it has been a long problem of mine.
and i convince myself that there is no love wasted, i just care. but i love and care to my core, i could say i have loved you now, that easy. that fast. maybe i did, yes. this is the problem. everything i do and feel is ever-consuming, i would always be too much.

some of part of me really hoped that it was you, after avoiding and scaring off love away. but it wasn't me like it could be you, that easy and that fast.

but there is no love wasted. you have been loved specially. you have encountered love so profound in this lifetime. i hope you know that.

to the new years ahead, i am leaving you behind.

i don't know why im writing this. but i used to write every so often when i was younger.
i am turning 18.
it almost feels like a fever dream. i never felt this frightened my whole life.
is my life really starting? is this the beginning of a decade?
where am i gonna be after this? how am i gonna feel?

you see, growing up, it's that just simple.
nothing changes, and you still gotta wait for something to.
it doesn't magically happens.

and i hate waiting.
i wanna be older and free.
but, most of the time i wish life was simpler like when i was younger.

I've always been in between life.
It's always somewhere over being
uncertain and certain,
optimistic and pessimistic,
and introverted or extroverted.

Despite all that,
there's one thing I'm sure of.
It is holding on to dear life,
going along through it.

I am nothing more than human,
but I am my own future.

where are we.
where did we come from.
where are we going.

we are here to learn the answer to existence.
not to fear the answer to existence.

if you can't put yourself in my position through perspective,
don't talk bad about my shoes.

writing about you is like
arranging the alphabet,
looking for possible
typographical error
counting the syllables,
thinking of rhymes

i dont know if i’ll ever
equate words to
how perfect you are

if they say a one-word poem,
i'll write your name...