#wjh
"When you're lonely,
what do you do?"
"I take pictures
of my favorite places."
"But why do you
keep taking
pictures of the same spots?"
"Because sometimes,
I wish
you'd appear
in one of them."
Oct 18, 2017
Oct 18, 2017 at 9:24 AM UTC
I wonder why
I lived from the moment I knew you.
When you become more of you,
I become more of me
Since we are a part of each other,
Even if we were born separated.
You may be there
And I may be here;
But if you weren't there
I wouldn't be able to define where I would be.
I will never stop longing for you;
How can I, with this string between us
Feeling so short
That you've pulled me closer
With just your little finger?
Yet it is never enough
As the void widens every time night falls alone;
Still, along with my heart.
We will touch,
No matter how far or long it takes:
When the moon completes;
When the clock hands meet;
When the rain freezes in heat.
Do you understand?
Maybe you don't,
But you do in a parallel world.
It is that I can only exist
When I know that you do.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 8:35 PM UTC
let me remember
to forget you just
for a little while
like how one forgets
the sun, the moon, all the stars
and the pain tonight
Oct 5, 2017
Oct 5, 2017 at 11:28 AM UTC
here?
you're here?
well, i am too.
but i won't be there for you.
no, i will always be there for you.
but i don't think i will be there to hold your hand
or call out your name in reachable distance.
it's been more than a year since we met, hasn't it?
we haven't really met, though.
and i thought this time
we could meet for real.
at this rate, i don't know if we can ever.
i know i've been frozen and stagnant
but you've melted and moved the waters in me again;
i'm able to swim and breathe.
three more days, and you're sinking deeper in me
by every hour.
you're the one sinking
but i'm the one in the waters?
never mind, i can't think straight when it comes to you.
you're real, you're here.
i wish i could be there
to see you.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 11:53 PM UTC
Like the switch button of a 90s television set, the echoes of a knock and a dead bolt’s lock pierces the static air of sharp breathing.
“Define stay, in your point of view, when you can’t even be here to explain its meaning directly to my face,” she pleads with glassy eyes on the verge of breaking down.
She silences a sob with the tearing of handwritten letters and the burning of old photographs. She won’t need them; she already has every word bound and every pixel branded onto her memory, as much as she tried to annihilate it all.
Behind the closed door, his eyes mirror hers. His tongue was dry, but careful enough to select the words that would quench their parched throats and hearts.
Will she open a new door? Will he face a new destiny? Are they even in the same corridor, the same floor, the same building?
They’ve been roaming separately, unsure of their directions if one is following the other’s path. Or are they just traveling in circles of pure coincidence?
He knocks again.
“Stay is when my hands or eyes are unable to hold you close, yet you know you’re home. Because of the way you are anchored to my voice when I say your name, or the way my heart keeps you with me.
Stay doesn’t always require physical presence.
I know you are already decided on staying whenever I enter your mind, whenever you think about me. And you know I can never leave your mind, much more your heart.”
She stays put where she is.
The only thing she leaves is the door—open—for him.
May 25, 2017
May 25, 2017 at 4:50 AM UTC
Seven years. It has been seven years since that day.
And now here they were in the alfresco of that overrated café, with the man sitting across the lady: he was sipping his black coffee and she, her jasmine tea. The scenario almost seemed impossible in the past, but for someone with her tenacious personality, something ‘impossible’ just meant ‘a little later’ than ‘never at all.’ This moment played by fate was comparable to the persistent rainstorm that forced them to stay together a little longer in the coffee shop than planned.
“I’ve been thinking,” he sighed into his coffee mug, “About leaving this place and heading to the States. Study more on film and acting from the professionals themselves. Get into showbiz of the global standard. Be a real director. What do you think?”
She straightened her posture and settled her cup down on the table, nodding in acquiescence at his idea of endeavors that appeared promising for his future.
“Well… Why not? I say go for it. I support you in that decision.”
He diverted his eyes to hers, trying to read the gaze behind those wide eyes. Though wide and nonchalant they may seem to be, only a few can notice and genuinely understand what swims in those dark depths. Their staring game ended as her voice surfaced once again through the sound of rainfall.
“I support you. If you’re ever wondering why, it’s because I had to make a decision just like that—seven years ago.”
This time it was his eyes that widened, and he placed his mug alongside hers.
“What kind of decision was it? You definitely weren’t aiming to be an actor like me, considering you’re a licensed interior designer, not to mention writer, right now,” he chuckled, leaning back onto his chair.
