Maybe I’m not supposed to feel butterflies. Maybe it’s supposed to make me feel something else. Maybe I’m supposed to feel safe. Maybe I’m supposed to feel loved like the way I’ve loved others. But how could I feel it, when my heart’s gone cold?


Closed Door

Behind that door, is something that I never intend to go back to.

It’s where I left the ghost, and my supposed to be future—with you. But I never really left first did I? I waited and waited and waited for you to come back. I spent days, weeks, months just trying to keep myself together, thinking and hoping you’ll be back. And that’s when I knew, I was wasting my time when you really have no intention of going back.

It took a lot of courage just to walk out of the door when all my life all I knew was that I love you and we were supposed to spend the rest of lives together, and now it’s not possible. How could it—when you left?

One day you might realize your mistake of leaving me. One day you might come knocking on that door again, well guess what? You’ll never find me there, because I have no intention of going back.


I look at my body and see the scars slowly fading. Each scar represents a painful memory yet a lesson learned.

The one on my knee taught me not to run away; Run from things that made me afraid, that I can’t keep running away forever and I need to take it face on.

The scald taught me not to teach things that are too hot or I’ll get burned. Burnt by something so bright that I can’t possibly know until it was too late.

The bruise on my fists taught me that I should think rationally. I need to stop and breathe and think things over before I could hurt myself.

Yet the most significant one, was the one that you left—the scar that you left in my heart. I realized I shouldn’t have fallen that easy with words and petty lies. I let you in when I said I would never would. But hey, who could blame me? With that hazel eyes and tantalizing smile of yours, I’m sure everyone would fall. But thank you for cutting me the deepest and thank you for telling me I deserve better because a person who couldn’t see that I think they were already the best doesn’t truly deserve me.

It was never easy but I moved on. I am healing and whoever is reading this, I hope you are happy.

My response to : Scars

Once again, you killed me. I am still in the process of trying to move on; to pick up the pieces that I let you shatter. But everytime I think that I don’t care anymore or that I’m okay , its all just a facade, because deep down inside, I still do and I’m not. I really did want to believe in that lie that I made up.

You left me in a very dark place down the rabbit hole. And you see, everyday, I was trying to climb that hole with everyone that I care about supporting me — helping me — reaching for my hand every step in the way. But you just have to push me back down that hole didn’t you? Do you take pleasure in seeing me being hurt? Are you happy seeing me bruised and scarred as I was falling down?  That the effort of the people who helped me, be pushed aside, just for you to make your fucking point? And the worst thing is, I don’t see your point. It doesn’t make sense to me.

You were the one who left me and I’m the one who’s stuck—the one that you left in a very dark tunnel. And that’s when I learned to embraced the darkness. Darkness has become a part of me, but I guess not enough because after all, I’m scared—once again.

But maybe I should try looking at it in a different angle.

You’re hurt. I’m hurt. We both are but at least I’m not acting nor even trying to be a jerk about it. This has always been your defense mechanism and I hate it that you keep doing this. It’s fine really, but what you don’t realize is that you are hurting people because of it. All you think is about yourself. But maybe its also your way of saying “Hate me. Hate me. You should because I’m a jerk who has done nothing but hurt you and this is why you should move on because you deserve so much better.” It’s not working though. Everytime I think that I could actually move on and not give a fuck about it, I always go back to thinking about you, wondering if you’re okay. But you’re probably not okay.

You’re also stuck in a rabbit hole. But yours is so much deeper and darker. When we were together I tried to pulled you out, but you slipped away, thinking that you deserve to be down there and I can’t help you because you can only help yourself. And what you are doing right now? Is not helping, as a matter of fact, you are making it worse. But who am I to tell you what to do?

You have become more miserable. And one day, when you’re reading this? I hope you are not as fucked up as you are now. I decided not to fight for us—for you not to get worse, I did it, because I think it was better for you—for us.

Promise Me

Promise me you’ll think of me during sunny days and remember the happiness that we felt when we’re together for the first time; when we found our way back into each other’s arms; the first time that we kissed; and everything good in between.

If it’s one of those gloomy grey days remember the way we fought about the smallest things; the day when we had out very first big fight and the consecutive days that we just keep in fighting. All the petty jealousies and my insecurities; the way we let our pride tear us apart.

And promise me, when it rains you’ll think of me. The way I cried my heart out when we broke up for the first time. The way we cried when we thought we’re gonna be torn apart by my mother. The way I cried when you told me you’re not sure if you still love me.

But as the night approaches and the stars appear, remember our deep conversations; the deepest and darkest things that we’ve shared to each other; the way we argued about life and respecting each other’s opinion in the end; the way we found light in each other’s darkness; the first time that we walked together under the starry deep blue sky.

And as you sleep, forget about me and move on. Because all I am is a memory. A memory of what we were—of what we could have been.