An Artist’s Soul

“Your eye sketches are mesmerizing. Why are you fond of drawing these?” He asked, utterly curious.

She didn’t answer. She just smiled—one that didn’t reach her eyes—and he suddenly found the answer to his own question.

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She Who Writes

She who writes
About anything,
Almost everything,
That fascinates
Her senses—
Wonders how it would feel
To be a muse
Of someone else’s
Poetic piece.

She who writes
For others,
About others,
And letting them
Live through eternity
Inside the delicate pages
Of her memory—
Wonders how it would feel
To be someone else’s
Remarkable character
Of an unending story.

She who writes
About grief,
About bliss,
About emptiness,
About inscrutable fear—
Wonders how it would feel
To be someone else’s
Unbearable pain
And unexplainable mirth,
Though she roams afar
Or dangerously near.

She who writes
About every tear
That falls from above
And caught by the ground—
Wonders how it would feel
To be someone else’s
Tiny drop
Of rain
On a sunny day
Caught by each palm,
Kept inside each hand.

She who writes
Wants to be written,
To be marked by ink,
To be kept,
To be cherished,
To be remembered,
To be alive
Not for every living soul,
But for those
Who hold her heart.

Dear Vier,

Being alone doesn’t mean you’re lonely. It just means that you are comfortable with yourself.  You enjoy your own company. You know yourself better than anybody else. You like doing things on your own as you like the feeling of fulfillment it brings. You like watching the world go on as if it’s a movie scene. You like wandering on earth with no one to hinder your adventure. You like staying on the corner to have your own peace of mind. You like painting your own world with the colors that define you. You are just being you. No need to fret, no need to mind how people see you. No matter how they think that your a weirdo, that you are depriving yourself by not trying to fit in, you know better. You know that you’re doing just fine.  You are contented with the peace and simplicity of your world. You have a different way of having fun, yes, but you are happy. I know you are.

Typing with care,
3R

PS. Have a good night sleep. You deserve it.

Dear me,

How do you tolerate your own clumsiness, forgetfulness and stupidity? How do you tell your self that it’s okay to spill the coffee all over the table, trip yourself over in no particular reason, take note of what time you took your break only to come back late because you forgot the time, or do a simple kitchen task only to burn yourself and be reminded by the scars?

How do you accept your own kind of weird thoughts? How do you tell yourself that it’s normal to wonder about death and afterlife right after watching a romantic comedy movie, to let your mind wander before drifting to sleep, or to be fascinated by the thought of rain pouring on a sunny day?

How do you deal with your own demons? How do you tell your self that it’s fine not to forgive and forget  as you just don’t want for bad things to relive, to be not expressive thru words or actions as you weren’t born that way, to cry out of frustration and anger but not be able to shed tears due to pain, to prefer being alone yet contented than be lonely within a crowd, to push people away in fear of them leaving,  or to blame yourself almost everytime and sulk in the corner?

How do you love your whole being despite the things you hate about your self?  Sometimes, you really don’t. But who else will, if you won’t?

I still don’t know how, but I sure will learn in no time.
——–

The Girl Who Moved On

I deleted his number then I changed mine.

I deactivated all my social media accounts.

I never ask our common friends about his whereabouts anymore.

I didn’t dare to look back. I dared to take a step forward instead.

I don’t even care whenever someone mentions his name because it became foreign to my ears.

I didn’t return the things he gave me — I burned them. All the letters, cards, stuff toys, even the petals of all the flowers he gave me which I carefully kept in a bottle. I got rid of them all.

I laugh with my friends like the way I usually do, while exchanging funny stories and jokes with them.

My world revolved like the way it normally did.

And I liked it better.

Because all I have to care about now is my own life, my career, my family, and my friends.

No complications, no pain, no heartbreaks but only good and bad days.

I woke up at 6 am.

I stood in front of my mirror.

I smiled and greeted the girl looking back at me a good morning.

Then I proceeded with my morning rituals, cooked bacon and eggs and made my coffee. I ate not in haste, but in a slow, careful manner. I wanted to enjoy my first breakfast alone after a long time. It’s the first day of me being alone since I already moved out from our home to rent an apartment nearer to my workplace. I  turned the  radio on and sang like I’m some sort of a rockstar.

It felt free. It felt fresh. It felt me.

I took a bath while dancing as the water from the shower meet my bathroom tiles and produced the beat I needed.

I chose a denim pencil skirt and white tank top to wear for this day.

A little bit of lipgloss and fresh powder, with my mascara on and tada! I’m off to go.

