you're real
In this world with me.
Three hours isn't that far ahead,
But slowly waiting for time
Is quickly making me miss you
Much more than I thought.

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

i'm a dog; i'm the rain
i can make you cry
but i can also
take your pain

Her lips may have trembled
But her words were firm
Her eyesight may have blurred
But her gaze was steady
Her hands may have shook
But her grip was strong
She may have been fragile
But her soul was brave

One decade and nine years. I still don't feel the difference in terms of maturity. Or maybe it could be counted in the number of sleepless nights being stressed over school work. Or the number of heartbreaks I've gone through.

I don't know. All i know is I've been feeling more sad and tired and it's starting to take its toll on me. Pretty soon I'll break down again, but for now I'll try to enjoy and relax on this one day. Here's to the future! Here's to the coming days of hellish preparation for a university - wide anticipated Christmas exhibit! Here's to good grades! Here's to turning 19!

then i thought of you
reaching me
a pale glow
held by slender hands
morning's breath
of dew and dont's
in leaving me alone
and leaving me lonely
looking up at you
is only what i can do

Next to his lips and his eyes, his hands are the most converstional. When he tells stories, his hands gesture persuasion and wisdom. When he shows his care to me, his hands hold mine firmly but gently. When he provides protection, his hands reach out to me and cradle me close. When he gives comfort, his hands stroke my hair and back, letting me know everything will be better with him beside me. And not once have i doubted anything he did with his hands.

//

I reached out for his hand that was placed lightly on my knee.
"What's wrong?" He asked. "Do you feel ticklish again?"
I shook my head and lazily looked up at his face, since we were sprawled on the couch, with my head rested on his shoulder, like his hand that was previously on my knee.
"Dont tell me you've got a hand fetish," he laughs in disbelief.
"I haven't said anything," I replied, drawing circles on his palm. Its amazing he isn't flustered, or at least he's acting not to be flustered, at my action.
He watched me quietly as I tried to read his palm. We sat there, only breathing, with him looking at me and me looking at his hand. This moment, is frozen and embedded into my memory. Just as those lines of his experiences are embedded into his palm.
"I would write a million books about just your hands," I confessed.
Through my dangling hair strands i could see him smile shyly, to which my vision cleared as he put the strands behind my ear.
"You don't have to write about me in books, when im already here always by your side. What's more is, whatever we had, have and will have, will be written on my palm, like its written in the stars."

From the moment he spoke those words and took my hands in his, I never believed in astrology, wishes, 11:11s, fortune telling, mind and palm reading anymore for the luck of love.

don't tell me
there are other
fish in the sea

when you're
the entire ocean
to me

I think,
it's time to go
back home on land.
I leave the waters,
step out of the blues,
before I could drown.

I sink,
each foot entirely
in the sand.
Rooted in place,
the fine grains
anchor me down.

I ink,
your name on
the back of my hand.
I know it well,
and tell my pages:
I love you now.

They say that it is good to remember things; but somewhat better to forget if we want to forgive and move on with life.

I never wanted to remember everything from the start but being gifted with a sharp memory, I could recount almost every detail of the major events that has happened to me. Life has thrown both the good and bad memories to my face, and somehow, the horrible ones are more vivid and clearer than the pleasant ones. In all honesty, I did not really want to remember some good memories— especially those associated with the heart-wrenching ones which took away a piece of me. So what I might have is not “a walk to remember”, but rather, “a run to forget”. I want to run away; away from all the troubles and despairs of my haunting past, even if it means to escape from the happiness I used to experience along with it. But I know I would never really forget because I know my heart and mind do not want to discard those negative experiences totally in order for me to learn from them. And I accept that this is the way that God wants me to live; that I’ll always have those memories for the sake of building up a better me in the future.

I guess I thought that I could burn them all and throw the ashes of history. But I realize that these ashes will be forever buried within what makes me in the future— the past and the present.

The veins on your arms
Remind me of crumpled paper
Which I hold on tight to,
Then loosen my grip,
Smoothing out the imperfect surface.