A soft smile of nostalgia emerged on her lips as she remembered what she wrote on the night of the sixteenth, a day before the significant seventeenth.
April 16, 2017; 11:15 P.M. — I’m satisfied of this unrequited love. I’m happy this is all one-sided. I’m glad everything is ending before it can even truly begin. It would be easier for me to leave him who doesn’t even have the slightest knowledge of my existence, who doesn’t even know my sentiments, who doesn’t even miss me, yet alone think of me. It’s all good; perfect, even. A broken heart is better than two. At least there will be some times when I might let him and his strong hands put my weak heart back together and restore it to me. I’d rather have that than us both losing and scattering the pieces of our mutually shattered hearts. He must never be broken; I need to protect him from being so—I will take myself away from him. I’ve never been any happier to be in a love that’s unknown and unreturned. He will be happy, and I will be too. In the end, his happiness will always be mine.
“I had to leave the places and people I love, to be where I am and who I am today,” she exhaled. “It was tough, but thinking of those moments and people I held onto and appreciated… all of that kept me going.”
“Was it a happy one? I mean, did you find the happiness or ending you were looking for?”
“If I were to be dead honest, yes. More than happy, actually. I’m not just relieved, or satisfied; I’m overwhelmingly grateful. I earned the careers and lifestyle I aimed for. I managed to travel all over the world and see the places and people I’ve wanted to see. My soul roams free, finding home in the many corners of this earth. I’ve finally come home, and this time I know I’m not alone.”
The man was a grown man in a smart-casual attire, but he sure maintained the curious eyes of the child that he furtively kept in himself. Being under his scrutinizing eyes, she reminisced of the same intensity he gave back when they were still twenty-one and on the verge of growing up.
“But what about ‘him’ whom you left behind? Did you come to know him this time, maybe love him too, again?”
She picked up her teacup, providing a little wall between them both, and swallowed the remaining aromatic drops along with the thoughts she wanted to tell him ever since then.
I came to know him—you—but I don’t love him ‘again’. The feelings, which I harbored for you for all these years, never left me even when I left you back then. I know I was told to reach for the moon that I may land among the stars even if I failed to reach it. But I realized I had to reach beyond the moon—the sun, the Milky Way, the entire universe—because I wanted and needed to be worthy of my existence. I wanted and needed to prove myself to myself, to you and to everyone else.
“I did. And I’m happy with how we are right now, even if it seems like we’re back to zero this time round. Though I’m not sure how my feelings are for him now, if I seek him as a friend or as a potential love interest.”
He seemed doubtful of her response hence did he hesitantly express his last thoughts: “So you’re happy now because you left him previously. But what if he’s the one who leaves this time? Would you still be happy?”
The clouds were emptying now as the pouring rain concluded to a light shower; likewise the people they were surrounded with under the alfresco umbrellas. She knew that she was prepared to answer this question. For the past years, concerned individuals would ask her the very same thing, and for this was she thankful. She herself would recite the words to her reflection every day, much like a prayerful mantra.
He caught a faint twinkle in her eye, a proof of which her answer would be echoing with conviction and it made him realize that those particular words to be said would be one of those things that would remind him of her.
“It won’t matter if he learns how I feel then or now, and yet doesn’t feel the same way. If leaving me would direct him to his happiness, then so be it. Perhaps we aren’t meant to love each other in this lifetime, any other lifetime, or even in parallel worlds, but I still am and would be happy about it. What’s greater than this feeling of being able to love someone so much? Like I said: in the end, his happiness will always be mine.”
Apr 18, 2017
Apr 18, 2017 at 6:39 AM UTC
every night
i sing a song
to the man
above the sea
every night
i long to reach
the lone moon
of which is he
every night
i wait to hear
the sailor
call out for me
every day
i hope by the bay
for we,
that cannot be
Nov 5, 2016
Nov 5, 2016 at 4:32 AM UTC
People label me as one of those very observant ones they have ever met in their lives. Whatever I think about others, is close enough to ninety percent of the truth (not to judge, of course).
And it is also truth that those who laugh the most, cry the most. I guess this also applies to those very positive people, who are the most negative in their heads or they've also been through the most negative incidents.
There is a certain boy, a young man, who just entered the twenties stage of life. I observe and read him, and I have been doing this for the past eight months.
