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Wednesday, June 3, 2009
walking away
They were sitting right beside each other, fabric upon fabric yet the nearness does not reflect their want for each other. No one was making the slightest indication of their pain. One was fluttering his eyes from each single detail of his home, passing through furniture and appliance without care and the other one looking down running shaking fingers through the faded jeans. Shadows of the darkened room felt their sorrow and the bellowing pain that was palpable in the air. Then faded becomes dark blue as the jeans were kissed gently by tears marking small circles upon its rough surface.

“I didn’t think things would end this way,” with eyes from the details of the house to the bowed head of the one seated there, crying. Dark somewhat wavy hair, wanting and urging, the craving to run loving fingers upon those strands just one more time was overwhelming. The room was still.

“I really, really, don’t want this to end. Please,” head still down, voice breaking, tears flying down. Memories of wonderful evenings together, late dinners of rummaged whatnots from the fridge made into something worth eating, sunsets of the kissing breaking the silence. All of those thoughts slowly etching painful heartaches as each veils and takes over consciousness at the moment of rain and the cloudy afternoon.

“I don’t know where to go from here, you see? I said I love you. You didn’t say it back. I said it was ok. And believe me I tried for so long for it to be ok. But I guess it isn’t because it hurts,” eyes still taking in every feature the hair of that person. I gave myself to you, every single part of me, mouthed those agonized lips. “But I guess it’s not enough,” said softer than a whisper.

“What’s not enough?” finally looking up, tired eyes filled with tears, asking.

“Nothing, nothing. Oh you don’t know how much I want to touch you one more time, stroke your beautiful hair, just one last time,” the longing upon those words was plain it was almost visible. The rain echoed the suffering and bawled louder.

“I won’t stop you.”

“I know, but I need more than that. I need more from you, unfortunately much more than you’re willing to give,” the once dry constant eyes finally giving in to the emotion that flowed.

A thunder roared.

“I guess I can just look at us and say that my love for you was an attempt for all that that word is worth. Yes, you can’t spare me the same devotion but I think it was a beautiful attempt. And I’ll learn from this, for that I’m sure. But I can’t take anymore of the pain. I’m sorry but what I really want to say is, I’m leaving,” standing and slowly walking towards the door.


“No, I’ve got to do this. I’ve got to do this for myself. It’s some sort of self-preservation. You don’t need to say anything. Just know that I love you, with all my heart.”

A door was closed, and rain slowly drenched the thirsty and ailing heart of a lover unloved walking away from tears and pain.
Monday, October 27, 2008
i would like to say sorry
i would like to apologize to myself for not having time to do one of the things that i love to do, and that is to write. i've been preoccupied with work, study and other stuff that when i get home, writing a story would just take too much of my energy. i often times just want to sleep.

so to all and most importantly to me, sorry.
written produce are on a pause.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
what is there for me?

wrote this after speaking with someone i thought i had a chance with. good looking, eloquent and smart. things i found attractive on someone. what i wanted on someone. 1 guess on what happened

is it too much for one person to dream?

is an escape from reality and the harshness of life so bad to ask for? what makes a good man break his sanity when he aims for the sun and end up in flames? is a long shot really that hard to make when part of you still longs to take it ever so desperately? what assurance does one have to risk it? a picturesque vision of the perfect life, a far fetched reality, far from me, i think.

when do i hear the voice? when do i feel the soft brush of each whisper along my cheek as we dance through an old corny love song? when will all this be mine?

is it too much to ask?

Monday, October 6, 2008
something of the past
well who was to say that something i thought was so good could end so fast. this was written during the times when i felt so uneasy with my ex. it's not finished though, much like my relationship with her.

I’ve wanted to set things right. But the truth is such an inconvenient necessity to accomplish that I I’m not sure whether or not I could give it to those whom deserve it. And as I continuously live under the veil of unspoken truths, lives strive through each hardship, my own and the others that I affect in some way. How do I tread the path when I set for a journey to be straight and unwavering yet decisions I make keep on springing out curves and forks? How do I stay strong when I live unsure of what I want in life?

