The very first letter I wrote to myself

I’m sorry.

Life has been so tough lately that everything seems nothing but nonsensical. There was a weird rhythm in the singsong of your heart. It was battered, bruised and broken. All that could be heard was the deafening noise of nothingness and fullness at the same time. I’m so sorry you had endured all these heartaches, all these howls and cries. I’m sorry you had kept searching your worth and value at the wrong havens. I’m sorry that you had to end your life each night and kept having delusions of a better tomorrow. I’m sorry you had to pull down your walls and give each one of them the entry ticket only to have your eyes witnessed the downfall of the gem inside you. I’m sorry, for I had never protected you from everything that hindered you from growing into the woman that your Creator conceptualized you to be. I’m sorry for the wounds –the scars written in your flesh, deep within, in the cavern of your soul. I’m sorry for not always allowing your Master to heal those. I’m sorry for being so stubborn. I’m sorry that you have to endure every single day of embracing this wretched soul. I’m sorry that I didn’t teach you the concept of happiness. I’m sorry that you heard nothing but my rants and whimpers, my insults and abuses. I’m sorry for letting my own words abolish your self-esteem and self-confidence. I’m sorry for binding you with the notions such as “You are worthless.”; “You are untalented.”; “You are ugly.”; “You can never make it.”; “You are unlovable.”; You are worth scarring for.”; “You deserve hate.”; “You can’t.”. Forgive me for telling you all the otherwise’s of God’s truth. I’m sorry for blocking His words –words that should have given you life. I’m sorry, I have damaged you so much that you are no longer amazed in your waking-hours. I’m sorry for giving you… death.

I’m proud of you.

It was so rare for me to say this but, yes I am. I am proud not merely by your strength but by your vulnerability. It’s hard to show your weakness, but you let it flow to the shore where people can play it, where people can use it as something worth using. I’m so proud that you have learned to surrender people to God; that you have learned the idea of letting go –slowly losing grasp and letting the Lord lead the way. I’m so proud of you, and there were days that I wasn’t, or maybe tomorrow or the next day, I’m no longer cheering for your progress.

But I want you to remember that the story–our story–isn’t predominantly our story. I’m no perfect. I’m no angel. I can take this all back even after just a minute of utterance, but again, my words are not the arguments that matters –it was His, it is His and will forever be His. I can’t still formulate I love you but He can, always.

All the forces in the universe can’t love you the way God does.

That’s more than enough. 


Last night, she slept with a heavy heart, a tear-stained face and her soul so scarred that she couldn’t even force herself to move. She was so tired, gloomy and down. She kept falling, wandering… wondering. Her mind was clouded with so much darkness that there was no way out but to erase the pain by means of another shot of pain. People see her head as if what’s within is an exquisitely crafted universe of stars and beautiful constellations, but no. You’re wrong. You’ve mistakenly identified her as a flower jubilantly blooming under sunlight, but no. You’re wrong. Cause she feels long too withered to even shine. She was endlessly seeking for hope but all she saw was a road, leading nowhere but oblivion. She was silently asking for help but none came. “I’ve had enough. Take my life.” Irreparable, she felt so irreparable. She tried screaming so loud but her strength–if there was any–wasn’t enough to even execute a whisper. “The journey is too long for you, take a rest My child.” Calmness–her heart suddenly stopped beating so hard. “Have patience, I’m not finish with you, yet.” Comfort–her mind suddenly stopped processing the worst possible thoughts.

“I love you.” Fixed–she felt fixed.



(n) a low rumble of distant thunder
pronunciation: ‘bron-tld (brawn-tide)

—I am the thunder. And these are my brontides.


Out of my ware, every single day, I keep falling for this man—someone whose heart belongs to someone else—someone who I shouldn’t grasp the notion of being with.  He’s gentle, so sweet and a man of chivalry. No one can purposely ignore that. In this universe of parading one’s self, he’s a man of humility. I, with my utmost power, tried my very best to ignore the heartbeats but, I, I failed. And I, I fell.


Yours is the face

That light up my days

It showed me the way

It blew me away

Away from my fears

And all of my tears

Far from despair

And what I can’t bear

Only closer

Closer to Your care


And when it’s time; you must learn to let go of something you’re afraid to lose.


She found the entry point to the labyrinth of trouble when he smiled.


I was told to never look at the eyes, cause those were oblivion waiting for one’s downfall. “You’ve got entrancing hazel brown eyes there.” I uttered.