He is quiet, he is kind, he is a very bright person who looks out for others, probably too much. He is smart and has attended top schools and won several competitions in the martial arts, as well as performing and fine arts. A very artistic soul, quite opposed to his rather playful countenance; though beauty is displayed in all his capabilities and striking features. Even the way he speaks is soothing and gentle, and I admit I would sleep to it and regret how his voice is too nice to be literally slept on.
I know a part of his painful past with the spinal tuberculosis accident or the fact when he couldn't enter his dream art school. And perhaps, a darker part of his history that is unknown except by him and his close ones.
But I can see it, I can see it on his face, in his actions and some of his words: sometimes he tries to get attention by doing unnecessary or silly things; says the weirdest of phrases; he gets tired and there's this certain feeling lurking in his gaze. He always looks like he's looking for something, for someone. He always looks like he is wondering about everything and anything. He even looks lost or frustrated on some occasions.
Honestly, a Sadness Collector knows when another is nearby or in sight. I am one, and I know he is another. He always wants people to depend on him or for them to think that he is alright. It's not so bad, but I wish he would rest his little fragile heart that can only take so much of others' sadness. He still has his own sadness to keep under all of that. I want him to give some of it to me that the burden and tears may be shared between us, and he can live a little lighter.
But I love him, because he is a different Sadness Collector. He always cheers others up and tries to help. He always compliments others. He is always willing to learn the right way, to go out and do his best. This Sadness Collector doesn't deserve to be one; he deserves to collect happiness instead.
Although there are times when his friends say that he is quieter that usual, and a bit less active. He says he usually sleeps it off and feels better when he awakes after. He says he rarely gets stressed but when he does, it's a whole different thing and only he knows how his own mind can destruct his built-up facade of confidence. Maybe he gets too quiet at times because he thinks he might make a mistake again. He may appear very vain and very confident, but I'm afraid it might all just be an image that he's painted of himself for everyone around him to see.
His music taste is very much like mine. He shared some alternative music, but as soon as I heard the melody and read the lyrics, it doubled as a small cry of distress.
I’m actually very beautiful when the world is pitch-black
The most I’ll get is being consumed when I try to love
The trouble is irrelevant
It doesn’t matter what’s wrong
If only I can be flattered just like you do
Then the torment around me will perhaps die out
I’m not concerned about how many chances I get
As fearless as a giant; indulging myself; however I’m no match
Ugly, don’t turn the lights on
The love I want is haunted on the pitch-black stage
Ugly, in this ambiguous time
My existence is like an accident
Some look beautiful after a drop of tear
Some just throw away their name
As long as you are hypocritical enough you won’t be afraid of anything, right?
If the script is written well, who will be more dignified?
I can only silently face the beautiful innocence
There are many chances for desire to become drowning in alcohol
Like the fearlessness of dust
Becoming ash, who will remember who
Who cares if he’s a match
Ugly, you won’t blame them if you get used to it
Get high and stomp on it with strength
Ugly, this is our time
It would actually be a shock if I don’t exist
Oh, how I want to embrace him every time I think of him listening to that song. As emotional human beings, we pay attention to such lyrics more often than not, that reflect the listener's or our emotions. Maybe he thinks he lacks in many, many ways. It is normal for him to think so. But I hope he doesn't dwell on it. He likes this anime show that I watch, too. That show, though, is a sad one which shows the masks of society and the gore of the past behind every flawless present.
He is a very trustworthy friend; a funny guy who is "in love" with himself; a talented individual who loves people and language; an artist of most arts, as well as an art himself. And as much as I say that I want to be the one who collects his sadness or whom he shares his load of sadness with, sometimes I doubt he will ever let me.
I feel like I can no longer do anything anymore for him because he is the one who has already collected mine.
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 5:49 AM UTC
you, our little prince,
who will be blowing out the candles tonight,
you, who will be making a wish,
playing with shooting stars in the sky.
sitting like the moon,
worrying and watching over everyone,
glowing like the sun,
radiating positiveness, is kind and fun.
admiring you is forever,
even after this time.
because like sun, moon and stars,
you will never lose your shine.
Jun 9, 2016
Jun 9, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
He was a blanket, covering all of me. Fabricated by the most delicate hands, he kept me warm on cold nights. And one of my favorite parts of him is that one string attached to the right side of his neck; it was as if his life depends on it. Because that very string diverged into tiny threads which spread out to his hands and feet, and converged with four other strings that lead to his heart. They are rich in color, and I wonder how just those strands of life sustain him. But sometimes his strings would loop, link, twist and turn, and I would get so tired of being pulled along; every fiber in me started to turn into a knot of uncertainty.
