Broken details

They say you have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. Tama nga naman. How can you give what you don’t have?

The time I met him, i still had so much to give. I was still so young back then, yet I openly welcomed love despite fully knowing that pain is always attached to it. I was prepared to get hurt. Okay lang kasi sabi naman nila time heals all wounds, diba?

I guess that was my only fault… It was a fault to think that I was no longer naive, and honestly, it was my biggest fault. Akala ko kaya ko, pero hindi pa pala.

I lost myself in the process of loving him. I was just way in too deep that I lost all reason. It started with the small excuses I made for the days he wouldn’t text back. Baka wala lang siyang load…. But those little excuses grew bigger, and I found myself saying my sorry everytime he’d treat me like nothing. I allowed myself to believe that it was my fault. By doing that, I singlehandedly gave him the license to drain out everything I could give until I was left with nothing. Di ko alam kung pano ko nagawang ibigay ang lahat kahit wala na palang natira sa akin.

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So here i am, years after giving so much more than what I have. Despite everything that has happened, I still continue giving my everything to everyone even when I can’t give anything to myself. I’m unsure of myself. I can no longer find the beauty that my younger self had once seen and had. The only thing I see nowadays when I look at myself are my faults, and most of the time, I blame him. I don’t know why I do, though, eh alam ko namang kasalanan ko rin ‘to. In the process of making excuses for his faults, I made myself believe that i wasn’t good enough. You know… The famous line? “It’s not you. It’s me.” I made myself believe that all his mistakes were truly mine.

I entered the battlefield thinking I was prepared to get hurt, but I was foolish to not know the extent of the possible damage. They always say that time heals all wounds, and I fully believed them. But they left out a very important detail. They never do warn you about the scars that some wounds leave– yung mga hindi mo na maibabalik sa dati kahit gustuhin mo.

I want to bring back the love I once had for myself. Pero sa totoo lang, hindi ko alam kung kaya pa kahit gustuhin ko. Sa totoo lang, hindi ko alam kung paano.

So this is for the brave souls out there who aren’t afraid love: My dears, always remember that you don’t prepare for wounds. You prepare yourselves for scars.

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The Venom Of Isolation

I’m scared of losing people. The fear was always there, I guess.

It’s actually quite ironic when in fact, I like to be alone.

I find beauty in the solace of 2am’s and afternoon walks by myself. I find joy in always having space, may it be in between my fingers or in my queen sized bed. I find comfort in having my thoughts all to myself from early morning until late at night.

Alone translates into freedom instead of loneliness– most of the time.

Some nights, the loneliness just sinks in. Some days, I just can’t deny the sadness of it all. The darkness of being alone hits even in the brightest summer days, and it hits you the hardest when you have nothing but a million minutes in your hands. The sands of time bury you alive, and the ticking of the clock will reverberate through your entire being, haunting you even in your sleep. Yes, those are the days when you’re sprawled across your bed, unmoved for hours. Those are the days when you’re aimlessly walking, heading towards the unknown. Those are the days of sitting in your patio, waiting for something or someone to come along, knowing fully well that no one ever does.

Those days are undeniably agonizing because those days are the days you realize that you don’t like being alone.

But, being alone just grows on you. It is like poison in your veins, spreading through every inch without you even noticing. Soon, you’d be used to it, and you’d fool yourself into thinking that the beauty of always being alone outweighs the pain of it.

In my case, the venom of isolation roots from my fear of losing others. Most of the time, I push people away because I’m scared of losing them in the end. No one really stays after all, right? I often build my walls high enough to hide my darkest corners but low enough to show my light. I build these walls because my dark corners are filled with my demons– demons that don’t play well with others.

In a way, I chose to be alone.

I allowed the venom to take over, and eventually…

It poisoned me.

Drops of ink

I haven’t written in so long that it already feels foreign to me.

No, wait. Let me correct that.

I haven’t written about you in so long that it already feels foreign to me. That… or maybe the thought of you is already foreign to me.

I always tell myself to try to forget, and to try to move on.

Keyword? Try.

I said these words a million times before. I’d repeat the sentence over and over again until it all jumbles up in a blur– until I move on from the thought of moving on. Yes, I said the same words a million times before, quite carelessly if I may add. I’d throw them in every paragraph my actions speak until I believe the words to be true and real. I said the same words a million times before, trying to convince people that I truly was moving on. But in truth, I knew I wasn’t, not even close.

