I: My Heart is Somewhere

The mind’s wandering today

 

My heart is somewhere, somewhere the world doesn’t see.

That somewhere would be you, who would be kind and would know how to let the earth be. Someone “just right”; plain and simple.

I would love how you laugh – how it would bounce and fade just so, flowing into my ears and out like the quiet hum of a forest. How the first time I would feel it reverberate within me would be because I had told a corny joke, but you laugh at it anyway. I dream that someday I would come home to that after a long day, or that I’d wake up to you laughing just so.

Or maybe it would be the other way around. I will smile when the dog barks, because then I would know you’re home. I would close the book I was reading while waiting for you and I would hear you struggle with your keys, but I open up for you and give you a teasing smirk.

You would blankly stare at me for a split second and say “I told you not to wait up, kid,” and you would have this big smile, drop me a quick kiss, hold on to me for support, and you’d laugh a bit with a drunken buzz. Maybe I would fall for you all over again – then I would wonder how could something so mundane still paint such a beautiful picture?

It’s hard for me to keep things the way I like them to be, so I try my best to make sure I keep everything for as long as I could before things change.

Change is here, I suppose. Because my heart is longing – something I can’t explain. It’s a feeling, I guess?

But while I long for you, please keep smiling. Keep laughing with gleeful abandon until I find you at your best and you find me at mine; then maybe by then we could make history together.

My heart is somewhere… do you happen to have it?

XX: We All Need Saving

This is rather cliché, but this is a casual letter to a heart that has grown… tired.

Have you ever been to that point when you realize that being numb is a lot more painful than actually being hurt?

Dear Heart,

 

You’re at the point where you don’t really understand yourself anymore – you know you’re hurting, but you can no longer feel.

You no longer feel because you choose not to – because you’ve grown so tired of the fact that the world doesn’t really care whether you get hurt or not. You just do and you have to live with it. And it sucks.

Because now I have to believe the lies I make for us – and end up having to believe it. Because it is saving us both. You end up thinking you’re fine when you’re not – and somehow that seems a lot better. But for me? It is not. I linger and think and think and think, but it’s a ridiculous cycle and that is a cycle that we should’ve been rid of by now.

I know you’re going through it right now – the cycle. You lie – you lie to yourself to always believe that someone and something is still good for you. And for a while it feels good. But I know – I know better. Why don’t you ever listen?

I think you’ve already realised that you are only dancing with the impossible – your own foolishness. Why do you still have such expectant eyes?  Why are you still so happy – and why do you only care about the little moments, when you know you’re going to be an empty husk thereafter?

You have to realise that you can’t fix people and their twisted sense of mind. And you have to realise that you can’t make things defy their primary purpose. For example, you can’t make a rock jump willingly – but it seems like that’s what you want to do.

That’s fine I guess – the way you’re managing this. But the earlier you realise what I just said, the better. Because the thing with your kindness is that when shit hits the fan, you still think “Well, the fan still works,” albeit the fan having shit all over it. Maybe you should start thinking “This fan has been shat on, perhaps I should clean it.”

As much as I would like to abide with the latter, the same analogy can’t be used on people. You can clean all the shit out of their faces, but they still have shit inside them. And it’s sad because it would be gross if you had to put your hand all the way up their innards just to clean them up. Ick.

So yep, just give up and move on. There are a lot of better things to waste your time on than thinking how to fix someone just so it works for you. If they want things to work for you, they would’ve done something about it and be consistent. Because that’s how things should work. That is my advice to you. Seek the better things, something I’ve learned from school – though I don’t seem to apply it. Don’t settle for fans that have been shat on.  I’ve learned my lesson – it’s high time that you do, too.

This is just me talking. I will never have control over you other than to keep you beating. I’m just hoping that one day, you will finally listen.

 

With the best intentions,

Brain

https://open.spotify.com/track/2L9dSBrh6Gmtna30EKnHRc

XIX: I Don’t Know — The Art of Letting You Go

One leaves in confusion, just as the other is left unsure.

Damian and Louise… in a boiling point. (Cool, I’m naming my characters now!)

And I still suck at introductions. Haha!
——————————————–

Louise has written a letter last night and leaves it on the nightstand, where she’s sure you’d find once you get up and open your eyes.

She gets up and leaves with a stuffed backpack, hastily packed but quietly, in hopes of not waking you up.

You wake up and rub your eyes, wary, noticing that she isn’t beside you. You palm at her side of the bed, but it isn’t warm as you expected.

You get up slowly and notice something on the nightstand. You grab the folded but welcoming letter on the stand and glare at it. You hold it in your hands while your knuckles whiten, crumpling the paper a bit.

* * *      * * *      * * *

Damian,

Remember that time when you said you loved me for the first time?

