The walkway I typically take reminds me of the time
when you just walk next to me.
How I do not see the crowd ahead of me
as I just tune out everything but the sound of you.
How your eyes light up, like the lamps of the road
I normally take to get home.
When I catch glimpses of the moon
that I keep saying you were similar to it.
The sight of two persons with hands clasp together
was like the ones we did.
And now my palm feels emptier;
the ghost of your finger stays to haunt me.
Any song and lyrics I come across
your face fills up my head. And it pains me to endure it.
To try not to think of you. To try not to yearn for you.
Because my feelings were too raw for you who had too much.
I cannot not be reminded. I cannot not think of it.
That the same old places I ventured alone,
overwritten by the memories of you.
How eventually my heart seeks you
but your heart doesn’t seem to seek mine.
Not with how you place this distance between us.
Not with how you keep me at arms’ length.
Not with how your messages are short and cold.
Allow me to ask, over and over again:
Am I special? Do I make you feel?
Because with the way things are,
and if in the future they’d be,
I’ll always ask myself:
Is this what Love supposed to be like?
In the end,
the attempt to detach is as heavy.
Because for the rest of time, until then,
I’ll write about you.
My thoughts of you. My yearnings of you.
My raw feelings for the one who is – as I finished composing this – breaking my heart.
How I wish the heart is made of steel:
the pain forges the metal stronger and more decisive.
Sturdy enough to take on battle, to come out useful and victorious.
Unfaltering, determined for the bearer.
How I wish my heart was made of steel:
the kind of arsenal just for me.
Strong and decisive, unwavering to threat.
But when the pain inflicted is from one that weakens my soul,
even a Warrior will eventually fall.
How I wish to be able to pick myself up after;
the debris of steel bruised and scattered, hurt and subdued.
Until one day this Warrior prepares for war,
the heart carefully mends anew.
I’m thrown into a sandstorm,
blinded to see but the scratches of the wind are here.
To let myself be taken;
in a sinking abyss of my emotions far too real.
Oh, how it hurts after.
Wounded against raw skin.
And yet the pain makes me alive,
to let myself forget the ache within.
You are a sandstorm ti my soul.
Ferociously causing havoc; a disaster for me.
I would flee to avoid all these;
the stirring of my weakest self.
To confront what I never knew before
and to question what I really deserve.
I fear the beauty of spring, how its gentle air holds me close.
What once a simple garden now Eden to my eyes.
Time passes on so quickly, like the hours do not move at all.
I fear that such rarity would fade,
like how seasons change over time.
At the moment I embrace you so,
I wonder if you’d stay or you’d go.
I fear the beauty of spring, its running water calms me down.
The warm caresses of the Sun
equates to the soft kisses of the Moon.
But like the stars across the evening sky
soon disappear at the haunting daylight.
At the moment I tell you this,
I wonder if this passion would make you flee.
In dissonance with the heart.
I often wonder how it is: that when I feel certain first, I back away next.
That words spoken light up the starts,
until clouds hide them away.
In dissonance with the heart.
The melodies are warm and sweet,
but the cold rain washes the songs away.
What am I hearing among the crowd?
Wishing for that gentle voice to stay.
In dissonance with the heart.
It aches to hold on.
When it feels like I’m about to let go,
the thought of it hurts me so.
The moon quietly watches over the soul.
And the soul hopes to hear the music:
Of what it truly feels.
The noise discomforts the art,
until the turmoil breaks her heart.
No one would believe how we are alike.
It just so happened we are biologically different.
You and me, a lady and I. And yet this bond between us transcended to a more stranger turn, an affinity far from truth. While you and I are two separate beings, how is it that we both think and decide the same.
I noticed this similarity back in college, when you and I were classmates of the same major. Neither excelling or failing, we both braze through our studies with same scores and averages. Passing our requirements on the same day (coincidentally, that was) with the same content and idea made you and me sit through the administration’s office. We were questioned both and we really explained that none of us copied the another. There were far too many coincidence to recall — you and I were too alike on anything.
At some point I considered you my rival. A hurdle to overcome. I did plan to be victorious in the end, that after this academic phase with you it’d be over and done. I would never have to see you again, or hear your voice that spoke the same opinions I quietly hold. You were a mirror of sort that I couldn’t wait to get away from.
But as fate would have had it, inside this quiet cafe I recently frequented after work hours, you sat where I’d personally choose: by the window, overlooking the road and the busy folk. When our eyes met after 4 years I knew something clicked in my head. It was a jolt that felt like reminder that I knew this feeling all too well. I was seeing you for the first time in a while but it didn’t feel like we parted that long.
And you stared back, surprised, like you felt the same… with that pasta hanging from your mouth.
It was kind of cute.
Thus begun our conversation and from then on our companionship. Just when I thought I only met you in this lifetime, I might have probably met you previously elsewhere. On a different timeline, on a different existence, under the same blue skies.
The comfort of the starlight view is what I got used to.
Easily and quickly. Comfortably. Gradually.
And yet when the skies hide them away, I wonder:
do they still shine as brilliantly when no one is looking?
Do they shine far brighter for another?
Pretty starlight from the distance,
would you cast your warmth for a traveler like me?
Whose soul’s ache at the cold of the moon;
that the dawning sun is nowhere to be seen.
The night dimmers and turmoils the heart,
the traveler holds on to what little hope there is.