The last time I remember you I was overfilled.
I don’t mind choking myself with no end of 
m e m o r i e s 
I feel contagious, I’m a sucker for your trick
Denial is the pretty game I get involved to
So close to forgetting you, I know I’m gonna make it
I feel triumphant today, I’m a liar every minute
But if one ceaseless rain knocks the world down
Would you dance and wait under the crazy drops?
If I ask you to stay, would you fail me?
And If I forget all that I’d promised you, will you atleast lied to me
You hate me as I pussyfoot
But I am more depressed for letting you have me on
You cannot regard me as a closed book because I distrust

And yes if you are so grand that you’ll ask me, after a year, I’d still.

He sat in his lonely armchair resting in the left side of his room near his desk. He looked outside his windows, based on how the sunlight bestowed a different sullen radiance in leaves, he knew that little transient view conveyed the coming evening. He diverted his look back to his desk and found his carefully arranged old style Hermes typewriter. “Type… writer”, he said with a dull pause on the second word as if it would recognize his voice and wake up from such a deep slumber. He sounded silly really, he realized. The typewriter keys touched his fingers approving of what he think, he assumed.

He wanted to write but he had forgotten the rudiments of writing, as if to equate what he feels to words is unknown course to the world. He questioned himself what does he feel to begin with. The answers did not come. Answers hardly come to him these days, he thought. On the right corner of his desk, a photograph of his wife lying on his lap while he looks straight to her eyes, was resting. Looking at it made him felt weightless for a while. But he doubted it if inspired him. He actually doubted everything that comes to him. He was not even certain if doubt was the right term.

On the paper, he wrote, “When the writer learns to unlove”.

Is this an admission of defeat, he asked himself.

When I was in grade school, everyone around me made me feel I am hardcore ugly. No, it was not right to generalize everyone. There were some who just did not care or were too preoccupied with their lives to prove me the other way. Or maybe it was a plain truth so nobody was owing me anything at all. Whatever it was, with that shortfall, I decided I ought to be smart.

But that decision did not come smoothly. I had to undergo the whole inferiority process to fight and employ that mechanism. I had been slightly bullied with boys of my age and it took me more than a decade to mentally fight back and reason out. What made it even worse was my being natural reticence. I absorbed all the flaws without question and hated myself for that imperfections. I hated my color - the way it reflects golden brown under the sun. I hated my eyes - how it turns like a sleepy soul even if I have an 8 hour sleep. I hated my hair for its curl ends and all other stuff they had pinpointed. I hated myself wholly and genuinely. 

This was where all my antagonistic feeling coming from. (That’s a very liberating statement.) I surpassed them academically. I did everything to prove myself. I studied harder to beat my own records. I just got too pushy with myself, it exhausted me. Depression with feigning subtlety stayed with me. There were even times I cried helplessly denied with any reason.

And it was all because of what others think of me. All because I let others made me feel this way. Maybe this was all an explanation of why I am still single. Because I am still in process of appreciating myself without a partner’s help.

I have to realize that I am still perfect even if I am alone. And that life is beautiful.

He held my hands like it was just a fantasy. The warmth of his skin left me a consoling hope. It was different. That afternoon was filled with his unusual fickleness and romantic aloofness. And then suddenly I knew what it was. I have never felt such fear in my life. I squeezed his fingers with my realization. I willed him to stop. I willed him to rescue me. I willed him to decide contrary to what he planned, to change his decision since there was still time, no matter how short it was. I willed him to stay. But I saw in his eyes the sun descending below the horizon. 

It was sunset. It was goodbye.

When I say an honest declaration, it never fails me from getting a solid punch of reactions. It surprises me to see other surprise with a statement of sincerity. It prompt me to feel overall blank~ because I can not process what perspective to use to understand such reactions. 

The display of stupefaction is an initial seemingly normal response yet prevalently that response is always accompanied with an ounce of conviction that I was just trying to be funny which is disheartening. Truthfulness has been an hackneyed concept that everyone almost get tired of listening to it up to the point that it bores mankind. And to practice such today almost automatically gets one veneration. And veneration sometimes makes me sick. Because I don’t wanna be taken positively just because people are tired of thinking. Just because they were exhausted of trying to understand. 

I want an honest reaction. And this is a frank admission, are you surprised?

There must be something stimulating about sitting in a seat warmed by some one else despite the nipping wind from outside that brushed past my face. Witnessing the dawn cracking on my way this morning was a piece of rarity which maybe contributed to what excite my brain to grasp any ounce of sensitivity to scenery presented in my very eye. That sunrise with strangers couldn’t be this lasting if not for that, I believe. 

With right amount of gratitude in my heart, the  power of sharing a brilliant sunrise with strangers appealed to me like an impressive display of a collective affection for something so spectacular you started to held something in common which was yet unknown but no one really cared. And I felt the air of unusuality slowly fading away. And it felt like everything will be okay. And I believe deep inside my heart it will. 

I have made an extra effort to advance that atmosphere by being extra understanding to others. Extra patient and extra diligent with work. That little extra introduced by that sunrise made my day a little bit more cheerful.

And that made this Friday really distinct, counting the fact also that this is my last day of being a third year college student. 

_{(This post was written all because I wasn’t late for my 7am class for the last time.)}

You reached for my hand and found the fragrance of the honeysuckle. You wrote your name in my palm so delicately, your first finger as your pen, and the wind as your ink. Every stroke conveyed vivid imagery of how you looked on that day, every stroke told me of your beautiful though invisible handwriting - precise and gentle. That was the day I rediscover that the world has no other side at all.

The modest warmth of your hand stayed in my hand. Longer. Always longer than it supposed to be. No matter when, asking my hand excites the hummingbird in me which anticipates you.. And I wish to reach for that hand, to grasp that side of the world. Again.

Today, I cried over somebody’s loss. I respect what he felt though I am clueless with how deep exactly it cut. I am firmed that I did not offend him with my ignorance on why that frosted crystal drops clinging firmly finally fell from my eyes. Maybe, not trying to make sense with everything makes me who I am. 

I weep over the slightest idea of goodbye. I weep over burned bridges, endearing smiles, tragic endings. I grieve over the beautiful things acknowledging that they ephemeral in essence which contributed to their grace. I lament every time a girl experiences her first encounter with heartbreak. I cry over broken promises, distrust, and infidelity. I will never forget betrayal and cheaters.

I am as fragile as crystal glass. And if you have me silenced (on such a manner that I could not think of now) that is when you have me broken in the hardest way.

She does not recognize the glow that frolics inside your eyes when you see her smile. She is not able to see the way you apologize for the bitter things that separate her from you. She never look on that precious chance of being only an inch from you as much as my heart desires. She never going to want you as much as I do. But you are oblivious of that truth, heedless of me. I am forgotten like tears in the rain.

The thought stops my heart. I had been the girl who wore her heart on her sleeve. The very girl who once known to be free spirited yet incessantly sensitive. I used to give all only to find out in the end how miserable it was to dream an impossible love. I had my whole being consumed freely by illusions which was something I would rather hide in the future than admit to further embarrass myself.

I wanted to be spotless. A sudden fancy of being just young and ignorant. But because to err is human ergo I tried to peruse and passed what was forgivable; I actually promised not to be hard on myself anymore because chances are I will end up planning my own demise at the end.

But today that very intention of forgiving is on the verge of postponement. My life is becoming a cycle. A vicious cycle. I am starting to believe in too much. And my sweet man can’t halt the tedious process I am in by staying. He said that with the tone of finality. The thought stops my heart.