eyes that feel, body that aches

Depth. Warmth. Mystery.
Too much. Too much of it. 
Sometimes i feel like I’m going insane.
For questioning—
the how i feel quite intensely
with no proper reasoning.
How the outsides quickly mirror the insides,
how the dreams manifest in real life,
how the symbols contradict
only to synchronize in time;
and how you never seek for signs
but have them knock on your door
way too many times.
How you sometimes deny
the magic and the fire
as it burns you to death
and to be rebirthed with its own light.
Dying and living—and a loop that is never-ending.
The crying to bed at night
and the waking up with swollen eyes that feel its aftermath.
No, I don’t see it.
I don’t see why.
But i was given two sides of the coin of life.
The duality of which, i have to master in time.
No, i don’t see it.
I don’t even get it.
But i was given this depth of feels to be felt,
and maybe not yet to understand
the sudden body signals,
the splenic insights,
and the ancient whispers of light.
No I don’t see it.
But the eyes that feel and the body that aches,
has always been right.

Of truth, of letters, of you.

It’s not true,

That i have forgotten about you.

On warm Saturday evenings and even on cold Sunday mornings, I think of you..

although, most times, I don’t really want to.

What is true,

Is that i wrote letters for you.

Letters of love and loss,

Even of yearning to be yours.

What is true,

Is i keep a photograph of you,

The one where your eyes sparkle,

Like the stars i gaze upon whenever i miss you.

So don’t believe me,

and my egoic denying of the truth.

Instead, believe this poem,

and my allowing of the heart to pour

all the love it has for you, through my words that will stand the test of the time—if time is ever true.

For my words become powerful,

when written by a heart that mourns,

A heart that suffers—but a heart that chooses love nonetheless, no matter what, and in spite of it all.

Image source: Pinterest

Don’t read this if you’re highly sensitive

This day felt like a day of survival. A day of waiting for the sun to set so it can rise again tomorrow. Such a paradox really but earlier i was getting a little impatient, yet again. Things don’t seem to be working. Walking along this path that has little to no form of lighting. It’s too dark but holding on tight with this wand of faith handed to me by God when He instructed me to go to this direction. My grip is tight, a bit afraid that it slips off my hand. ‘Cause it’s the only thing I have that keeps me going. To look past the limits of my eyes, to search beyond the unsearchable and to try to grasp the shaky uncertainty that tests me.

Should i keep moving or should i go back? What if there’s nothing in there? What if I’m just wasting my time? What if my intuition was wrong? What if this isn’t really where I’m supposed to be? Will there be light if i kept on walking or am I just fooling myself?

These are my everyday questions. My everyday eerie movie. My everyday battle against the demons in my head that are seemingly obsessive. Well, maybe the rollercoaster effect is to blame. The highs and lows of the ride that give the same amount of shitty feeling. The seesaw syndrome of my extremity. Of my duality that makes and then breaks me. It’s just, hard—To live in the present moment. To just be. But I’m trying. God knows I’m trying. But sometimes the pushing to be present hurts. Maybe because it requires of force. Not like a normal gravitational pull like how i am with my writing, with my words, with the world i create out of my imagination. But I’m not allowed to stay there for long. I HAVE TO stay in the present reality.

And I guess there would really be times like these where I couldn’t get my shit together and that I have to push things. And I think this rythym of pushing with so much force will never stop hurting if I don’t stop trying to control things the way i want it. And hell, I know this already, don’t I? Why do i keep on doing the same old shit?

Earlier i thought to myself: this transformation journey sucks. It fucking hurts. The breaking of old patterns just so i can be better. The changing of habits just so i can be consistent. The allowing of things to unfold at the right time so i can be patient. The loving myself first so I can love others more. The building of self-worth so I won’t be needing of validation from other people anymore. And the fucking slowing down and the fucking details! It sucks. It hurts. But it’s essential for my growth. And it’s all for my highest good. Fine. Let me convince myself of this positive fucked up self-help theme of the world right now. To be self-reliant, to know how to self-regulate and to be self-aware! They sound so simple but it isn’t.

P.s. I know this too shall pass. I just had to blurt it out and felt like posting it. If you reached until this postscript, then i guess you’re not highly sensitive at all 😁 (But please excuse my language.)

Pps. I’M NOT GIVING UP.