My eyes follow each string up your arm—
Untying the ribbon like opening a gift—
And back down again, to your fingertips.
My very own quiver
Like the tip of a quill pen.

I notice there are blanks to fill in,
And proceed to write my name
With my finger, onto your palm.
I write something longer,
And it doesn't tickle or bother you.

Then our little fingers wrestle:
it's a strong pinky promise.
We seal it with a swear of the hand,
And a handshake. We hold it in place,
Until our fingers are intertwined.

One more seal, with a kiss this time,
As I bring your hand up to my lips.
I won't let you go now.
This is how I write poetry
With my bare hands.

"It's Monday tomorrow."
My mother reminds me again.
Deadlines for assignments. night classes and spending money for transportation and meals happen again, in a ravenous cycle of time, growth and worry.
It's Monday tomorrow.
I'm turning twenty. And so is my birthday another cycle to be showered upon with special greetings, after all, people give all they can to one person mostly just on their special day. The twentieth year. A cycle of time, growth and worry.
In my family, we never entertained the ideas of birthdays.
It's Monday tomorrow.
Just another ordinary day for me.
Spending money on transportation and meals, night classes and deadlines for assignments.
Oh, and the deadline of my nineteenth.

And as i readied myself to reply to your message, i felt the familiar warmth in my hands when i tapped away on my keyboard-- the warmth from years ago when i last saw you and held your hand

"I need to buy a smile today," she said. "For myself."

Another girl, perhaps younger than her, got in the public SUV and sat across her. She wore the uniform of the astronomy school which the first girl had always admired. The second girl pays her ride fare as she handed down a large bill. But the driver declined it and said that he would not be able to give her change if she gave it to him. In desperation, she asked the other passengers if they have any loose change for her bill, to which they all shook their heads in pity.

The first girl sensed the young one's embarrassment and a tinge of worry formed on the latter's forehead, as she would most likely have to get off the ride for being unable to pay. As expected, the younger girl asks the older one if she had any smaller change. The first girl replies, I'm sorry, I don't have any.

But just as the moon was still visible in that morning sky and she was watching over the exchange between the two girls, the first girl felt the moon's invisible pale light rush into her: this is the person whose smile I shall buy today.

She handed the second girl a few coins which summed up to the necessary amount. "It's just fifteen, isn't it?"

Wide-eyed and a small jawdrop, the second girl accepted the coins in disbelief and said, "Are you sure, ate? You're going to pay for me?"

"Take it and give it."

"How can I ever repay you, I-"

"With a smile. It's enough. And I get to smile in return too, so thank you," the first girl nodded at her with slightly raised cheeks and went back to reviewing her notes.

"Thank you again, I can't thank you enough," the second girl smiled and waved goodbye when it was her stop.

The first girl smiled in return, once again. "Buy a smile today-- check."

*This girl, with a young heart but an old, weary mind, needs a smile everyday to survive. She can get it through buying one or trading with friends. She was this desperate to get through with any day, with just one smile. The smiles so far she has collected are from certain authors, a few strangers she has helped out, a bunch of people whom she was close with, and a group of boys. This girl, and other people. She needs them and their smiles. She needs to smile to live.

he was a quiet enigma,
one i yearned to decode.
and i called him a mystery;
no clues that countless keys hold.
i sought to solve the questions
which my curious heart begged,
and one day i discovered them all
when he finally led me by the hand.

so i found my main lead.
and i found the answer in him.

For others, the eyes
are the windows to one's soul.
But his eyes are the keys
that unlock the rabbit's hole.

I promised to be careful,
never falling for them;
but there is a wonderland,
found deep inside him.