For so long, I have said the words without noticing the detail I meticulously emphasized myself. I became careless with the same thing I was so careful about. And for the first time, I actually paused and allowed myself to take in every word of the sentence I always tell myself.

Try to forget and try to move on

keyword? TRY.

It was a word I always pointed out, yet at the same time, it was also the word I unintentionally disregarded in the million times I said the same sentence. Because of this, my words were always empty.

So i said the words again for the million and first time with every word in mind. And for the first time out of a million times, The same words were different altogether. The same syllables rolled out of my tongue with a new stroke. The words I said over and over again finally came out in a different light. My words were no longer empty because for the first time, I allowed myself to immerse in the gravity of the word that could either make or break the statement, and for the first time, I actually tried.

And so, I decided to take a break from writing about you. I told myself I needed to stop concretizing the feelings coursing through every beat of my being whenever I think about you– just about you. I never really planned a hiatus. I didn’t want to stop writing. I just wanted to stop writing about you.

I never meant for the pages to be completely blank after your chapter. But, I was left with a lot of spaces to fill, and not even a single drop of ink tainted the clear sheets screaming for words to be tattooed on them. I tried to make the letters sit on paper, but they refused to be fine print– permanent and final. I couldn’t form a single sentence, not even a single word about the infinite things around me– excluding you of course. But isn’t that the reason why I couldn’t jot down a single letter? As a writer, I was paralyzed because I was limited to an infinity that excluded you. I could not write about anything because “anything” excluded you.

 I have come to realize that the thought of you is still not foreign, not even a little. The thought of you is not foreign at all. After so long, writing about you still feels the same. It still feels natural and easy, as if I never even stopped at all. The drops of ink crawl out effortlessly, and I don’t even have to try.

You are the only words I can write, and the thought scares me so much.

Stoplights and Roadsigns

At first, I enjoyed my drive through the streets of love.

It was a one way road, I knew that. But, the rush of being in your highway excited me. I wanted to catch your attention, so I ignored the red stoplight flashing madly, and I continued my drive. I disregarded the U-turn signs that told me to turn back while I still could.

The ride was perfect until I made a wrong turn and reached a dead end.

I crashed into you.

Some accidents don’t cause much damage, but my collision with you was destructive. It was inevitable. I didn’t have anywhere else to turn to, and it was too late to stop. I couldn’t do anything to at least reduce the impact. It destroyed me completely.  I never truly realized it till now because even if my windows didn’t crack and my doors remained tightly shut, your impact was strong enough to wreck the parts that kept me running—  important parts I needed in order to function properly. They were parts hidden under the hood of my entire being, yet you managed to shut them down completely and indistinctly at the same time.

The worst part? It was a clear hit and run. You ran off without noticing the catastrophe you caused. I was left to fend for myself, broken and alone.

I tried to repair the parts you destroyed, but I knew it was pointless. So, I took my broken parts off, and I found myself off track, cruising heartbreak avenue.

The road was long, never ending even. I did not have a map, and for the first time, I was lost, and I was empty.

For this very reason, I wanted to find my way back to you. Image 

Even if your boulevard was dangerous, I wanted nothing but to navigate my way back to it. I wanted to be there again because the few short seconds I was in contact with you were the only seconds in my entire life when I felt absolutely complete and alive.

Maybe if I’d watch the stoplights intently, I’d know when I should stop, when I should go, or when I should just take it slow. Maybe if I look at the signs, I’d find an easier way to get to you. Maybe if I drive slowly, I wouldn’t crash into you.

But I have nothing left for you to destroy. I also have nothing left for you to repair.

I was an empty soul wandering in heartbreak avenue.

For this very same reason, I had no use of stoplights and road signs. I was willing to crash into you again.

I had, after all, nothing left to lose.

Punctuations

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A semicolon represents a sentence the author could’ve ended but chose not to.

 

People always tell me to stop using semicolons and start using periods.

But how exactly do I tell them?

How do I tell them the sentence doesn’t exist?

In fact, I am more familiar with periods. You see, what he and I had already ended before it could even begin.

Incredible, unadulterated, true, and infinite—All the beautiful words to describe what we could have had are but a string of fictional words—words that could have been, words that should have been. The sentences we could have formed remain frozen in nonexistent paragraphs. Our story would have been the greatest , but instead, it is left untold. It is written under the blanket of the stars, lost in a place where neither of us would ever find it.

How could I explain that it had never been a decision?