Love and Loss, Truth and the End (2)

img_3689He shrieked like a hungry baby. He knows it ain’t manly to do so but he knows no other strategy to make her feel a little bit of guilt and maybe just maybe, through his sobbing, she gets to realize that she couldn’t live without him—that his love is genuine, that he’s the one for her.

“Tell me, how can things have a meaning, if you’re not beside me all the time? I can’t picture you with another guy, no ugh I just can’t. Please just please, this time I’ll make things work. I promise you, I’ll be better. I’ll do everything to revive the love that died when I foolishly neglected you. Would you please give me another chance?”

She looked at him whilst he wept, waiting for a message from her heart, thinking maybe the act will somehow awaken the feelings that withered but there was nothing — all she felt was utter pity. He was pressing her hands, kissing the back of it. Like a puppy who finds a way so his owner won’t go to work and they could play all day, like a salesman who desperately asks a customer to buy his product. But it ain’t effective. Too much of emotions seems like a flood of disaster for her. She’s a strong independent woman who barely relied her happiness over someone. And this strategy of begging is just a huge turn-off. She allowed him to say please as many times as he wants, but it’s lucid to her that the word won’t change her mind.

“Everyone deserves a second chance. Even a man of infidelity could be given another chance by the woman who truly loves her. I want to follow this common notion but when I look at you now and I ask myself — is this the person I want to spend the rest of my life with? The answer is a NO. I’m not saying this to hurt you even more but sometimes we need to get smashed in the face by the truth than to forever suffer with a lie. Truth deepens the pain but a lie prolongs it. What do you prefer?”

He stopped crying when each word that came out of her lips stabbed him with no warning. Her confidence numbed his muscles he couldn’t seem to move. Some words got tattooed in his skin: love and loss, truth and the end. He knows that he won’t be able to get rid of these words just as much as he won’t be able to move on from her. He knew he took her for granted, because he thought it was okay for her — she never complained that much anyway. He lacked the initiative to communicate with her, he ignored the signs to feed her needs in the relationship. He was a fool to keep on takin’ but rarely givin’. He was stupid to think love is enough to keep her happy.

What do you think should the boy do? Should he insist and keep on saying please? Or should he let her go despite the fact that a life without her is a puzzle with a huge missing piece?

 

#fiction

 

 

 

Love and Loss, Truth and the End

“If you really love me, why would you leave me?” He said, facing away from her, evading the moment where he should be asking this whilst looking straight to her eyes, but he didn’t have the courage—he was frightened to see an unspoken truth that lies beneath her big brown eyes, he was scared to find out that maybe, she just simply fell out of love for him.

Silence kicks in, it was deafening. The kind that makes your heart throb a little faster than the ordinary beat, the kind that gives you no hope to search for a validated line that could satisfy the boy’s muddled mind.

The girl started to speak after a moment,

“Baby…” she said, with her voice shaking like a shivering body of a homeless girl on a sad winter night. She stared at him, waiting to meet his eyes, but she failed. She held his hand with her right and put the other to his chin, gently forcing his face to tilt to one side, to face her, so she can have his eyes as a witness, as she would speaking nothing but the truth at 3:30 in the morning. She took a deep breath to release the tension and fear she has inside and said,

“I love you so much. It breaks my heart to hear you question the love I have for you because I reckon you don’t even know the real depth of it. Please don’t ever think that what I’ve said to you, what I have showed you, were all a complete lie. Because I have always been true to you, I’ve loved you more than you know. In fact, I’ve given so much of me. I’ve even devoted my entire life into the pursuit of our growth as partners. But now when I look at myself, all I see is a restless woman who got so drained for giving too much of her it has exhausted every part of her being. As I look into your troubled eyes, I asked myself, can I still fight for this? I want to give up now because I think I don’t have any energy left. I got so tired, I’m sorry but this is true. They say, if you love someone, you should never feel tired. I say, I loved someone so much I came to this point right now that nothing is left, I spent too much effort on this, done everything I could to make you happy, but it has always been me, and guess I’m still not enough for you. And for two years, I haven’t felt that security. Not even a single plan has been laid out in front me.”

She tried to stay as composed as she could, trying to hold back them tears from falling. After speaking of truth, she felt that sense of relief. She’s aware that he might not understand it right away, but telling the truth has set her free, from the constant anxiety she has felt for holding on to something she wasn’t sure of, just because she couldn’t feel the same level of commitment she has for their story to work.

What if he doesn’t accept this and asked for a one more chance? Should the girl give this boy another shot?

#fiction