From the outside,
a mysterious gaze, a cue—
as he stretched out his hand—
"Let me show you."

with every push from them
i move closer to the edge
not ready to fall
not ready to break
not ready to heal myself
and put things back in place

with every pull they give
i can't seem to gain balance
not holding onto anything
so i stumble back
not watching where my legs are going
where my feet are going at

someone, let me stand good
someone, take my hand
i'm weakening every step of the way
my spirit's off the land

someone, save me from them
someone, save me from myself
someone, don't leave me all alone
sitting on life's shelf

the fault
             in our stars,
the fault
                     in the sky
the fault in the way
                             you said

'i love you' and *'goodbye'

i may be a realist
but he is my ideal
though he's only a dream
to me, he felt so real

i don't really need him
now by my side
but don't take it
literally, what i said
because if i don't see him
in my sleep tonight
i won't wake 'til i see him:
consider me dead

"Does writing change you as a writer?"

"Yes it does, my voice turns into
the words inside your mind."

"But why can't I
remember you well?"

"Maybe you didn't keep the words
in your head."

"Even if I feel you enough?"

"Then you must've kept them
in your heart instead."

it's not you whom
i blame for my pain
the trouble is always with me

i should let you go
release you from my embrace

since you stopped
putting your arms around me

but sometimes it's hard
to just let go of someone
who was your everything

but so help me dear,
it would be much better for us
if i finally bid goodbye
than for me to stay
hanging miraculously on my own

he used to be soft
and warm was his heart
when all of a sudden
it turned out to be hard.
it's just that,
he's not a block of ice
which could be melted
with an embrace.
he's a cold stone,
and stones can't melt
only chiseled and hammered,
by someone strong and sharp enough.

but i'm not that someone,
even if i am an artist,
who knows how to sculpt.
i'm not to break down your walls
how could i, with you
standing far, and tall?

but how could you be so,
cold and hard,
yet fragile and breaking,
it frightens me to hold you closer
lest i smother you to death

heart aches
heart breaks
heartstrings being snapped
heart-shaped cards torn
heart candies chewed
heart attacks
heartless people

this is why
i avoid everything with a heart
and i want to remove my heart

peculiar how i'm the one holding the bow
but you're the one pulling the arrow back
you realize how delicate the situation is
and if you walked away
you would have to let go

that's just what you did
and the arrow went through me
and tore my heart into two
now i can't stop bleeding

come back, archer,
retrieve your ****

at least i'll be happy
as long as i'm with you

at least i'll be content
even if you show me off
as your brand new slaughter

i will love you
endlessly

i will love you
unconditionally

i will love you
completely

i will love you
truly

i will love you
sincerely

i will
and i do
love you

love with regrets
is not true love

for love believes that
everything happens for a reason

because in love
you will either succeed
and you definitely won't regret

or you will fail
yet a lesson comes your way

i've been kissed by the wind
by my parents
by my dog
by the waves
by the sunshine
by my best friends
but i haven't been kissed by you

it was a blur.
your eyes wouldn't focus.
I heard you lost your film.
it took you a long time,
shooting away like a star.
but your gaze frames everything
touched by dark and light.
your heart knows no storage limit,
compared to those picture albums.
capture each scene,
in full color and clarity.
save it, remember it.
wait with the process.
your photograph has developed.
now it's clear.

— photograph, he.
(j.m.)

I'll keep on looking up,
constantly stargazing.

Amidst a galaxy
of a thousand constellations,
amidst the darkest parts
of time and space—
a gentle twinkle whispered,
"Take me with you."

And so I did,
now I see it's coming
while I make a wish—
"Thank you for picking me,
to watch the birth of a star."

(j.m.)

In the light
of the moon,
I slowly make
my way to you.

In the night
so black,
your soft voice
calls me back.

You gently dance
upon the waves,
to my fingertips,
but I can only gaze:

beyond the horizon,
I hear and see home
that isn't of land, but
in your arms of sea foam.

i wish i could stop missing you
and trying to remember your voice
  or recalling trips we've been to
   the way you looked at me
     burned right through my skin
      
i wish i could take you out of my mind
and all that happened wouldn't live anymore
  your laughter wouldn't be there
   neither would be the feel of your skin

i wish you wouldn't forget me though
and that you'd miss me by the minute
  you'd regret every moment you left
   and you'll wish you had come back