My pen inked the sheet as my hand started strumming the strings.

Dear, the picturesque sight of your smile’s making me sing.


They said soulmates have resemblance with each other as for the notion that they were angels above fighting the never ending battle. Lost from the war, they were separated into two beings—blindly searching for the other half in their lifetimes. And apparently you’ve lost the battle.

The question is; would you find the other half? Before the world be consumed by sin and hatred?


“How have you been?”

He asked.

Here, still riding the roller coaster of confusion that I have never paid myself to be into.

“Oh, been doing good.”


Some people keep searching for that certain kind of love in this world, a love that can only be found on the cross.


Happiness isn’t about measuring the sadness of infinite galaxy to prove itself.


Tell me;

How would you say that you feel so empty without making people act as if you’re the saddest piece here on earth?

What it is that you will do, when the entire world need saving but no one notice you need it too?

Who are you when you are not wearing that facade, the mask that the world requires you to wear every single day?

And when home doesn’t feel like home, where would you go?

Tell me;

“Is my life another sad story?”

4th Stage


Stage 4.

“You’ve prayed for this night. Okay? Seize the last chance. Que sera sera—whatever will be will be.” I told myself while facing the wall. I have to be reminded that tonight, I must let these—everything that was keeping me from moving forward—go, go where it truly belongs. “This too, shall pass.” I added while tapping my chest.

“Hey.” I suddenly froze when I felt a hand touched my left shoulder. I know that voice, that exact same voice—the one that I don’t want to lose in the deafening noise of this world.

I tried to calm my heart before facing him. “Hey.” I said, assuring myself that my smile wasn’t an uneasy one.

“See? I told you.” He said while handling me a bottle of water. I assumed he was talking about my performance tonight—and how my doubts consumed me and how he encouraged me to try my best out. “You really are something.” He added as his glance fell to me.

And he smiled. That damn smile, the smile that fixed the misalignment of galaxies in my universe.

Before I fall to that obscurity, “Dino, can I have a second with you, later tonight?” God knows how I trained my heart to calm while I spat the words out.

“Sure. Ikaw pa.” Dino purposely patted my head to muddle my hair.

“Don’t.” I said as I tried to run away from him. Well, I hope I really have the courage to do so.

Letting my gaze travel to the whole event place, I can say that: we did it! The event was indeed successful. I would be happy with the notion of marching out from this school—let’s talk about my incoming graduation—knowing that other people saw me being devoured by what I love the most and where I find comfort—music. I am a member of this school organization called the Music Bureau. 3 years ago, I just found myself auditioning for a spot in the club and through God’s grace, I was in. And the rest was history.

“Star! 9pm? At the university park?” Dino shouted while putting his guitar inside its case.

“Oh. Looks like our lucky Star and Mr. Perfection’s going to have under-the-vastly-night-skies-with-glistening-dust-date.” She said, she whose smile is perfect—she who stole his heart.

“Jans.” He said, with touch of seriousness on his voice.

“I was just kidding.” Jans smiled widely while saying this. Maybe that was the smile that has fixed the misaligned galaxies in his—the same way his smile did to mine.

She bid us goodbye, but his gaze followed her.

We were both standing in the midst of the isolated event place. I can sense the awkwardness on my part. Well, later tonight, the awkward atmosphere will plummet on his world too. I just hope that it won’t burn the bridge between me and him—wow, me and him, those words, existing in my world as something, existing in his as nothing, nothing at all.

“Shall we?” He told me when he was all ready to go.

“Can I have a minute with myself? You can now go there. Just wait for me.” I said without looking at him. I’m still putting my ukulele inside its case, and God knows how I’m trying to slow everything down. I’m so nervous that I can feel all the feels in my chest, trying to find their way out.

“You know what? I’m sort of nervous about this talk. I’ve never seen you so serious. Did I do something wrong?” He said, and I can sense the awkwardness in his voice.

Stage 4. Confession.

According to this book that I’ve read, entitled; Karmic Hearts. They said that there are 5 stages of connection. In order for the angel of love—cupid—to connect you to your soul mate, you both need to reached the 5th stage. Awareness. Realization. Acknowledgement. Confession. And lastly, Commitment.

And here I am, playing fool to myself. I know from the very start that I will reach this stage—alone.

“Hey. Earth to Star! Spacing out?” I was suddenly out of my musing when I saw him in front of me, gently holding my wrist. And when I was brought back to my reality, I immediately pulled out my arm from his grasp before the electricity travel its way to my heart.

