Hello. There Is Nothing To See Here But Hand-me-down Treasures And Half-assed Writings
hello. there is nothing to see here but hand-me-down treasures and half-assed writings
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an interview with my neighbor
part 1: mr jameson coles
frozen cookies are his favorite snacks; he said he likes his heart cold. he even likes to fill the path to his house with burned out roses. “because no one likes a love dwindled to nothing,” he replied when i asked why. sad love, sad love, sad love, i heard his eyes whisper. my heart ached. he always met sunrises with cold coffee which he made every night before. and he didn’t care if his shower won’t work anymore. “where do you take baths then?” he answered that his soul keeps wandering around anywhere but here. he likes the smell of nails. and he said he knows what everyone thought of him. the paintings in his living room always sing to him in a melody that resembled a voice in his past. he didn’t tell me a name. but he said his past liked every time it snows. “do you like it when it snows?” he then asked me. then there was a story behind his eyes that echoed out memories. sad love, sad love, sad love, i heard myself whisper. he secludes himself; he said it’s because he’s waiting. for a future he planned long ago with someone who’s not here anymore. the room surrounded us with an atmosphere that felt like i was traveling backwards. a howling wind screamed pain throughout as he looked outside the windows. then slowly, but tearfully, he murmured, “a sad love, isn’t it?”
(eusie.)
things you don’t know: if he loves you back you think he might
“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.)
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.)
sumesex naman ata di murder eh
// murder naman yata eh, hindi sex //
This is about Don’t even think about it, yes?
Hi. I’ll just be in the corner and contemplate about what I did wrong. And probably study about read between the lines? DUNNO. Good evening
@bookhay: “Nalibugan ka lang bes hahahaha”
gb vkfckxjskhf ;isdujeidhfiLAdH FIEKJFif eihfow can't write anything ielhkdnfoia HGEJDFI J iejfei can't even think straight fheuwljfhdn ; idkhfnd no pun intended
Old ones
Four years, and (almost probably) four months — later, used to be clear, now just more than a blur; twitching every time these eyes are caught, too many stories etched, and not even told; hushed pleas are not pleas at all, so why?; loading bullets to a gun, waiting for the blow, of a mention of a name, of anything at all…;
Muffled screams inside these (five) throats — saying, old ones sure are gold, but old ones rust; bombs threatening to fall, each close distance, when will they decide to bury these bones?;
But, so far (it’s alright), it’s alright
(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.)
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