Posts Tagged ‘love’

Last night I thought I kissed
the loneliness from out your belly button.
I thought I did, but later you sat up,
all bones and restless hands, and told me
there is a knot in your body that I cannot undo.

I never know what to say to these things.
“It’s okay.” “Come back to bed.”
“Please don’t go away again.”

Sometimes you are gone for days at a time
and it is all I can do not to call the police,
file a missing person’s report, even though
you are right there, still sleeping next to me
in bed. But your eyes are like an empty house
in winter: lights left on to scare away intruders.

Except in this case I am the intruder and you
are already locked up so tight that no one
could possibly jimmy their way in.

Last night I thought I gave you a reason
not to be so sad when I held your body like
a high note and we both trembled from the effort.

Some people, though, are sad against all reason,
all sensibility, all love. I know better now.
I know what to say to the things you admit to me
in the dark, all bones and restless hands.

“It’s okay.” “You can stay in bed.”
“Please come back to me again.”

– Alias: Lenore (http://five–a–


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So staying up late and gulping down caffeines kind of makes me feel like being drunk okay. And this spinning Story of Pine is not getting me nowhere because my life is already in chaos.

So it’s like, life is short okay? That’s why we stay up late and smoke weeds and hook up and have fun and cry and laugh at the same time right? How could you even have time to ponder about what to do? Like, after all the times I’ve fucked up I’m trying my best to be patient, because “Patient is a fucking virtue” they said, but NO I CAN’T!

Do you know how hard it is to not say the words? I mean, no matter who or what you are it’s still a freaking burden to keep it all to yourself, your feelings, your twisted longing to touch to kiss to inhale to memorize that object of infatuation who’s driving you nuts. It’s not those kind of burdens that help you fly like wings, no. They’re like lead in your blood, like cement that concreted around your legs that pulls you down so deep so far gone. Keeping them within is like holding your breath, holding it for so long that your body begins to tremble, and starts to seize, and you’d end up being suffocated by your own breath.

So no, it has to be done, and said, and shouted out to the world right? So he/she would know, and for a moment hopefully that person would appreciate your love, before they brush it off their shoulders like a breath of snow.

These thoughts actually pump me up and make me just wanna run up and kiss him there tomorrow at work. Or I could be more secluded, I would walk with him to his apartment that night, staying safe in the coat of night, saying the words in a veil of frost, that I want him, I want us. How I would stake it all for only a fragment of hope. Yet that, is not how things work.

Considering how things were first looked over and pondered for months, why did I decided to remain silent anyway? Given unrequited lust would torture my soul, how sure I am that being rejected would not kill me?

For the worst bet as it is and the stakes are high, there’d be possibility that the moment our lips touch, all hell’d break loose. There’d be screaming and pushing and fighting, and fire, and hail of hatreds. And all would break, burn, and end.

No, I wouldn’t be happy with that either.

Indeed, I’d be devastated.

So might I seal it up, and take it slow. And might I find a way to put it down, or at least turn it into something smoldering, something that wouldn’t burst out from inside and flare up my rib cage, turn me into ashes from the inside out.

Might I find a way to settle for the second best. Because being friends feels good. And as good as it could be, we might have some accidentally on purpose touching, or brushing. Or for some moments let the common senses of personal space fall into oblivion, we could put out lips so close, would study our own reflections in each other’s eyes, and as long as our lips don’t touch, all will be fine. And that’d be as good. That’s be the second best.

And we might as well get there, to the closeness we craved, to have red strings hooked everywhere, but never attached.

If not this way, then another way.

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Sickness called love

All of a sudden everything stops making senses. Yeah, welcome back to the ruthless world of love. As it has always been, love has never failed to drive you crazy. It’s so ambiguous and you just don’t know how to figure out when it’d sneak into your life or would just never pass by.

Yet of course as silly as we are, everybody more than once in their life has dreamed about love. We always long for it, wondering when it would come. Then when it seems like you’re in one, you start questioning is that it, is this how it supposed to be or are you missing something? But the thing is, if you couldn’t even tell if love is there in your life, how could you tell if it’s not there?

Tough question huh?

Well, for all the things you’ve heard, it’d be a little cliché if I say that love is always there; it exists in the name of family relationships, friendship and ships… (if you know what i mean lol) but we all know that those kinds of relationships are not what we actually crave for. What we want is that kind of intoxicating affection that wounds us yet at the same time injects us with its own addictive venom so we would long for more.

And what we want is not always good for us.

Of course as vogue as a flu would be, love hits us when our emotional system fails to protect us, the same way our immune system won’t work against the flu when you’ve already been touch by the host individual. He brushes by you once, and everything goes tumbling down. And since then you keep analyzing everything he does even when he never meant anything by that.

Then there would come a long agonizing days you have to undergo with him constantly on your mind. Though you know best that it’s unhealthy and not good at all you just can’t get it off. And you start to misinterpret all the things he says, everything seems to be a sign of hope to you. Yet too bad it was nothing more than an exact bunch of wishful thoughts. And you’re eaten by it.