I never chose to fall for him. Love just unfurled its ruthless wings the moment he walked in my life. The letters just crashed down, and for a moment, I was mute, unable to form coherent sentences. If anything, it was my first comma, the first time my world paused. Loving him came naturally even when our story was over.

I guess I stayed even when there was nothing to stay for. Why?

Maybe it’s some sick, masochistic desire to keep forgiving the one who keeps hurting me, the one who keeps on pushing me away. Or Maybe it’s the thought of him changing his mind.

Just the tiny hope of having him say just a single word to you, the prospect of being accepted back, or the chance of him finally saying yes starts budding inside of you. The what if’s make you want to stay because that chance of him taking you back is worth the risk of him saying no.

The what if’s make ME use semicolons. A lot of them, by the way.

It’s the reason why people always tell me to stop using semicolons and start using periods.

But How? How could I ever make these people understand my predicament.

My semicolons are only ever written in invisible ink because truthfully, he and I don’t have a continuation.

I never expected a continuation. I never really had any hope of being that girl he’d finally fall for.

It’s just absurd, you know? I can’t picture anyone daydreaming about me. I can’t picture anyone talking about me. I can’t picture anyone being absolutely, madly, intensely, and extremely in love with me.  Just can’t. I especially can’t picture him being absolutely, madly, intensely, and extremely in love with me. I mean… why would he when he has her?

With him, I don’t have semicolons. All I have are periods permanently printed in ink.

He ended a sentence the moment he said goodbye.

He ended a paragraph the moment he walked away.

He ended our story the moment he asked someone else to stay.

Beautiful, Tragic, and Real

They say your first love never dies. I used to be skeptical about love or anything remotely related to love. I never really believed in the idea because I demanded proof. I refused to believe in a feeling that could not be explained; moreover, the idea that a first love would always have a place in your heart appalled me! I guess I embraced the thought of always moving forward,  of always moving on. I thought the saying was senseless. I never really understood the magnitude of the statement until I met my own first love. He changed me completely, and he does not even know it. He was the journey I needed in order to find myself.

Our story began one October morning. It was chilly outside, but his warmth radiated off him in waves. He looked down at me with sparks in his eyes, and from that moment on, we were inseparable. He never left my side, and he didn’t treat me like a stranger. It was as if he knew me from a past lifetime, and I him. We only got closer as the days went by. One night, he took me out to walk under the night sky and admire the blanket of stars. He looked down at me with so much love in his eyes and he held my hand, silently promising to stay. He then whispered three words that changed me forever. “I love you,” he said. My eyelids immediately shut close as I tried to memorize the feeling— a feeling I never wanted to lose.

It was so surreal I didn’t want to believe it. It seemed like a dream to me. I never wanted to open my eyes, fearing that it would wake me from my slumber. I  didn’t want the feeling to end, so I stayed still. I was too selfish to even speak, to tell him that I loved him back. I was so scared to lose the moment. When I finally got the courage to open my eyes, all I saw was space. I was too late, and he was gone. He left, and he never came back. I was too scared to believe the authenticity of his words and the sincerity in the depths of his eyes that I ended up losing him. For months, I wallowed in sorrow and despair. I lost my zest, and smiles from me were rare. I didn’t mind how much it hurt, so the pain I felt just propagated every day.

I guess the hardest part of it wasn’t losing him; it was losing me. I never really realized who I really was, who I’m supposed to be, until then. I guess you often don’t know what you have until you lose it. So, amidst the heartbreak, I found myself. I found the girl who understood the meaning of love simply because she was loved back once upon a time. Our relationship may have ended before it could even begin, but I’m still thankful for what we had. Every  time I lose myself, I just recall the feeling etched in my heart. I recall his love for me. Our love was real, albeit short lived, so even though he’s far gone, the feeling still stays.  It stays to remind me of who I was made to be— I was made to be real.

I guess the reason why first loves don’t die is the impact they make. The idea always seemed peculiar to me because I never realized that our first loves are actually our first real and true loves. Your first love isn’t the guy playing ball you had the hots for or the girl on the swings you had a petty crush on. Your first love is a person whom you’ll always have a part of because your first love is the person who teaches you how to love by simply loving you. Your first love will show you how beautiful love is and how tragic it can get, but this person will show you the beauty of love to a great extent that the pain of heartbreaks would be worth it. Your first love is the first person who makes you real.

~essay on becoming real by being loved (based on the velveteen rabbit)

Just a dream

Sometimes, we want things so much that we don’t want them anymore.

