But... I Can't Write Anymore

Why I stopped writing...

I’m just in love with the idea of love, probably also with the idea of you.

4, 3 & 2 (eusie.)

POCKET DIARY 2012

An entry

It can only take a second      for lingering feelings      to slip into      your heart again

Just like how a flower      can bloom again      in a garden      you left to wither

— "14", y.g.

(eusie.)

get on the midnight train

i./ the ground feels familiar like the ivory colored tiles that greet me first whenever i get home/ like the cold cold cold ivory colored tiles at home that give out the warmest welcome ever because the ones i live with never bother to/ the ground feels gravely familiar like home/ am i home?/ the lights are dead and that’s probably why i smell a faint scent of roses/ the lights are dead but where are their corpses?/ the lights are dead/ am i home?/ the lights are dead; oddly, darkness is all i see/ am i really home?/ the ground feels gravely familiar and oddly, darkness is all i see/ where is the beginning or end of all these things left unsee?/ i reach out to find nothing/ i reach out but end up touching the skin of no one/ i reach out with a heavy breath and shaking hands/ where is everyone?/ am i home?/ i dare to run and nothing hits me, just the faint scent of roses getting stronger and stronger/ i realize the scent is actually of dead roses/ this is not home/ the ground feels gravely familiar and oddly, darkness is all i see/ i reach out with a heavy breath and shaking hands/ the faint scent of dead roses getting stronger and stronger/ this is not home

ii./ where is the beginning or end of all these things left unsee?/ this isn’t light blinding me/ this is darkness harassing my insides, making me me feel like this is something i want/ but this is not/ where is the beginning or end of all these things left unsee?/ why am i the only one here?/ this darkness with its friends, the scent of dead roses and the ground that seems to know my sadness/ this darkness with its friends, the corpses of all things left unsee/ where is the beginning or end of all these things left unsee?/ this is not home/ this is a prison where i am in because of something unknown/ but a murmur says otherwise/ why am i here?/ “because you didn’t go back”/ this is a prison where the beginning or end of all these things left unsee cannot be found/ where everything is gravely familiar but i still can’t put the pieces together/ why am i here?/ “because you didn’t go back”/ this is not home/ this is a prison where the beginning or end of all these things left unsee cannot be found/ and it’s all because i didn’t go back

(eusie.)

Mga pekeng bulaklak

a.k.a. I hope we were monsters instead

For the first time, I tasted nothing from your lips and it was supposed to make me feel scared. You asked me what it feels like, I replied, “Like fairy dust” — “sweet as a fantasy dripped in purple paint, brushed against the canvass of my tongue.” And I made you smile. And I was supposed to be guilty.

For the 22nd time, your lips still tasted like alcohol. Damn, you just couldn't make my heart flutter. But I asked you what it feels like, and I hear you say —  “Like a reckless night that should trouble me but it doesn’t, instead it hushes my clamorous thoughts.” And I gave you a smile. But it wasn't really for you.

(eusie.)

"She's not pregnant."

I remember when March whispered your name to my ears.

The sky is burning, and I’m beginning to think I’m going to die if I don’t go home already. But the wind hugs me tight, and it hugs me even tighter with every step I take; I keep going. The city is growing louder than usual as the day is starting to fall asleep. I begin talking to the afternoon lights as I pass by them, and I didn't worry about a thing.

That is, until I suddenly see someone we both know. She smiles as she laughs my name. Her voice resembles yours, I think. And the aroma of barbecue being sold nearby tickles my nose. I think of you again, and of our memories that the three of us have — memories of when we were still in high school.

We used to go home late, stay at the city park, and eat street foods. We used to laugh our heads off, and smile like every second was something to be proud of. We were glad, and even if the sky was on fire every time we were together, we knew we weren't. Each of us is our wings, and each of us taught each other how to fly. We were best friends. We are best friends. We just lost communication with each other after high school. But I know we still are.

I paste a smile on my lips — the one you particularly taught me — and ask her how her life had been. Even without saying that we missed each other, our voices are full of felicity that brings out the message for us instead. And the tears at the corner of our eyes catch them.

She says that she’s good while she answers back to the smile I give. Then I ask her about you. That’s when her face illuminates a bit disappointment, but all the while, a bit of concern. I wonder if should jokingly ask her why the long face. After a few seconds though, she smiles at me, and says just above a whisper, “Have you heard the rumors?”

I furrow my eyebrows at her question, and I swear the stars that are absent tonight explode in her eyes, like all at once. I want to ask you, what did you do to make her tear up like this? What did you do?