At work, I did all my tasks as fast and efficient as possible. I was practically smiling the whole day. I was humming a happy tune while encoding some documents my boss gave me. My workmates see me as a bubbly girl and I let them think of me that way.

I had such a perfect day.

I bid my workmates goodbye and hailed a taxi when I realized no one’s gonna pick me up anymore.

I looked outside the car window and enjoyed the view outside until my smile vanished at the sight of that place.

I got out of the car, paid my bill, and slowly walked towards that familiar place. My feet were heavy, and I could hear every footsteps I did.

The familiar scent of freshwater reached my senses as the river flowed below this bridge.

I felt the cold railings beneath my hands as a small smile crossed my lips. The evening air caressed my cheeks like it’s some sort of unspoken words of welcome.

A girl about my age suddenly stood beside me and held onto the railings like the way I did.

The only difference was that she’s crying hard, with smeared lipstick and mascara. She was mumbling words I could hardly understand. I looked away when she caught me staring. It was so rude of me, I know. So I turned away and started to walk away.

“Hey, are you going to jump off from this bridge?” Someone asked from behind.

Just to make sure he’s not referring to me, I turned my head to his direction.

He was talking to the girl I saw.

“So? Who cares if I do?” She asked, anger evident in her voice.

He looked lost at her question.

“Well, I don’t know one. Why don’t you try to jump so we could find out?” The boy shrugged.

The girl burst out laughing while the boy stayed at his ground, confused with her reaction.

“That’s the funniest line I’ve heard for today!” she laughed again, while wiping her tears.

My eyes were suddenly filled with tears until the two people in front of me became blurry. Their voices distant, until I could hear nothing but my own cries. It was me when I first met him. Here I am, pretending that everything’s just fine. Yet one look at this place brought all the memories back. Our first encounter. First date. First hug. First kiss. And my first heartbreak. All of them came back as if they’re too fresh to forget. He taught me how to live when I wanted to end my life. But then he became the reason I am dead inside now.

It’s been six months. Six months of pretense. Six months of empty feeling. Six months without him.

When he told me he didn’t love me anymore like he used to, I didn’t cry. I didn’t want him to know I was dying inside. I iust nodded and turned away. He didn’t even ran after me. He just let me go.

They say that time heals, but I guess not all things heal no matter how long it had passed. Sometimes, you just learn how to be familiar with the pain. You learn to fake every smile to let the world know that you’re okay. That you don’t need anyone to make you smile, or to check on you when you’re too engrossed with your job that you forget to eat or sleep, or somebody to walk you home when it’s late.

I guess some things aren’t supposed to be forgotten. And some feelings just won’t go. They would haunt the shit out of you. And I know I won’t be fine anymore. But somehow I can be okay. I hope.

To The Broken Ones

If you are broken, go and fix yourself. Do not wait for someone to pick up the tiny pieces of your fucked up life. Because once they are able to gather up every single piece of your being into its right place, they become a part of your repaired self. And when they finally decide to leave you, they will take that part with them, even without them knowing it. And the once indestructible shield they built for you becomes fragile.

You then start to fall into the tiniest pieces of emptiness and grief. You are left there on the ground to be blown away by the harsh wind.

So fix yourself. Take all the time you need. It doesn’t matter how long it would take before you can save yourself. It might be a long, tiring process, but it will all be worth it. You will be carefree and brave enough to face any possibilies, for whatever happens, you know that you have yourself to help you get up when you stumble. You will be your own hero.You will be your own strength.

So fix yourself, because no one can really save anybody else from their own inner issues. No one knows you better than you do. No one can ever fix you but yourself. Yes, no one but YOU.

A G E R I C A

I’ve been trying to put it into words.
I’ve been trying to put YOU into words.
Type.
Delete.
Retype.
Delete.
Contemplate.
Hesitate.
Retype.
And the cycle goes on and on.

What shall I say about you?
Would it even give justice to the greatest woman I’ve ever known?
Would it be enough to tell the world,
That you are my everything and more?

Words are never our way to reach out.
And so I know that words won’t be enough.
I just wanted to write a poem for thee.
But all I can scribble is your name,
And that’s what the whole world means to me.

Eighteenth Entry

It’s been a long, long time.
I must have forgotten how it felt
That I let it linger on my skin.
I let it land on my palm;
Wishing I can grasp it while it lasts.

I felt it on my face, as I look into the sky.
And the tiny pieces of pain and mirth
gladly poured into my life.
The euphoric scent sent shivers to my spine;
And I smiled through the busy sound of the city,
And a clock that ticks; not caring about the time.

#Euphoria