...
He tugged on my heart strings that night though, as soon as I was about to cut the twine we had made with our fingers braided together. That's when I realized I can never really untangle myself from him and from the cross stitch of our crossed fates. Because for us to live, we need all strings attached.
May 12, 2016
May 12, 2016 at 2:13 PM UTC
And in this summer heat,
I'm frozen like snow.
as soon as I fell like fall,
like spring, you had to go.
I wake up at daybreak,
but you were like the moon.
I tried to catch you like falling stars,
but night time left so soon.
In the waters, I'm a natural,
I can swim so I can't drown.
But you were my breath,
and I sunk without a sound.
Whenever you come around,
I know I'll never be spared.
You are my natural disaster,
and I'll always be unprepared.
Mar 24, 2016
Mar 24, 2016 at 7:33 AM UTC
The last thing i remembered
Was falling asleep on you.
It started with us talking in bed,
You were still in your white cap and i was still in my shoes.
And vaguely but imprinted in my mind,
i recall you taking off your pullover,
Putting on a plain shirt,
My eyes, i tried to cover.
But to see your arms, your neck
Sculpted with veins,
I know you're ontological,
Despite your occasional back pains.
Then you slipped under the sheets next to me, stared into my eyes and said:
"To see you last before i close my eyes,
to see you first before the sunrise,
To hold you in my arms this way,
Tell me, is it with me will you stay?"
I moved my head onto his chest
Your breathing was steady, but loud and bold.
And on your heart, my hand did rest,
My breathing, did i surprisingly hold.
"With you, I'll be, forever and always,
To sleep to your voice like a lullaby,
To wake up to it like an alarm on days,
To be your warm hellos and good goodbyes."
I feel your chin nod against my head,
Your exhale makes a few hair strands fly.
Before we knew it, we fell asleep to each other,
And we didn't even have to try.
Mar 21, 2016
Mar 21, 2016 at 11:32 AM UTC
I wake up to your eyes on me,
Your lips close to my cheek.
Under the sheets, slowly,
It's my hands that yours meet.
Entwining beneath the fabric,
You hold me closer.
I inhale, exhale your morning scent,
It makes the dust particles stir.
My fingers run themselves through your hair,
Like how you keep running in my head.
To fall asleep in your arms,
to fall in love again,
I never want to leave this bed.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
it's better when the lights are off,
you shine brighter like the stars.
i feel you nearer, i see you clearer,
when we close our eyes in the dark.
to breathe in the scent of you and the countryside,
to leave our fears in the metropolis and city lights,
makes me love you and nature in its simplest form,
from it you came, that i could have sworn.
Mar 19, 2016
Mar 19, 2016 at 10:21 AM UTC
"Shh," she hushes me.
I watch her close her mouth, then her eyes. But her very soul, she exposed to everyone, to me, in the auditorium. The music begins, and I literally see the intro of the song sink into her skin. I notice her shiver; not that i didn't want to put my arm around her to warm her up because it wasn't the temperature of the room. It was the music. She was feeling it. She is it. Her breathing to the piano's notes, her heart beat rhythmic to the dancing fingers on the keys: I can see it all. Her shoulders rising and falling--
"Oh," she softly speaks, pulling me out of my melodic reverie. "Did i just-- A tear, how silly of me to cry."
But before she could wipe her cheek, I took her hand in mine and kissed the tear away. She had this confused look, but it soon melted as I neared her.
She was not only music, she was a symphony. And every fiber of me was in tune with her, and there wasn't anything else in the room which I payed attention to.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
my eyes are like a camera,
clicking away at the view.
my heart is like a locket,
keeping a picture of me and you.
we don't need a filter,
to maintain model shots.
it's best when it's stolen,
like it is with our hearts.
the process will be long,
but we know it's worth the wait.
for the best pictures are the memories,
which we patiently create.
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 12:15 PM UTC
to the beautiful quiet boy
who lives in a timezone earlier than mine
they may not know it
but your heart beats louder than how you look
i hope you're asleep
it's thirty minutes after one a.m. isn't it?
Recounting the moments i watched you sleep
With an innocent, rested face
with your hands by your sides
you're even beautiful when you sleep
but more so when those dark chocolate eyes gaze upon the windows of my soul
wish i could hold you in my arms now
Even better if you're wrapped around me
While you're with your signature turtleneck
And me with my red pashmina
These thoughts are nothing
but at least something
Mar 10, 2016
Mar 10, 2016 at 11:39 AM UTC