Scary enough? Don’t worry! There’s always preventions and cures. Pfttt what did I just say? I was kidding! THERE IS NO CURE FOR LOVESICKNESS JUST SO YOU KNOW.

But we can’t stay being afraid forever. And the best way to get through this is to jump in and let yourself beaten, crushed and grounded so you would learn to embrace yourself before falling into another pit of devastating evil called love.

It breaks, it burns so that it could end.

I am such a ranting mess.

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Love hurts

If you asked me what was the most painful kind of love, which I believe most of you would answer unrequited love, but no. In that kind of love at least you would find consolation knowing that he would never love you back, because it’s totally hopeless you wouldn’t find yourself trapped in some kind of water spiral sucking you all in, tearing you apart. And eventually you’d survive, ready to get going with brand new affairs waiting for you.

The most painful thing, in the name of love, is being stuck with a love-hate affair. You hate him enough to leave him, yet you cannot pull yourself together just because you also love him so much.

I’ve been dating with this guy. Well, I have ONLY dated him so as far as my entire life, for almost 6 years, our anniversary is on December 2006. It was since I was a high school kid. He’s 3 years older and since then we’ve been sticking with each other all along. I knew only him, the only and unique, him. He was like, the world to me, because you were so in love and because you were so blind, and because he was you first love so you cherished him as it was forever. Yes, I was so madly in love, all I ever knew was him.

But he didn’t think that way about me.

He’s got this mean streak, this sick need of giving love, and searching and cannot stand being bond. I have lost count of his flings years ago, yet the number kept growing. It’s not that bad like he’s been hooking up with other boys or something like that. I never knew. I tried but I could never understand why did he need to do that. But he did, flirting with endless boys, handsome yes, sending me to the basement of Hell because I was not gorgeous, not pretty, not slim… And he never stopped, though I forgave him each time but still he kept relapsing. I hate him so much, so much for that that only one thought of him saying lovey dovey stuffs with those lads made me wanna throw up.

Yet still, I have this stupid hamartia in which I love him so much that only a thought of leaving him sound like a foresight of the collapse of my world. I love him so much that without him the world wouldn’t be the same. Because beside of that mean streak he is at whole a very good man, he’s funny, he’s very caring and always know what to say to chill me down. And most important of all, the way I feel whenever he touches me, I could never feel that way with anybody else. That’s why I always fall back to him, to his dark twisted chest game that he’s the rules maker and I’m always the one that falls.

Why was it so hard to be in love with just me? Why does he even need to find other boys even when I’m willing to accept all of his flaws, his EVERYTHING in exchange for simply his loyal and faithful heart? Why was it so hard to love just me when I loved him that much?…

I have so much questions to ask but deep in my soul I know that he’d not even know the answers. It’s just because that’s what we are. Because I’m desperate and devoted and stupid and blind. And because he’s care-free, womanizer and cannot stand any commitment.

I’m just too tired to be able to do anything, anything at all.

I wish I could unlove the one I love. I wish I could stop feeling this much except disgust towards him. I wish I could take that all back, my love, my time, my kisses, my faith.

How to unlove the one I love?

When loving suddenly became a vast of pains.

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Scars, these things that I’ve always had an obsession with. For each man I meet, I likely put my attentions on men who had some significant scars or flaws on their body rather than those who don’t.

People usually hold a vulgar feeling towards ugly scars or birthmarks they found on others’ body, considering them as “flaws”, “obstacles” that they’d have to bear with in their entire life. They usually avoid looking at such “flaws”, overlook the ugliness so they could be able to put up with those who happened to carry them.

For me, every scar is a mark of history. Just like you watch the remnants of the Berlin wall so you know about the fights, the efforts given to break down the stance of communism. When I look at a scar, it’s like looking at a new chemical element that needs to be studied. I crave to know about the story hiding under the lumpy skin. What kind of damage leave such severe mark on its victim? What happened? What is the story, the trauma that might leave this person a hole of insecurity on their chest?

The uglier the mark is, the more I crave to know. I want to cherish, to hold and to kiss on the most bizarre spot on that person’s body, tell him everything is okay, tell him I love his scar, his flaw his ugliness. How glad I am to find such a damaged person to give him love, such love that ordinaries could not give him because they can’t despite the prominence of the ugly, yet attractive to me, mark on his body.

The more damaged a person is, the more likely he’d be dependent on love, such caring that he believes that would not be found nowhere easily. Then once he’s ever been loved, he would never abandon thee who loved him.

Hence I love observing scars. Hence I’d always figure the person’s weakness point that caused all sorts of his insecurities. Not hence I could control or destroy him, yet I could ease his traumas with my caring love, becoming the only person who love him so much so far, making him mine, loyal and faithful, never dare to walk out of my life without fearing the fact nobody would love him as much as I do.

The flaws are still flaws. Only if you dare to love, to cherish, to make it as extraordinary as a flaw could ever be.

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