Wanting to see things done with its just ending, I waded through the waves of time. But the unspoken continuously remains to be hidden and the lives carry on. I’ve lied none but I might have well done so, for I am afraid. I fear to hurt and get hurt. I believe that I am a coward.

Promises are meant to bind the person in essence to the one whom he wishes to share himself with. I have been promising and I have been bound to a lot of people. So far, I live vicariously and free of guilt. But how do I get over a promise of love, when I know in myself that love is dwindling. The pain of wanting is denting a love that should have been perfect in every way.

I would like to point of some things in my defense, despite the fact that my uncertainty and non-disclosure of it merits no excuse. I would just like to say my piece.

I believe that I love and I know I still do. But when the emotion and passion does not flow, how then does anyone share something that is stagnant. I enduringly give out my love and constantly show that I care but alas, all I receive in return is an untoward remark and ridicule here and there. Yes, I understand that she says that these are her ways to show endearment, mind you I myself have spells of exasperation, but I always tell that I am out of sorts that day.

----- an excerpt of my former relationship.
Friday, July 18, 2008
thoughts of the untrue
done midway through high-school. i made this as a sort of reflection of what life was during my elementary days. it's a little novice still (not that my writing improved, haha) but i felt very much every word put into this.

Thoughts of the Untrue

It’s the silence that faces me every night when I go to sleep that I no longer can take. I’m just sixteen and here I am, forced to tackle different phases of emotion, strive for acceptance, and endure criticism both from others and from myself. Every time I take hold of my pillow, lay my body flat on the slightly comforting mattress, at this moment flashes of events of my day race through my mind reminding me of the loneliness that I go through every single day.

I encounter the pains of reality that makes me different from my peers. I feel alienated by circumstances of life that the distinction of me from my friends makes me feel insignificant. I seek recognition. I feel that recognition may soon lead to acceptance, even though I know my friends all ready like me for who I am. But who am I?

I have successfully built this image of me for my companions to believe is the real me. Yes, I lie. What for? That I have asked myself over and over, until I no longer answered my way out of this mess.

I think it started when I was very young, simple lies from an innocent child thinking that playing a trick on his mom is funny. Then I went to school, a stage in life that molds a kid’s personality aside from the parents nurturing. Going to a private school sets boundaries in the social castes. As for me, coming from a middle class family makes me one of the “poor” students compared to my batch mates. Therefore I am pressed by the demand of staying “sociable” to make up stories that would not incriminate me into being an “untouchable”.

Merely by twisting fact into fiction, I have created a world entirely different from the truth, as if trying to escape the harshness of reality. Have you ever tried to escape some kinds of conversations because you know that answering truthfully would definitely be social suicide? Well for a 10 year old child in my situation, these were it. Grabe, tignan mo itong power ranger robot ko, ikaw meron ka ba nito? Hoy, meron ka bang tamagochi? Hey, we’re catching a movie kaya lang kkb, sama ka, or simply this one, when I was in the sixth grade. Shoot, ‘la na ko load, hey pa-text naman o.

My string of lies soon became a web. And soon I lost all the signs of innocence, no more stuttering and sudden break of sweat. I was already what others would call a “professional liar”. I have created a life that was not mine. And I couldn’t take the burden placed upon me by myself and my conscience.

And later in high school I made myself very confident, a defense mechanism by means of lying. Yes, I lie.

Lying gave me a world for me to live in, but there was one problem, I had no one else to live with. Not saying the truth is not opening yourself with others, and they could never understand who you truly are. You run from your problems but the catch is when you start running, you never stop. You watch your whole childhood pass you by, and your innocence fly away. And every night when you lay your body flat on the slightly comforting mattress, when you are all alone and there is no one to lie to, and then you face yourself, the truth, the pain. Only then that innocence catches up with you, the child you tried so hard to hide is set free, and the only thing the child does is the only thing left to do. You cry.