That was two years ago, I think – and then you left just as hastily so, for about 5 weeks. When you came back, you were completely engrossed in a whole lot of different things, and I was aptly abhorred when I was starting to figure out that none of those things involved me.

I wanted to be involved, of course – you said you loved me and I said it back, and I thought it was a mutual understanding that we were to start working on something together. Technically, that should be it, but I didn’t want to demand.

You would always be on your phone, smiling, laughing, and then suddenly leaving me alone with no idea where you’re actually going. Were you cheating? Were you falling in love with someone else?

I was there, watching you, every day being shattered, as I see you smiling genuinely against your phone screen. Until one day you left your phone out and I saw it there, a message previewed clearly… someone sending you a message that they will just brush their teeth, preceded by a word of endearment.

I didn’t want to know – but I knew enough that I’ve already lost you. But I felt that maybe you’d come around and realise what you’re losing.

So I waited… for nothing.

Until one day after about 8 months, I realised I was tired of all that bull and asked you straight: “Is there something out there for us anymore?” – I asked this with a nervous voice, crackling in my own uncertainty, my palms all sweaty and shaky.

You hugged me right then – quiet, with no actual answer.

So I talked to clear the air. I said: “Because I don’t really know what we are…”

And remember what you said?

“Do what you want,” with a calm voice.  You didn’t say it like you were mad at me for asking, but a gentle letting-go, the way I understood it.

I was shattered – because I expected at least that you would’ve held me back, or at least got mad at me – punched me, or something (then I accuse you of battery, because lol).

But I choked and swallowed my heart back in.

I ran away – for a weekend, so I can take a breather. I went across the country so I can be away from you. When I came back, I started to entertain someone else – where you never really had anything against either way.

So I took the hint (finally) – that we were really over.

And since that day I asked you, I never heard anything.

I started meeting other people, because I was completely convinced we were over. You found out I was starting to terribly fall in love with someone who sounded like an angel (literally). Someone who depicted the perfect stranger, awkward yet adorable – to whom everything just felt right.

You started jumping around and panicking and not knowing what to do. You started trying to take me back – begging, and I just wouldn’t hear it. You were terrifying me with actions, leaving around clues that you were hurting yourself. I felt it – I wanted to save you, my Messiah syndrome almost taking over – but I was so blinded by the attention that I was begging from you for so long that I was getting from someone else. I have found my saving grace, and there was no way to convince me to come back.

Then some few months ago, I went out alone and been away for days, if you still remember. That was when I realised that what I needed wasn’t a saving grace, but a fresh start.

Apart from being happy with my saving grace, the desire that I had to get rid of the memory of you was still the biggest deal. Although it brings me happiness to think of what we’ve had before (no matter how small it was), the things that I had to go through for you – the hurt still outweighed the happiness. It was heavy against my heart and was heavy against my soul, and I was beyond prostrated.

So I had to break myself and let my saving grace go – because it was unfair for him to have to fix something that is so broken. To never really have something complete; to have something that comes with excess baggage.

Afterwards, I’ve been trying – trying real hard to push through. I tried – but we’ve still went back to our old adage – to our old misunderstanding, and I fear we will never really be rid of it.

I don’t think you will ever understand why I love computer games, why I love talking, and why I love to write – why I love to read and why I like talking about feelings – why my emotions fleet and why I’m ridiculously into you and how hard it is to know that you’re mine in paper, but you never really are. This uncertainty sets my whole world into chaos, and I know you’ll never understand why I want assurance, especially from you. Because I don’t want to be with someone who only holds my hand when no one else is looking. To be with someone who claims to love me unconditionally, but only as long as no one else knows.

The thing is that, if I wanted to be understood, of course, I had to understand you.

That’s the thing. I don’t understand you. And I think I will never.

I will never understand why you prefer your solitude over my presence, and why you’re more engrossed with your phone than my idle chatter. I will never understand why you would prefer to go to places with other people rather than take me along, and why you love to have people looking at you, when all you ever say is that I’m the only one who’s supposed to be looking.

I will never understand why you have this unknown desire to have people chase after you only to break their hearts afterwards, and how you act all innocent, saying that “it’s not like that.”  I will never understand why you helplessly desire the things you don’t have – but when you finally get them, twisted around your little finger and hangs tight no matter how hard you shake them off, you’re instantly indifferent. How you love the chase but hate the runaround, and how you love the challenge, but never the reward.

I will never understand why you keep pictures of other people on your phone, but never pictures of us. Our pictures, or even pictures of myself and myself alone. You would tell me you’d rather stash them somewhere… why? So other people will not see that you’re in a caboodle with me. Am I ugly? Is it because of my crooked teeth and my broken nose? Is it because I’m a big scandal? I guess these are things I want to leave unanswered – to spare myself.