“I just need to go to the wash room.” I tried to hide the uneasiness but no to avail.

“Star can you please tell me what’s wro—“, before he can finish his sentence, I was already running away.

“See you later. 9pm.” I shouted my lungs out without looking at him.

I have to teach myself to not look—at his perfection, at his being, at him… everything about him.


9 PM.


I saw him sitting at the bench under the 5th lamp post standing in the park. He’s holding the guitar, patiently waiting for me. I assumed he’s listening to something because of the earphones plug to his ears. I gave myself some seconds to admire the totality of this picturesque night before breaking the news to him.

I inhaled all the insane courage I have praying that it won’t asphyxiate me.

“Hey! Kuya Dino.” I blissfully uttered before sitting at the space beside him.

He smiled. That annoying smile of his, that ear to ear grin that made his eyes transmute into thin curve lines. That smile, the one that made me knew trouble. “What’s with the Kuya? You’re at it again kiddo.”

We both laugh until silence came.

“Hmm so… what’s with the sudden talk?” He asked, looking straightly nowhere.

The organ inside my chest started pounding erratically. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to say this. I was never wrong when I told myself that all the courage that I have inhaled will suffocate me. My hands are trembling and my stomach’s churning—here comes the butterflies.

Instead of saying anything, I uncased my ukulele. This is the good thing about music. It can speak when your throat can’t—when your heart can’t.

Oh I teach myself,” I started to delicately strum the four transparent-colored strings while letting the words out.

“…Not to get hurt. When you’re looking while she’s singing as if you’re doing some star gazing.” I continued singing.

“…Oh I teach myself, to lessen the heartbeats. When you’re smiling while she’s talking don’t you know it’s kinda…” I stopped for a moment.

“…damaging.” I finished it out, praying that he will at least have a hint of what are we doing here.

“Wow. New composition?” He asked. And based on my surveillance, he didn’t get it.

“Yeah, for someone.” Straightforward and fast. I answered him that way. I didn’t let any doubts devour me at the moment. There’s no turning back.

“Woah. Let’s slow down to that. Are you sick, Star? You’re actually admitting that you wrote this song for someone.” I can sense the surprise aura sinking to him. I received quizzical look as he scrutinized me. I know that he’ll fish out. “So who’s the luckless guy?” He added.


I was about to vomit another shot of straightforward and fast principle of my life but I gave nothing; it’s just me, him, the moon, my heart and its silence.

“Dino, I will tell you the whole story. Tonight, you’ll have all the because of those why’s running in your head since I asked for this talk. But can I request for a little favor?” I put up all the hint of seriousness on that statement. “Let me end this story that has been on hiatus for too long. Do not speak. Just let me finish this.” I just want to end this great dilemma. “Just let me.” If after this, I’ll have to withstand the brokenness of not having the same intensity of what I gave, then let me, ‘cause I know, it’s all worth it—he’s worth it.

He gave me a nod and a smile—that smile, the start of the labyrinth of trouble that I’m still finding my way out.

“I don’t know where to start.” I uttered. I chose to start by being true. And tonight, I’ll be uttering the truest and surest words that I have long hid within me.

“This too shall pass.” I said, while tapping my chest. “I’ve been playing fool to myself since.” I am straightly looking at the other side of the park, trying my very best to not let my gaze fall to him. Let me save my gaze, something I didn’t get the chance to do with my heart. “For two years? Yeah, two years. I’ve been trying to tell myself that it will pass, that it wouldn’t devour me. I was so stupid to trust myself that it will go away, that it will just be a short-lived one. But apparently I was wrong ‘cause it stays—the feeling stays.” I can sense that I caught his attention. I can feel that he’s now looking at me. So I inhaled all the insane courage before facing him.

And just like that, I fell… again and so were my tears.

He’s looking at me with sense of seriousness. I can’t read the things that are running inside his mind— suddenly, I was blinded by my thoughts, by my heart beating insanely, by my feelings.

I pulled myself out from the oblivion of looking at his eyes. I saw the galaxy and I don’t want to be consumed. Sadly, it’s too late. I was already there, just traveling my way out.

“Ha ha.” I laughed, wiping the tears away. “It was not love at first sight. Don’t flatter yourself that much.” I look at him again, this time, I elbowed him. I hope that would somehow lessen the discomfort sensation lurking around.

He’s just giving me that look—that look—so indescribable.