I mumble, “I think I know what you’re talking about, but I don’t believe it at all.” And I almost think that everything is now okay. Almost. Because she freezes, and I can feel the night getting colder with her smile hanging on her face like death has finally come for her and she’s still not ready.

“She’s not pregnant,” she says. “No, not like what everyone is saying.”

“Oh, that’s good then —”

“Because she already has a baby.”

“Oh.” Oh. And that is all that it took for my heart to squeeze itself. I don’t know what to feel exactly. Should I be mad at you? Should I pity you? Should I? What should I do? What should I feel? Tell me...

The night shows its sympathy with its howl serenading the fuck out of us. I hug her, just as I also want to hug you. Because I bet when you were lying on your bed, with the whole world judging you, you felt alone. So this is what I feel right now. I feel sorry, not because of what happened to you, but because you probably felt alone and sad and angry and maybe you cried yourself to sleep every night thinking you’re a disappointment. I’m sorry we weren't there.

This is when I promise myself, that I won’t be like the others. My heart didn't rip itself just to make you do the same when we’ll let you know that we know. I will still love you, and I will be here for you. This is what I remember that happened that night. And I will tell you this the next time we see each other. And I will make sure the universe will bow to smile on your face and claim that it’s what you deserve.

(eusie.)

so here it is

a.k.a. and i told you, and i told you, so please listen

i told you at ten past three in the morning, we don’t have winter but when i press the end call each time you say good night, i feel a little chill as if your voice is meant to be a camp fire on cold night but instead, it’s a landslide — a hurricane — a snowstorm — and i told you at twelve past three in the morning, i should feel guilty and i should feel bad, but i don’t, and nothing ever comes pouring out of my lips, even the word ‘sorry’ each time you cry and say that it’s your fault, when really, it’s mine, and i told you at thirteen past three in the morning, i don’t feel you slipping away, but i feel myself running away, and i don’t even see myself muttering a goodbye, but i said to you, i will, oh i definitely will, and i told you at fifteen past three in the morning, i do remember when we asked each other to never let go, i do, i do, i do, and i told you at sixteen past three in the morning, i really i hope i won’t let go just like you won’t, and i wish it’s true, and i told you at eighteen past three in the morning, i’m not going to cry, but my heart is aching, and i hear myself sniffling, and i find myself looking at the mirror, with stars on my cheeks where your kisses used to sleep, and i know, i just know, that it’s been a long time since i told you i’m in love with you, and i cry again a little bit, and you’re crying too, and you’re saying sorry again, muttering it’s your fault, but it’s not, and i told you at twenty-one past three in morning, i just miss you, i long to kiss you, and i want to bury myself in your arms, and if you choose to leave me because of how these pieces of mine that are on the floor are way too shattered, your fingers will bleed, so you’ll end up giving up from saving me, i said i would be okay, because i’m a mess, and i told you at twenty-three past three in the morning, i love you, and i told you at twenty-eight past three in morning, i’m in love with you, when i finally stopped crying, when i finally calmed myself, i told it again, and you ended the call, and i told you at thirty past three in the morning, ‘it’s okay’ when you call and say sorry, and then i say it’s my fault, and then i say ‘good night’ without another ‘i love you’, and i still feel alright

(eusie.)

moved on to another universe wish upon the stars to have me back

i & you could, a.k.a. “hence, pt. 2” (eusie.)

How to spell?

She starts to talk about Mississippi, and across these ill-painted walls, I hear a whisper. You’re a fool for her.

I remember when my mother used to say, “Don’t use all of your heart,” and “Leave a little bit of love for yourself.” I always rolled my eyes, because I didn’t know back then. And now, if my mother would yell at me for being this close to giving myself up just so she can say she loves me back, I wouldn’t care.

Fighting the urge to caress her cheek, I fond over her smile. She continues to go on about attending her favorite band’s concerts. Her eyes burning like she’s on fire. She says she’s excited to wear her tight black dress if she ever has a chance to go. I notice how her face’s suddenly painted in crimson as she longingly looks to a distance. Then she says, “I want to be kissed by someone as we listen to my favorite song being sang live.”

I could feel my soul closing in on her and kiss her lips, as if I’m the one that she wanted to be with her. But I know she doesn’t. So I pull myself back, and try not to feel hurt.

I return into trance when she mentions my name. That’s when all of my insides dry. But fuck. Her voice is like my blood, and the way the letters of my name slip from her tongue, I would think that she was the one who weaved my being. I ask her what else does she want to talk about.

And if I lose myself once again with just by her presence, I wouldn’t want her to know. I’ll just let her continue to tell the things she dreams about, even if I’m not one of them.

I’m a fool for her. Yes, I am.

(eusie.)