I will never understand why you prefer to consume all your energy on things that have hurt me before – why you have to consume your passion on other people you have so pleasantly desired before and slap them hard against my face, as if the thought that you’re still trying to grab their attention isn’t punishment enough. I will never understand why you make beautiful things come up out of your small-time flings and perhaps, maybe, one night stands.

I know you see me as someone with great fortitude, but god, don’t you ever feel how hard it is to mask how destroyed I am by your self-proclaimed innocent ways of hurting me? I’m not the one to make demands so I’ve always kept my thoughts in check and try my best to lie – to make things seem convincing in making you stop. You’ve seen me cry a well for you, but the thing is, you only try to understand me when I cry – but never afterwards. You tend to go back to your old ways, and it annoys me that no matter how hard I try, you’re never really going to be in tune with my feelings. And I know it annoys you how in touch I am with my emotions, even though I’ve learned the hard way that in dealing with you, I must not be emotional.

But I would like to stay true to myself. I want to feel things, and I want the people I love to feel them too – because feelings are beautiful, albeit at times, tiring. I don’t want to be purely objective. I don’t want to be someone else’s secret, and someone else’s play toy. And see – if you’re even reading up to here, I don’t think you would still understand why you piss me off so much. And I don’t even know why, myself! I just throw out words here and there, but I know I still can’t pinpoint it myself. I can say simple things: how you’re brilliant, yes, but you’re also a dick. But that’s as far as I could go.

Anyway, the saddest thing now is that I became expectant… again. Literally the same mistake I did when you suddenly withdrew all your emotions for me. I expected you to change, and you did – but there’s still something… off. My trust issues would not wane, no matter how much I want them to.

But I still want you. I don’t know. I guess that’s my fault – but I’ve long since figured that we’re drifting apart anyway – why don’t we just rush and get it over with? We will never understand each other. You’re made of metal and myself of ice. I will be the first one to break, so please be kind.

What the hell am I saying?

You know what? However much I get mad and how much I try to tell you that you’re crap, I still am in love with you, and I don’t think I will ever learn how to let you go.

I’m hopelessly terrified that you only say you’re in love with me because it’s convenient, because I will always be here, and I will always be available.

But what if it’s no longer convenient, and it’s no longer the same between us? What if you’re away or I’m away and you go back to your old, cheating ways?

I guess I am wrong to hold out anymore, because I don’t think I can trust you ever again, and maybe that’s why I’m this confused.

What are we really? Where do I go from here? Where do you intend to go, and what are your real intentions?

I’m so messed up right now and I’m not sure why I’m even asking you questions when I don’t really want to hear the answers.

Well, shit.

Good morning, by the way. I made breakfast.

Louise

P.S.

I choose not come back, but stop me if you will. I don’t know how.

I don’t know.

————————–

Damian finishes reading, unaware of what he’s feeling. It was a clash of everything – and all he ever thought about was… he knows staying together will never be good enough, but he doesn’t really know what would be good enough.

And then he drops the letter, running out of their bedroom door. He runs downstairs to find the breakfast she has prepared for him – two eggs fried in a heart shape and three strips of bacon. There was a small note beside the plate that says “Hang in there”. Damian grabs it angrily and flips it around. “I don’t know, but I’ll try to hang on, too” it says on the back, her handwriting apparently hasty, suggesting she wrote this hastily as she left.

She’s terribly confused, Damian thought, his tears inching to the sides of his eyes.

He punches the table and the plate of eggs jump. He doesn’t know why he’s so mad. He punches again, harder this time. The plate falls on the floor and shattered to pieces, the egg yolks bleeding out.

He looks around to find the framed artworks they’ve both hung by the stairs of their apartment. He squinted his tears back as he breathed out “I don’t know the art of letting you go…

* * *

This write-up was the result of being inspired by Tori Kelly’s song – Art of Letting You Go. Please look her up! A sample of the song is above via soundcloud, but I augmented it a bit into a male version to keep things in line.

XVIII: Only Good Things

Only Good Things – Spotify

* * * * *

Trapped in a sense of wonder,
tell him once more how you feel about him.
But how will he ask? He thinks.
How will he ask? He thinks.

The cards dealt wrong,
he chooses to forget – and you do, too
But how does that work? He asks.
How does that work? He asks.

Watch the night as it creeps to close your eyes
Good things. He calls the good things.
But how can he do that? He wonders.
How can he do that? He wonders.

He smiles.
He wonders if you still see the good.
But how will he ask? He thinks.
How will he ask? He thinks.

Consumed by his thoughts,
the mind he detests.
But when will it stop? He asks.
When will it stop? He asks.

Good things, only good things…
Run. Walk. Work it out.
But what does the future say? He wonders.
What does the future say? He wonders.

