But I Think You Write Great?

I don’t know what to do anymore

1. It's 3:29 AM; please let me sleep. My eyes are your prisoners, even my mind is still hanging at the tip of your tongue. I am out of tears, and my throat is dry that I stopped calling your name since midnight, because I know you wouldn't hear me. You painted me transparent. Please, I want to stay alive. Can you share with me the air you have in your lungs once again? Please take back what you said on leaving me. Look at me again. Look back. Undo everything.

2. Why did you give me up?

3. The phone rang a few times this morning. But I couldn't have the courage to pick it up, because I'm afraid that when I find out it's not you who's calling, I might collapse. I'm afraid that when it's someone we know who goes asking about what happened, I will be speechless. I'm afraid that when they ask about you, when they mention your name, I could yell at them. How can they say your name so easily? Because when it comes to me, I cry at once at the sound of the first letter.

4. I tried to kill myself last night. But when I got hold of the gun, I started crying for hours.

5. People kept telling that I shouldn't be like this. They say they understand me. But I know they don't. They wouldn't even try to, because they don't know how it felt to be thrown away.

6. I miss you. I miss you to the point that I hear your voice coming out of my mouth whenever I speak like it's my own. Sometimes I sing to myself with my hands clinging to the air because I imagine you dancing with me. But that makes me yearn more of you. I want you here now beside me. I want you to be here staring into my eyes while I stare at yours. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you.

7. Mom said she threw your favorite book. She didn't know later when evening came, even when it was raining, I swam across our garden and crawled all the way to where we keep the garbage. I tried to find it hoping that when I do, in the morning, you'll find me. I failed.

8. I remember when my friends said to me, "What's the worst thing that could happen?" And that time, I wanted to believe that there will be none. But now, a few days later, I realized, the answer to it was me.

9. A friend asked about you. I answered that you were dead. Maybe because I thought it would hurt less but instead, it hurt more. Maybe because you weren’t, you’re still alive but you’re gone and out of my life. And I’m the one who’s dying. I’m the one who’s dead. I’m a living corpse.

10. Where are you? I want to come to you.

11. The radio is playing ‘Chasing Cars’ again. Every now and then it makes me think of you. After each song, I cry until the night dies. You’re stuck inside my head again. It’s painful thinking that my thoughts are full of you and yours aren’t full of me. Do you know that the part where it says, ‘Those three words are sad too much. They’re not enough,’ is the one that affects me the most? Not because it’s exactly what you said to me but because I realized it was true. And I realized that ‘I love you’ doesn’t always mean ‘I’ll love you forever.’ You’re the one who taught me that. But I keep on asking myself, why did I do to make you stop on loving me?

12. I am corrupted by you.

13. Every day of my whole life since you were gone has been dark. Every day seemed to be always night. Perhaps because of the black hole inside my chest that you left.

14. I saw the letters that you’ve written months ago. I tried to kiss them one by one but they all turned to ashes. And they got inside my eyes. I cried again.

15. I am scared to look at the mirror. I am frightened to look at myself, and get a sight of myself but see a whole lot of you. I am terrified to see the remains of you that you left in me because it only means you’re totally gone and you took my soul with you. I fear that I’ll finally admit to myself that when I lost you, I also lost myself.

(eusie.)

found, and never lost again

a.k.a. with papers on the floor and ink bleeding on nothing, i say, “maybe words are not enough to describe you”

you are afternoon walks under the sun’s rage and we burn whenever, but it feels good like cold water caressing our skin, and we know we’re alright you are running on a sidewalk with laughter beating the sound of cars as background music, and the smell of meat pies that i love to eat you are the feeling of falling asleep after a tired day, and you are stolen kiss in the dark and heavenly giggles after our lips part you are lullabies at dawn and ballads on rainy days, and when i want to dance, i dance to your name, i dance to your heartbeat you are my wild love (the “i won’t” to my “why don’t you leave me”, and the “libre kita” to my “gutom ako”) and one day you’ll be the horrible smell of morning breath, you’ll be the glorious taste of morning coffee, you’ll be the unnecessary fights after eight o’clock, and the bouquet of exquisite roses waiting on the kitchen table at 15 past five, (the “take care” after “i’m off to work”, the “good night” after “i love you so much”, and the “midnight snack lang” after “saan ka pupunta?”) and you’ll still be my wild love, i’ll still be loving you, and writing about you, and you’ll still be my wild love (my “pangit ka”, my “damulag”, my “babuy”, my “love”)

(eusie.)

The next morning, they meander along the coastal trail for an hour or so. When the sun begins to rise, they stop to look over the water. [He] stands by the edge of the cliff, facing the sea. He — finally feeling the fatigue of the miles and the hours — is sitting with his back against a large rock.

The sunrise is a little more than a finger-smudge of pale blue, glimmering in the dark sky, but then it slowly brightens into a wide beacon of gold, like a snitch hovering on the horizon. And at last, it casts the first rays of brilliant light over the waves, outlining [him] sharply against the sky.

He stares at [his] silhouette for a long time, and it's only when [he] turns [his] head to gaze into the sun that he realises he's trying to pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with [him].

It's a terrifying feeling. It's easy to lust after someone, to match their face to a missed heartbeat or a sharp intake of breath. It's easy to say, I want them because of the colour of their eyes, the lines of their body.

It's something else entirely to say, I want them because of the way they rest their hands on a steering wheel, the way they gaze out a window, the way they say my name.

