And I beg to disagree when you said that love shouldn’t be feared because it is.
Love makes you feel something that you haven’t even felt before. It makes you think if feeling it was normal. It makes you think that you are acting crazy. It makes you do stupid stuff. It makes you do crazy things. Things you aren’t even aware of that you would do just to see that person smile.
Now tell me, is love something to be feared?
In response to: Disagree
A tragic yet beautiful melody,
One that couldn’t simply be finished without you here,
A song I failed to sing,
For this is a song,
That you should hear,
But how could you when you abandoned me?
In response to: Sing
Every love story that has survived through time has started with once upon a time and ends with a happily ever after. But perhaps, not ours—not mine; It ended with a “you deserve someone better. goodbye.” But how? How did the clock’s gears started turning for us and then decided that it was time to stop?
It never ended the way we hoped it to be. No screaming, no violence, just plainly a sorrowful goodbye. I didn’t even begged you to stay, how could I when we already tried for the second time? But that’s the thing with endings, that’s what we remember because of the pain that lingers. But how about the beginnings?
I can never recall how it all started—when I have started having feelings. That is something that I can never really pinpoint.
Did it start with a bang? Did you have me at hello? Or perhaps by the look? Was it when you sat next to me at one class and said hi?
I know it was not one of those fairy tales where the prince meets the princess in the ball—NO. It was not that magical to remember yet you were someone who had so much impact in my life. And I guess I don’t want to remember too deep. It’ll always be a mystery on how everything began.
I know how this ends – I just forgot how it started, a.f.a.
I remembered how your love for me was like a suitcase neatly packed — ready to go when things gets worst.
Maybe it started with the small fights that you eventually decided to get a suitcase. And with each fight you packed a couple of things or maybe two. It came to a point that you are already full and you decided that just one more and you’re gonna leave this hellhole. And afterwards, you did.
You left and never looked back. You left but there are also things that you’ve left with me —things you want to get rid of, things that are not worth keeping, things that are easily replaced.
I can’t imagine how easy it was for you just to leave like that without notice and perhaps now, I understand it a little bit better.
You were ready to leave me when things gets worst. You were always thinking about yourself; not thinking about the person that you left behind. Because in your mind, you may have the intention to come back, but deep down you know you never did.
In response to today’s daily prompt: Suitcase
I long for the days when my life was as clear as the sky, as blue as the deepest parts of the ocean, and as colorful as a rainbow. But now? Where am I? What am I?
Now, I’m a zombie barely trying to make it through the day. Having the same routine. Eating my own brains out by overthinking.
And now, all I do is wonder. Would I still see the world for what it is and not what I think it is? Will I feel again? Would I stop being tired? Will I be human again?
My response to: Clarity
Like a computer, I need to be refreshed. To put some new information and perhaps delete some in me and I’m not talking about logic or facts but new information about my feelings— of how I am doing.
To be honest, everything is routine now. Wake up-work-watch tv series-read-sleep and the same thing happens everyday. And this kinda bores me. But I guess that’s life and maybe that’s why I need constant refreshment to add new things in my life and make it colorful.
Also, with refreshing, you also delete things to add new stuff and I guess, this is where my hatred for you goes. I don’t hate you anymore but I’m still not ready and I know I haven’t moved on. It’s just the hatred is now gone and with it goes with my anger. Anger, the driving force of what makes me write the past few weeks.
I guess, I needed a new feeling, feel a new emotion, find a different driving force, something new to do everyday.
My response to : Refresh
I write in a place where my emotions are too vulnerable. When I know that the words I wanna say just flows out of me, a place wherein nobody cares, a place where people do not know nor care what I am doing, in a place with no name.
I just keep on writing and writing and writing and sometimes it leaves me with unfinished pieces. I keep hoping that someday, that the old spark that made me write, will be back— that the unfinished stories will be finished—to have a closure—to put to an end to what I am feeling.
All I have is my netbook named, Sheldon and an iPod called, Pyxis (And yes, they have names). All my writings placed in a folder where no one else can find. In the simplest places you didn’t expect, where my eyes are the only ones who can see.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Can’t Drive 55.”
No words can measure on how much I miss you. Yes, I admit, we we’re together yesterday but not being able to text you the whole day because I have to study exams is a little…. tough for me.
It has been a routine for me to text you, and not being to do so, it feels like kind of torture, don’t you think?
I miss how our hands are perfectly intertwined. I miss your skinny arms around me as they make me feel safe. I miss how a text from you could always put a smile on my face. I miss late night strolls with you. I miss those late night deep conversations with you. I miss the way you pat my head. I miss how you keep saying that you can carry me, but I won’t let you. I miss the way how I keep bullying you, and you’re completely fine with it. I miss how you always let me sleep on your shoulder after a long day. I miss how you always call me fluffy. I miss you and your pets. I miss the sweat-smelled hugs.I miss the way you kiss my forehead. And lastly, I miss you even if there is no “us.”
Mind Palace 