No morning after

The rays of the sun were peeping between the window pain. The early morning breeze was embracing the sunlit room, where they both used to spend late nights watching movies, eating pizza, making love, talking, crying, laughing--everything. That room used to witness the love story they had for years. And this morning, the room witnessed how she was weakened by subconsciousness and longing.

He was headed to work and she was still asleep when he was dressing up. Moments after, he bid her a goodbye kiss--a soft peck on her cheek. She smiled. And in between sleep, happiness and early morning sunshine, she whispered, I love you.

As expected, he didn't say anything back.

Look who's broken now

Last night while I was drinking with my colleagues, one of them opened up about the heartbreaking situation between him and his long-term girlfriend. His story reminded me of the things I felt five months ago--how I can't seem to find contentment because it's so hard to commit to things when you think that you still have a lot to experience in life. Hence, I asked him if he really loves his girlfriend and he said--between sobs--that yes, he loves her very much and he knows that she's the one for him.


Thing is, it seems that he's just staying just because they've been together for 8 years and he told us that he knows that he won't find someone like her ever again. And he doesn't know if that is enough to make him stay in their relationship. I remember saying exact words to myself and to my friends, a few weeks before I fucked things up. And so I told him the realization I had when I lost the person I loved and still love...


Sometimes, we think that being too comfortable is boring and excitement is what we really need life. But in fact, comfort is the real thing that makes love last.


I don't know if what I was thinking was true. But what I'm sure is, I still regret that we fell apart just because I can't bring myself to contentment and I look for exciting things--which are just ephemeral.

somewhere i have never travelled

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands


-- e.e. cummings

I guess I am willing to crash and die anywhere

I am that frail, thin leaf that once detached itself from an old oak tree. Right now, I am flying with the million dusts that blissfully dance with the breeze. I am floating, trying to enjoy every twist and turn, embracing my so-called freedom, kissing the beaming sunlight that paints the sky gold. I am running with the flock of birds and butterflies. I am free.

But I am starting to get exhausted with this seemingly-endless flow. But how can I rest if I don’t even have a home? Will I forever remain in the stratosphere—flying, floating and running along the nimbus clouds? 

Ashes to ashes

I thought I can handle it. I thought I’m done and over it. But the road was long and I haven’t even reached the middle of it. The air is thick, embraced by smog and dusts and I’m finding it hard to breathe. The details of the past are dancing, intertwining… occupying the corners, the random spaces that could be my refuge. I cannot move. I cannot walk. And I’m stuck in a place where all I can do is to watch those memories... flying, floating away from where I stood. They are the embers of us—burning. We are broken.