— eleventy7, “Running on Air” (An excerpt)

hello. there is nothing to see here but hand-me-down treasures and half-assed writings

The deafening silence of winter melodies

Sometimes, the smell of the morning just pushes me to wonder, like how I need to think about everything — all at once — in a moment, and sometimes, the afternoon symphonies tend to capture every little thing inside my head, and eat them all up, until the thoughts of how alone I am in my life are left inside. Then it just starts to get worse because they howl and cry like they’re lost, or like they want to get out, and that’s why I’m wide awake every night. It’s just... so deafening to listen to this silence; it’s so tiring and I can’t help but to silently scream at the top of my lungs — to scream silently inside my heart. I’m exhausted and maybe, I won’t survive this winter and its melody that kills me and haunts me to think of everything I ever loved:

Like how I used to love every detail of the night, how the pale glow of the moon and stars reflect in your eyes; how the wind slowly brush against my cheeks while we lie side by side on my bed; how we serenade by the sounds made by the crickets and other insects outside while we whisper I love you to each other. Like how I loved you, and how I can still remember the every detail of your face, how the mole in your left eyelid look when your eyes are closed in your sleep; how the fringes of your hair fall on your face after you slide your fingers through your head while thinking; how your nose turns to pink when you’re about to sneeze; how the corners of your lips move when you smile; how your breathe reach me every time you talk; and how your cheeks look like they’re burning after I kiss you.

Now, the only thing I love about the night is the darkness in it, and how stars to me, are just shattered promises. When they die they become black holes they consume everything within their reach and I seemed to have become consumed with one.

I can’t stop thinking if everything you said to me was just a lie and if the sparkle in your eyes every time I look at them is just an imagination of mine. I can’t stop thinking of what you really feel about me, of what do you think about when we were together, and of the possibility that when I was in your care, it killed you. I can’t stop thinking if my words ever reached you, and if our words wished upon a shooting star, one night, were just my own wishes.

My once filled dream of our future together had died along with that shooting star. They died right before my very eyes, and all I could do is watch. My forever turned into ashes of piled burnt promises, they stayed under my bed and sprawl into my feet at night; they haunt and broke me over and over. Our laughter and melodies had become a deafening silence that only I could hear. Words left unsaid and rotting inside my head, thoughts about our love lost had caused turmoil of dilemma in my head for those cold winter nights, and the last time that I have seen your face, was the time I know, I had lost you because you had chosen her instead of me. Betrayals and regrets are eating me alive—they cut through my skin and sting into my flesh. I need a way out, I need to escape and stop this excruciating pain.

So on the night of your wedding day, I went outside. On the cold icy night, I wandered and tried to lose you in my head once more. I went to the park, where we used to sit for hours every Friday afternoon. I brought out the blade that I had bought on the day you left without bidding a proper goodbye. I have been thinking about this since day one, and now I know, I have found my way out of this misery you have caused. The pale white snow, soon become stained with a red pigment coming from my wrist and then I knew, this will end soon.

( ayen. & eusie. )

Still aching, still still

It’s almost dark, and the sun is already giving up from waiting too long for the moon to kiss him good night. Nearby, city lights are seen waking up slowly from their sleep. Then there’s a calm feeling that tiptoes into a homeless tiny boy’s heart when he looks up to swallow the stars as they begin their daily routine of sewing the skies with their warmth. There goes an echo after a single leaf fell down to the ground from which tree it belonged. Nearby, little flowers are singing silently to the song that echoes from the wind’s passing. But one thing that is almost known by the universe, is the soft heavy sigh that always come from a river between these little flowers and trees, between the people and city lights, and between the world and the stars.

It is uncertain when it started, but ever since then, the night is always achingly lonely just as the river is. But the river is still. And the river is quiet.

Sometimes. the river’s cries can be heard during rainstorms, it’s almost not there, but it is, as the river never really wants anyone to know about its nightmares. Sometimes, the river hums a tune to which leaves from the world above escape to and lead them to places unknown. Sometimes, the river dance when people encourage it to, their skin loving the river’s every rhythmic wavy touch, and the river swallows all the attention as it never really want to feel sad all the time. But sometimes, when everything is still, the river is still, and the river is quiet, and the river is quietly sobbing.

It is still uncertain, but the universe knows it eminently, that the river is aching, still aching, and that the river is still, still still.

(eusie.)

Unexpectedly

too many poems too many unrequited love too many broken hearts and too many bruises and unwanted scars

too many persons oblivious to what they did

to gain existence in another world

a world called poetry

(eusie.)

a feeling: “nothing lost but something missing”

my throat tastes of rust and i'm drunk on my tears

my cries dance on the rooftop and i'm a high tide on this silent night

there is a rustling inside of me that doesn't stop

and sometimes it ends up as an aching a yearning for an unknown

this skin keeps on burning and i’m still hurting

but i don’t why

(eusie.)

Counting Cars

Synopsis

Koichiro Ugumori was 23 years old when he died because of a car accident. Ever since then, he has been a wandering soul inside the halls of the hospital where he was announced dead on arrival. One day, he suddenly wakes up in the body of a 20-year-old guy named Soichiro. He soon meets Ayako, Soichiro’s sweet girlfriend, and his circle of friends that includes the demure(ish)ly attractive, Chiho, who quite seems to be distant when it comes to him. As Koichiro struggles to “adjust” with his mysterious second chance to live, he tries to face the revived aftermath of his death and Soichiro’s complicated (love) life.

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.)