And Suddenly, I Just Miss You Again

braces in and out & ellipsis

a.k.a. yes, it’s from me. but don’t worry, i don’t

this is how i think it is: the sound between your sketch pads and your pencils are silent from where i am / but your heartbeat is steady like my room's wall clock / it's probably a roller coaster of a ride, but your emotions are too wild to acknowledge / so you hide them in a whip of one color then another, or you drip them in monochrome / and maybe sometimes you find yourself dancing to the wind's songs / but when it whispers a name, you cover your ears and sail yourself back to drawing

(eusie.)

November 12, 2013

a.k.a. A Haiku

Like a daffodil, he’s my life’s greatest mistake — the best misfortune.

(eusie.)

Hello, it isn’t me.

I don’t know when I started to feel the coldness of my bed. But these sheets beat me when it comes to the realization of the absence of your warmth. It took me days to understand that you won’t march back in with all the stars in your eyes. I never tried to open the lights after the day you stormed out, for I don’t know if I can stand to not see your shadows moving in to hug me from behind. Or to sneak downstairs at dawn just to let me wake up to the smell of pancakes or macaroons. I left the kitchen sink on, just so I’m not the only one who continuously fill one’s self with wasted tears. The house is a mess just as I am. Everything is flooded with our memories, and I feel like I was blinded by the smell of your breath every time you mention my name.

I guess, I just really miss you. But I won’t admit it yet.

(eusie.)

19:34

My lips fail to be in sync with my heart’s desire, so I relied on my hands.

But with every paper filled with smudges from my fingertips, I have realized,

I can never write everything down the same way I used to…

when I was a chaos but my heart wasn’t.

(eusie.)

[title]

hey... i miss you he says

        my lungs die &         for a moment,                    i feel skinless

[“i love to say goodbyes”]

        i tame myself &         breathless,                           i say

i miss... being in love with you

(eusie.)

me: is a sappy little shit

#pen #paper #ink #marks ?

Are you… asking me about my tags? If yes, then…

#pen is for posts that are just some of my (personal) babblings#paper are poems/prose/writings that are either about me, for me, or related to me#ink is for posts that i’ve written#marks are asks that i’ve answered

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.)

e.e. cummings, from “because it’s Spring” (in 73 Poems), Complete Poems: 1904-1962

“Will you still love me in the morning?”

a.k.a. She says, “Yes,” while he answers, “No.”

She arrives at home a few minutes after five, clutching her heart tightly with her fingers. She looks around for a certain display of messy dark hair, her knuckles turning white every passing second. When her eyes couldn’t see what it sought out but meet a pair of amber orbs, she lunges forward onto its beholder.

He’s wearing his favorite navy blue shirt with gray linings on its sleeves, both of his hands clasping a book. His eyes turns back to it, she presumes, as she settles down in a leathered sofa in front of him. He’s seated on the loveseat, half lying on it even; his back resting on one rolled arm, his feet relaxing on the other.

She looks at his face and straightforwardly asks, “Why did you do it?”

He — who understood the question right away without any needed explanation from her to clear what could be a misinterpreted query — simply supplies, “I don’t like the way you look at it, or the way your fingers last a little more unnecessary than it should when you trace it through. I wanted it off right away the moment I couldn’t take it anymore.”

But you love it, she almost whispers. He used to, her mind takes in on account. “Are you okay?” she chooses to inquire.

He only looks at her, his amber eyes slowly mirroring an ember fire. He stands up and closes the material he was reading. She can hear her fingers tapping on her knees. Or maybe it’s the walls pleading in soft creaks. Or it’s her heart, with its great desire to come off of her chest and run away.

She wants to run away from the burning heat of her lover’s stare.

After a few minutes, she finds herself lost in a blurry surrounding. She focuses her vision and sees herself in the same sofa, her hands bleeding from how tight she was holding the end of her dress. Like how she’s holding her pieces together, just for it to not clutter and break into smaller ones.

But when she raises her gaze and find him at the edge of the stairs, she finally lets go.

And when he quietly murmurs an “I’m okay,” she decides she didn’t want to pick herself up. Her wounds will only cut deeper.

He didn’t even ask if I was, she thinks. Later, she stops thinking.

(eusie.)