“Hey don’t yo—“, I was about to say something when he suddenly pulled me for a hug. And just by that, I felt like I’ve got the chance to ride a rocket ship to get a glimpse of the stars, the milky way, the planets—the galaxy. To witness how beautiful they are together, in one picture, in one depiction.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell this to me before?” He stated while still hugging me. “Why me? Why me Star?” I can feel his hug getting tighter and tighter.

Right at this very moment, I’m praying my heart out. Can we stay like this? Can we just stay like this? If this is the jail of oblivion, then I don’t want to be freed. But I have to pull myself out from his embrace ‘cause we both know that this hug isn’t meant for me. So I did. It’s time to let go of my daydreams.

And now I curse you for being so sweet and so kind.” I still tried to sing it. I still tried to wipe my tears away. I still tried to talk to myself that this will pass, that it will never stay. I still tried.

“I hate you Dino. I want to hate you. I want to hate you for being so good to me. I want to hate you for always being so gentle. I want to hate you for having that voice; for always walking me home; for always being there. I want to hate your smiles; the way you sing; the way you encourage me; the way you look at my eyes. I want to hate you for being so good; for letting me see that delicate universe inside your head. I want to hate you for always asking me to sing you to sleep; for always allowing me to hear your new compositions. I want to hate you for our late night walks, your poems, your humorous snide, your imperfections; your love for music. I want to hate you for making me feel this way. I want to hate you. I really do.” I have exhaled all the toxic out. I want to breathe. And I feel like, the notion of me peacefully breathing means that I’m finally out from what’s keeping me annihilated—and it’s him, it’s always him. “I want to hate you for smiling when she was talking. I want to hate the way you look when she was singing. I want to hate you for always bragging about how good she is. I want to hate you for inviting me to the universe inside your head. And I want to hate you more for welcoming her to the entrancing home you have created inside you heart.” And the tears started falling, bit by bit, until I can feel the need to wipe it all out. I don’t want him to see the huge amount of tears that I could shed by being fond of him. But who I was kidding? I’m broken and he can perceive the wall I have built, slowly shattering—piece by piece—until it can no longer protect me from shattering too.

“I want to hate you, to despise you, to tell myself that years from now, this scenario would disgust me. But after years of putting prank to myself, I finally understood that my wants would not surmount what are meant to be. The universe conspired for the collision of stars. And in my story, I’m praying that we will collide but sadly, I was never the other star. I understand. You just want to be seen by her the same way I want to be seen by you. You just want to be heard, the very same way I’m hearing you. I can’t hate you ‘cause apparently, I love you… and that ruled over.”

With that, I stood up. He’s intently looking at me while I’m putting my ukulele inside its case. When I’m all set to go, I stood straightly in front of him—with the ukulele in my grasp, my wobbly knees, the moon above, the nightly skies, the indescribable atmosphere and my heart that I have worn on my sleeve.

“I hope nothing will change.” I widely smile. I hope the falsity wasn’t that obvious. “Stage 4. I was finally done.” I fake-happily told him knowing that he wouldn’t understand.

“Go. Digest everything. Let’s just meet outside the campus when you still want to walk home with me.” I added with a smile. This time it was genuine. Trust me, it was. I gave him enough space not to open his heart to the idea of me but to simply let go—the way I did tonight.



She left me there, still in awe. And as the words that came from her mouth blazes back to me, waves of regret started drowning me.

“I was on stage 3 when I apprehended that everything’s going to be better when we don’t reach the stage 4.”

I telepathically whispered to her retreating back. And maybe, my story—our story—will never reach the 5th stage.

High-strung Man

They say that a rough man don’t cry, as if crying is an incurable disease that can never be cured once detected. Men don’t belong in the vulnerable sector—they can handle themselves, they are the heavy-duty ones, those who can cross the road without any fear of being hit even by the fastest car, those who can jump to the depths of scary black hole without any fear of letting crimson liquid touch the floor, those who can move fast without being tired, those who can swim in the ocean of despair for the people they love, those who didn’t bother themselves to look at the weakest point of this so called life.

The first time I saw my father cry was when his hero died. My Lolo used to be his shield, his rainbow, his savior, his true love, his king—his Achilles heel. The day God opened his arms, tightly embracing my Lolo, he was raging mad. He was howling his voice out to the moon to ask where he went wrong. Why did He take his angel away?

As the first tear fell from his eye, I saw how tough he was.