He closes his eyes.
Good things, only good things.
He drifts away.
Drifts as his thoughts dance.

He’s writing like how you write –
he’s writing to you in your words.
Gapless playback and
four seconds crossfade.

He tries.

The songs, they talk.
They mean something.
Good things.
Only good things.

Listen to the sound and you
will hear how his heart sings –
how it resonates:
Good things… think only of good things.

* * * * *

https://open.spotify.com/user/jmatthewvera/playlist/0jAOtr2XDrWSv0Txmq6TGf


XV: Anything Else

One
It shouldn’t be so hard, because t
he rest is simple.
Walk. Don’t run so I can follow in a steady pace,
because this could be a feeling we’ll never find again.


Wait for the darkness to alight,
you’ll see that fate and dreams will collide;
we’ve already come this far

My feet are stuck, but don’t tell me that they’re glued.
Give me some time to breathe,
I’ll try to get myself together — get it right this time.


Everything will be okay — that’s easy to say.
But when everything has been tried,
is there anything else left to say?

IX: A Fool

Another shot of whiskey please bartender,
keep it coming until I don’t remember
how bad it would hurt when you’re gone

Turn the music up a little bit louder
just gotta get past the midnight hour
maybe tomorrow it won’t be this hard

But who am I kidding?
I know what I’m missing

I had my heart set on you
But nothing else hurts like you do
Who knew that love was so cruel

And I waited and waited so long
For someone who will never come home
It’s my fault to think you’ll be true

I’m just a fool

VII: Digging old stuff

Let’s just say whenever a new year starts, you should avoid digging your old stuff.

Even 2013 stuff. (Which was just, literally, 3 days ago.)

Especially your 2013 write ups in your planner — which had tragically made me feel like I failed at half of my plans last year.

Because seeing yourself writing lame four-verses every week is just a perverse way of proving to yourself that you’re weird.

Okay, well, the second one were five lines, but hey… it’s close.

_________________________

January 13th – January 19th

The bitterness festers,
like a month-old wound,
unfamiliar to pain,
but remains a reminder.

January 20th – January 26th

Truths be started, soon be ended
something beautiful, soon be dull
voices fade, swallowed by the noise
blossom quickly, wither slowly
like a rose in the snow.

February 10th – February 16th

And if it can’t be love that you feel,
you just go crazy and look for something,
like a way to make it stop,
but in the end, you can’t find anything.

February 25th – March 2nd

Dear you. Yes you.
Stop forgetting to write
the damn yearbook story.
Seriously.

March 17th – March 23rd

You should have asked her
to buy you a PS Vita.
What is wrong with you?
That’s it, you’re retarded.

March 24th – March 30th

Focus. Review.
You are in the precipice of change.
You have the… POWER!
LOL NOPE KIDDING, YOU DON’T.

April 21st – April 27th

I’m amazed by how well you’re REVIEWING.
Stop staring at the text.
Stop torturing yourself and go to bed.
Pretending to study is harder than studying itself.

June 16th – June 22nd

Carl Balita is lying to you.
Carl Balita is lying to you.
The results are not on the 28th.
Carl Balita is lying to you.

June 23rd – June 29th

Carl Balita is not Nostradamus.
Amen.
I have no idea
if I’m more frustrated than depressed.

August 18th – August 24th

I’m not a doormat.
I’m not a doormat.
I’m not a doormat.
Wait. Are there doormats with arms?

October 6th – October 12th

I don’t know.
I think I heard my cat talking to me.
In human words.
Shit. Help.

October 20th – October 26th

AAAAAND IIIIIIIIIIIIII
WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU
OOOOOOH IIIIIII
WILL ALWAYS… that’s it, I’m done.

November 17th – November 23rd

So I was thinking… what if nurses could see
the soul of a patient in a coma?
Shit’s going to be awesome!
And I’ll probably shit my pants.

December 15th – December 21st

This is boss. Like really… really boss.
Graham balls are awesome.
Must learn how to make Graham balls.
Graham balls. Graham balls. *singsong*

December 22nd – 28th

Before you went to walk, I went to run
because the answers are coming in one by one
when a train comes in, the doors open I get in…
last night I had a pleasant nightmare.

_________________________

But I guess it’s about time I forgive myself for doing this… to myself.
I dunno if this will stop happening though.
Maybe it should be five lines.
Or six.
Or seven.
Or never.

Let’s just see how the year plays out.

So if you’re happy and you know it clap your…

Found somewhere in Tumblr, around late 2013. Credits to whoever owns this, because I absolutely have no idea.

Found somewhere in Tumblr, around late 2013. Credits to whoever owns this, because I absolutely have no idea.

Just kidding. Have a great day!