Me: Is A Sappy Little Shit

two hearts tiptoeing across shreds of an old vase of red roses

eles (eusie.)

I thought of you again

I. I don’t know is not the same as Maybe. I know that you already know this. When you want collide them both just to see their differences, there will be an infinite of numbers — close to millions. But would you really waste your time in doing so? When you can’t even measure out our distance and cut them off just to let me caress your face?

II. I am lost, in which everyone seems to agree but no one dares to give me a map just to find myself, just to help me out of your forest. No one did but still, they search for me, yearn for me, and beg me to come out and save myself from you. Why? Tell me, do you breathe fire? Tell me, will you suffocate me with the words coming out of your mouth? Oh, but it seems to me that I am dizzied with them — every day you feed me with your words, right? You whisper them right through my ear, and sometimes just above my naked skin, you linger your breathing. But no, you do not breathe fire; you breathe dandelions and lilies, and tulips and roses. I am the one who breathes fire. Maybe that’s why you won’t let me get to you; you’re the only who touches me and you won’t let me do it to you. Maybe that’s the reason.

III. There are questions in my head, and they steal all the air in my lungs. Do they seek for answers? Do I seek for answers? Quite, but I yearn for them in you. They are heavy; they make me lifeless and if you weren't around to kiss me, giving me a little life, they’d kill me in a split second. Should I come to you to free them? Or should I just freeze myself, and lock myself away? Since I am scared, I am afraid, I am frightened… of what you’ll say, of what’ll happen because these questions, they might become bullets moving in a flash; they’ll pass through my head in a wink of an eye once you answer something I don’t want to hear.

IV. I am a child; you are my playmate. Picture this: we've been playing happily around for quite some time now, but in times that you leave… I am left behind, waiting for you to come back. Sometimes, you’ll be here after a day, an a hour, a month, a week, two days or five, three weeks, six hours… yes, you come back and you come back with a warm smile, then I welcome you just as equally, forgetting the times I was doubting you wouldn't.

V. It’s because I love you that I always wait for your return, even if sometimes keeping pace with time is tiring that I hope that I’ll stop looking out of my windows for you. And before I know it, my palms are cold and I’ll die of just sweating. Then I’ll remember you again, and I’ll hate you for a while. At some time later, I’ll be back to normal. Yes, I am crazy. I’m sorry. But what I really want to know is when I ask you “Will you ever come back and just stay with me for good?” I hope you won’t give me the words I don’t know or maybe. You should already know why I won’t swallow them. And if everything screws up and you’ll end up in my place, I really want to know… how long will you wait for me to come back? How long will you sing a thousand of melodies just to never bore yourself while you stitch in your crowded mind that you love me; because whenever I wait for you, that’s all I think about but sometimes, I really hope I don’t.

( ayen. & eusie. )

Look and you'll see

a.k.a. I’ll try to write about you one more time ft. Love is…

Your eyes speak of daydreams turned into wishful thoughts that keep me awake at night; like perfectly made snowflakes that’ll tickle my nose as they fall, only they slip away from my skin. The way you breathe is like a memory I cannot remember to forget. And sometimes, I can’t believe myself, that I feel every move of the air surrounding you like how I feel your every existence — your presence within my radius. But know this: I’ll never get to see if your heart rages out of your ribcage as our eyes meet, or get to know if you deny the urge to create chaos inside your lungs once you realize I’m standing near you. Because I don’t know if I’m the only one who doesn’t try to ignore the cry of our souls, or maybe it’s really just me who feels like crying. You look like a falling star, only I’m the one who’s falling and I’m full of wishes about you. And know this: sometimes love is never having what you want like how I can’t have you. In the end, time is the only one I trust to blow me away from the havoc inside my head created by you.

(eusie.)

“you wrote that?” / “you asked me to.”

a.k.a. i’m in love with allen’s love for lu

*

i can feel it as it slowly decays                 this isn't love anymore                               last night, the sky was starless could the moon still be enough to light up the darkness?

**

i can feel you slowly drowning away     are you still in love?                      last night, i heard you crying could i still be enough to stop you from aching?

(eusie.)

things you don’t know: if he loves you back you think he might

“Sometimes I wonder / if I’m really the best / person for this body.”

— — John Elizabeth Stintzi, from “Salutations From the Storm,” Junebat

This will be one hell of a fucking ride

a.k.a. This was supposed to be hidden / under my bed / along with stories / I refuse to read before I sleep

Standing in front of a mirror / I see myself eyeing every inch of me / the black lace covering / almost nothing / and the music on my back / is glorious

Then there’s a knock / below my feet / as the wind settles behind the curtains of my bedroom window

It takes a second then a minute / blood flowing in a rush / heartbeat flooding my eardrums / as I parade down the stairs

He stands there like a kitten / his shadow touching the back of the door

He’s breathing fire as he enters inside / then our breaths waltz / in the same air-y music / then we feel the same desperate burn on our veins / the same shyness flush on our cheeks

A beat / a whisper / then pants begin travelling in the hope of more / of more bare skin / of more blazing touches / of more sight of swollen lips

I lead him to my room / catching his fingers once inside / placing them on my shoulder blades / I lead him / to have himself kiss me wet

(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.)

trying to write a poem. or even a story. but shit

In-se-cure

a.k.a. I want to forget your name

I turned my back away from haunted walls one night with shaking hands and eyes lost in focus, with lips startled and words buried deep within six feet down my throat. There had been a war across my horizons, among my thoughts, along with bombs exploding leaving me deaf to every “You’re beautiful” thrown against my face ever since. They see me flush in red, but burn with questions that can make every human’s words into ashes. I don’t trust what they say, because whenever I see myself as I stand in front of the mirror, I can hear my own eyes gasp. With my hands clasped to each other and tied above my chest, mouth slightly open, eyes glued to the ceiling — I started crying again. The moonlight peeped through my windows, and I think I saw your face in the dark. My knees traveled to be clenched by my arms. There was sudden heartbeat, then another.. like a continuous bang on my bedroom door. Ignoring it, I tried to forget the reason why everything seemed to be connected to you. More like I tried to find the reason why, because although they said I am worthy and I didn't deserve you, what I have been keeping in mind is when you let go in a whisper, “You just weren't enough.”

(eusie.)