The second time I saw my father weep was when they fell out of love. My mother was and is his Queen—but at some point of a man’s life, he tried to wander. Tempted by the enflaming fire of his heart’s desire, he gradually opened his being to the world of lost innocence and lures. He hugged the devilish side of this world and un-kissed the beauty of an angelic girl given by God. No, I was wrong when I said they fell out of love—he was just once lost and by saying “Sorry.”, and hearing “I forgive you.” back, he was found.

As the second tear fell from his eyeI built the walls up to the skies, as the resentment took over my heartI, I didn’t feel anything.

The third time I saw my father shed a tear was when I turned my back on toys and started wearing the big girl shoe. I never saw myself as his princess. I never saw myself as someone who will hear “I’m so proud of you.” He was the authoritative one. He was the final say. He was the huge wall that you just can’t simply bump yourself into. He was the cold one, the stone. So, I made up a barrier where only laughs and smiles can be passed to the other side, but weeping and sadness cannot be seen or felt by his being—he whose blood’s running on mine; he whose heart was used to build mine; he whose being was just an ordinary being for me. But that special day, I took down the upper part of my walls and he kissed me on my forehead; without any words need to be uttered I felt the warmness of being protected.

As the third tear fell from his eye while uttering the words for me, in frontage of crowd, I saw how loved I was.

And tonight, for the fourth time, I saw my father withdraw a doleful wail when he said; “I’m tired.” He got home, drunk and not ware, not in his usual knack. He was peacefully lying on his bed while articulating words that long filled his heart; “I’m getting tired too, I’m getting really tired.” with his voice slowly breaking, his eyes producing the water of grief that have convinced me that he belongs to the vulnerable zone too—with his words trying to get out, bit by bit, all the broken pieces of his demolished wall was in front of my feet.

As the fourth tear fell from his eye, to impossible quantity of pieces, it broke my heart.  


Maybe the beer didn’t lessen his strength. No, it didn’t.


Welcome to the society’s chaotic inception.

They have hushed me,
For this is my society,
Their words were like knives,
Each letters and syllables will take your life.
That kid on the street,
Ultimately pleading on his knees,
But he was hushed too,
Just because he was begging to… live.

They have muted me,
For this is my society,
Their thoughts were like snake,
It will slither on your body,
Until every morsel of your flesh be shaken,
Until all the blood in your veins be drained.
That sexually harassed victim,
The society killed her dreams,
For they were judging her in accordance to what they believe,
She was muted too,
Just because she was asking to… live.

They have silenced me,
For this is my society,
Their mindset was lethal,
Every move will cause damages that are fatal.
Can you see the blood-bath wars?
And the scattered fears like stars?
How about the victims’ internal scars?
They chose to be silenced,
Just because they were pleading to… live.

They have sewed my mouth,
For this is my society,
A society of false stories,
No-mercy killing,
Bad faith calling,
Extortion of millions,
Suffering of billions,

They have suppressed me,
For this is my society,
Where people emphasize nothing but your wrongs,
No one ever bother themselves to look beyond.
A society where the central point is a mixture of hypocrisy, chaos and pin-pointing diversity,
A society where everyone wants to… live,
Because everyday feels like an emotional, mental and spiritual’ killing spree.

I hope the second part of this poem will say;
Welcome to the society’s covenant of beautiful denouement.

But when?


End this, for we want to speak.

Moving Forward

And I’ve decided to move forward.

Moving forward doesn’t necessarily mean that we have to take an accelerative step and never look back. I think it’s more on having a higher level of maturity and concentrating in new set of priorities. We all do have different urgencies or main concerns, but choosing to take a step forward means changing how your gaze perceived some things. Moving forward isn’t just about letting go, ‘cause letting go means that you are going to lose your grip on something or someone but your heart will still yearn for it. While writing this, I realized that my totality desires to move forward and the only thought I have in my mind as of the moment is that; it means giving up. Yes, giving up—giving up your old life, giving up the things you used to live your life with, giving up your old habits, giving up your favorite sins, giving up the last piece of pizza, giving up your comfortable seat in public transpo, giving up the last coin in your pocket to give it to that poor little boy you saw in the street, giving up your favorite band, giving up your mediocrity—giving up your comfort zone. Because giving up means giving up. There’s no turning back. Moving forward means being afraid to what’s coming but still taking the other lane that was rightly designated for you. It means that you are going to see life in a new horizon and taking a huge leap, a massive jump to whatever it is that you are terrified of. Taking your first step is indeed scary. It might be that simple, but it is never easy, never will it be.