The picture is vivid in the realm of our minds– so vivid that we want it so much, and we magnify the prospect to the extent of perfection, leaving no room for error. We create a default setting that can only be truly and absolutely real in our minds, and is only truly and absolutely a perhaps in actuality. We idealize our wants too much that they seemingly become impossible.
What we don’t realize is the fact that by wanting so much, we don’t only set these ideas on a pedestal; we also limit the supposedly limitless possibilities for the future to that of which we want.

And I think that’s what scares us the most.

We program ourselves to only openly accept the things we want to happen because our wants are so great in magnitude that we believe they WILL happen instead of thinking they CAN happen.

We long for things so much that we expect instead of hope.

If the picture reality paints is different from that of which we have, we wallow in the thought of our failure because we set ourselves to believe that the only way to become successful is by getting the perfect picture. We think so much of the shades of wrong the future may hold. We focus on the strokes that could go wrong. We fear that the colors would be bland.

We aim for perfection, and only perfection that we become scared.

We are scared.

We are scared because we place our wants amongst the galaxies. We align our desires with the stars. We are scared to have them anywhere else, so we place them there even if it leads us to believe that it is in a place we could never reach because we are nothing but ordinary.

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We are scared to not have what we want the most.

We are scared because we think we want things we can’t have.

So instead of trying, we just back away and quit.

I guess this explains why I don’t want you.

I wan’t you so much that I don’t.

I don’t want to want you.

Because I know I can’t have you.

I’m scared to want you.

Because I don’t want to fail.

You’re impossible yet tangible.
I know I can’t have you, but at the same time, I know I CAN have you. but the thing is I don’t.

That’s why it’s hard to want you.

Because I don’t have you even though I could.

I won’t want you.

Because we will always only be a dream.

~AUTHOR’S NOTE~
Today, I thought about why I almost gave up on him at some point, and the song just a dream played. It suddenly all made sense 🙂 so yes. This is what I wrote after my epiphany.

Beauty and the Beast

I pretend like I don’t care, but deep inside I am drowning in my despair

In truth, he never sees the tears that drop from my eyes cause all he looks at is her beautiful smile

My heart is chained in a cage with no key, and no matter how hard I try, I could never set it free

For it only beats for a boy who could never be mine

because he thinks he’s in love with another girl who goes beyond beauty’s line

Even a blind man could see that he’d choose her over me

because she is something I will never be

He holds her hand the way he used to hold mine

He laughs and talks to her all the time

He says he’d do anything for her

He says he’d even commit a crime

the boy is under her spell

And it takes all of me to stop myself from ridding him of his insanity

because he fell for a girl who doesn’t see him the way he sees her.

He fell for a girl who doesn’t see him the way I do.

She may be the beauty, but I refuse to be the beast

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I wouldn’t dare destroy the smile that reaches his eyes

even if I know the shine comes from his love for her

I could only wait until it’s all over

For now…

Even though it hurts, I will act like I’m fine because in his eyes, I don’t go beyond the best friend line.

Even though it pains me to, I fake him a smile Because I’m not the one he cares for, I’m not the one he wants.

I’ll get this through my head and let him be with his girl because I’m not the one he longs for, I’m not the one he loves.

And no matter what I do, he will never love me back.

Because deep inside I know that the last petal in the delicate rose is bound to fall

The spell will be permanent and he will forever be caged in his false idea of love

 

~Inspired by Jean’s love life (or lack thereof) hehe jk. ily ❤

She pushed him away too quickly hoping to either move on or have him chase after her. Her heart was screaming for her to run away because she was always the option. She was never the choice.                                        

She avoided him like a plague                

She always looked away                                                  

She almost always stays out of his way

She shut him out the same way she shut her heart.It all happened at once. And with her last heartbeat, she tried to remember. He said those beautiful words, and he wrapped her tightly in his arms. She believed every action and every word because he meant everything to her. She gave her all to someone who thought nothing of her, and she got nothing in return. She tolerated him thinking he just needed time. Little did she know that she was waiting for something that would never come. She wasn’t born heartless, but she was made to be one. Because the moment he denied her of the things she thought were real, she heard her heart break. It started with a soft crumble and then it was completely crushed. Everything she believed in turned out to be his game. Her tears were threatening to spill out, but she couldn’t shed a single one because she was feeling numb.

He never meant it.

Now she’s broken.

Now she’s stained.

But most of all…

She’s been through so much that she doesn’t mind the pain.

And so, She abandons her ideas about love because she thought that the idea was far too romanticized. She walks away not thinking twice about the possibilities if she were to stay.