Will you erase me, too?

I am dropping all the metaphors in this entry. This is me, thinking out loud in the cyberspace.

Over dinner, a friend and I talked about Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind—the movie that reminds the story I had with this guy whom I recently broke up with.

My friend asked me, ‘So is there something that you want to erase just in case we have that Lacuna Inc. in our country?’

In all honesty I answered, ‘I’ll erase him in my memory. But before I do that, I’ll tell you to introduce him to me again after the process.”

And maybe I’d also ask the Lacuna Inc. to delete the other guy in my memory. This guy whom I met and introduced me to things that I’ve been missing for years. Maybe, I would love to meet him in another time. Again, in all honesty, I could fall in love with this person. But I am not ready yet.

I am fucking confused.

I’ve lost things. I’ve lost him. Or maybe, he lost me. And sometimes, I’m giving clues for him to chase me back to his arms. But he’s just too numb to feel that I’m asking him to have me back. While this guy—the other guy—is giving me all the reason to stay, be with him and have a new beginning with him.

Falling in love. Falling out of love. Finding new reasons to feel again. Declining facts. Seeing signs.

This damaged self.

Honest lines at 230

We drink. We kiss. We make love—or at least we pretended there’s love in between.

Life is too short to worry about this madness. This cycle. This trap. This crap.

I just don’t want this to end right now. 

I don’t expect you to like me

In fact, I never expected anything from the beginning. You met me while I was under the influence of alcohol. I talked to you because I was finding a reason to stay up late, because I was bored and because the one whom I wanted to talk to was nowhere to find. I talked to you just because. And that just because brought us together watching the dawn by the shoreline. A romantic occasion for lovers, a strange moment for strangers—

Like us.

Days after we were hanging out and we were making out. Right there and then, when we cut the thrill and all the chase that could have happen in between, I thought everything would be over. Well, everything is the wrong word. It should be something. Because right there and then, when I felt your tongue in my mouth, when I felt your tongue gliding down till you tasted what’s between my legs, I felt like you were trying to uncover more of me. As if I was a gift wrapped in five layers of papers.

Well, actually, I am. And you have already peeled off the first and second one.

But you should know that the last remaining papers will reveal that I am nothing but an accident waiting to happen. I am nothing but a self-destructive girl who wants to breathe in a world where love is not defined by strength but by excitement.

And maybe you, too.

And I will wait for that moment—that moment when I will regret talking to you just because I was finding a reason to stay up late, because I was bored and because the one whom I wanted to talk to was nowhere to find.

One day soon

When you’re driving, I want you to hold my hand and kiss it softly. I want you to gently pinch by cheeks, my chin and I want you to tuck my hair behind my ear. When we’re in your bedroom, I want you to tenderly kiss my neck, my shoulder blades and my nape. I want us to kiss passionately, I want your tongue get entwined with mine. I want you to run your fingers all over me. I want you inside me.

I want to hear you moan. I want you to crave for more even if you’re already consuming me. And when everything’s over, I want you to fall asleep beside me. And then every once in a while, we will wake up to kiss, to cuddle, touch. And then we’ll sleep again.

Sooner we’ll wake up--refreshed. Satisfied. Then we'll wear nothing but our best smiles, sharing the best talks over coffee while listening to the music that bound us since day 1.

That moment—I would love to do it again with you. 

Galapagos

She: Do you hate me?

Him: I can’t hate you. I’m gonna miss you.

She: I’m going to miss you too. My heart is breaking but we need this.

Him: I love you. I'm sorry.

She: I love you too. And I'm sorry too.

Thoughts at 3

There is something familiar about the sound of the rain on roofs. Of the screeches of car tires that hit the mudded streets. Of the ambiance brought by dim lights and heartfelt music. And of every vulgar talk and madness uttered in between.

The overwhelming sound and smell of freedom lie in front of her.

Caged—it doesn’t make sense actually. She was never forced to play outside the house. Ah, that house. It’s now ebbing along with the bright paints and flowery bushes and the aroma of freshly baked breads.

The reasons to stay are all fading. The desire to explore what’s beyond the world are coming in.

Is she even ready?

The risk. The sadness. The nights of tears and regrets. The nostalgia.

Thank you stranger

How nostalgic and sad (warm and familiar) the balance of things has become. For every reckless choice, there is a reason behind it. Those odd feelings it digs up, the constant coming and going of people and places and emotions. Home has always been this ebb and flow. But there’s something disconcerting about the new shift in priorities, the quiet, unsettling of lustful glances and wistful dreams, something uncomfortable about the glow of cigarettes and driving home in the early morning hours. About the buzz of the phone, the creak in the couch, the muffled voices and drug induced laughter. It is all about what I should and shouldn’t do, what I won’t and what I will, these replacements for broken hearts. I am stretching and aching and falling to the wayside, into things that aren’t negative but certainly not positive either, steady as we go, but my mind keeps reeling on—

How did we even get here?

Credits to: Poorly Written History

Catch 22

She looked at the mad crowd and realized what she was missing for the last four years. It’s not the surprises or the unwrapped presents that come along with warm embraces. It’s not even the printed photos of her or the spontaneous dinner.

It’s the world.

She thirsts. She craves. She wants for to breathe in wider spaces—and spaces where there is danger and pain and fear. Spaces where people are all strangers to one another…

But then she realized: Isn’t the thing that she has right now is what she once hoped to have not so long ago?

Since when did she become this discontented? Ah, ever since comfort came in.

Contentment is a big word that challenges once faithfulness. Love is an understatement. Happiness needs excitement. Fate is measured by faith.

When will she stop looking? When will she stop destroying herself?

The world is waiting for her.