I’ve decided to give up—my sins, my over analyzer persona, my detestable self, my directioner being, my agony, my old baddie habits—and this space isn’t enough to enumerate everything that I want to turn my back on.

And I’ve decided to move forward.

I’m on my way. 

To the Maker of the Stars

I’m the biggest worrier in town. I tend to overthink everything—from the way other people talk to the way they move, from the way I feel to the way I deal with everything that life has to offer, from the changes in everyday system to the dysfunctional arrangement of life. Far too many times, I compare my journey to someone else’s while completely forgetting that You gave me a different path to take, a special path only crafted for me. I tend to belittle myself by standing every day in front of the mirror and hating every inch that I see. I love to do things on my own—dealing with my own setbacks, picking myself up so that no one would see me struggling, hiding in the little world that I have created myself and relying to the illusion that I have long convinced myself with; I have everything under control. But in realistic side, I am losing it bit by bit. I have trusted myself to reach the destination without realizing that I already pulled my hands out from Your tender grasp. I have been depending on my own for so long, and I’m growing tired. I’m tired of walking on the same road full of broken spectacle shards and still convincing myself that I’m okay even with my bloody feet, broken heart, twisted mind and exhausted soul. I’m tired of telling people that I don’t need anyone’s saving because I do, I need to be rescued, I need to fly once more and see the vast variety of colors roaming around the world that had been dull gray when I took steps away from You, from few steps to bigger ones, until I gone astray.

I surrender.

I want to give You my heart. I found it in the midst of nothingness, deteriorated and almost giving up. I want to give You my soul ‘cause Your love can glued it back. Teach me to let go and to just let You. Teach me to loose grasp of the myth that I have been living with; “I have a total control over my life.” You lend me your ears when no one wants to listen. You offer me Your eyes when I’m slowly getting blinded by the mediocrity of life. You give me strength when I am losing mine. You never gave up on me when I already did myself. You become my air when the world’s asphyxiating me. You’re the ocean of life, the groundwork of my faith tower and I couldn’t ask for more. When the depths of the despair consumed me, Your hands are the ones I’m still willing to hold on to. What took me so long to perceive that all this time, the love that the whole world has been searching for, is here with me? The kind of love that knows no condition; a love that just loves.

I want to stop myself from writing my story. Everything made so much sense to me when the thunderbolts of realizations strike; I shall give you the pen. Teach me to write the story in accordance to Your outline. I know You won’t erase the chapters that I made but the ones that are not written yet would be gratifyingly constructed according to the framework that You have for me. God, I’m letting you take over.

To the Maker of the stars, You’ll always be my favorite author.


Hey, I don’t like you.

Everybody thinks that I don’t like you, even you. Well, I guess it’s safe to say that I don’t. I don’t like the way you say, “Hey!” and I don’t like it more when you add up my name with it. I don’t like your voice even though it can make someone hover to cloud nine. I don’t like your smile. I don’t like it when you are grinning ear to ear and your eyes are slowly transmuting into thin lines. I don’t like your tenderness. I don’t like it when you open the door for others and you, giving them the seat that was supposedly yours. I don’t like it when you are cheering for me or encouraging me in showing everyone the things I could do. I don’t like it when you are just inches away from me and the close proximity makes my throat dysfunctional because articulating some words and even breathing seem so hard. I don’t like your mind. I don’t like the way you perceive things, the way you contemplate, the way you carry your thoughts. I don’t like you asking me how my day went. I don’t like your simplicity. I don’t like those faultless set of white teeth. I don’t like your approachability. I don’t like the way you photograph. I don’t like your melodies. I don’t like the way you write those songs. I don’t like that we have such similarities. I don’t like having this connection with you that only I, could feel. I don’t like the way you make my heart flutters and my tongue tied. I don’t like the way you see me, the way you look at me, the way you… smile at me. I don’t like you being in my thoughts, it will just lead me to another song that I shouldn’t bring out ‘cause it will give them some indications that maybe, just maybe, I do like you. But no, I don’t.

Everybody thinks I don’t like you, even you. Well, I guess it’s safe to say that I don’t. I guess it’s nontoxic to lie ’cause everything’s new to me and I am still contemplating the notion. How can I like someone else when I have this unfathomable battle with my worth, my mind, my heart, myself? I guess it’s much harmless to live in this alternate world of mine.

I don’t like you. Not at all.



AN: Sometimes we’re writing not because we are going through something, sometimes we’re writing just for the sake of writing hahaha.