thirsty hearts

having a love affair with the sun


He'll do the first move, he always does. Although at times it took him longer, but he will. He'll teach you patience. Then he'll talk through the phone as if he's holding your hands. He helps you go through things but unintentionally. He just does. He'll tell you about his first love and how he wanted to marry her but there were so many things in between them. He'll teach you certain things can still be in the way of love. You'll soon understand what he talked about wasn't true love but in time, he'll teach you that too. He keeps you up at night. You'll want to. You're willing to lose 100 days of sleep just to make sure he gets the rest he needs. Then he'll tell you about his trip to the ocean and how it made him realize things. You won't get to see his eyes sparkle as he talks but that'll be fine for you as long as he is talking to you. You'll start telling your friends about him. Not much, just enough for your friends not to fall in love with him. He'll start talking to one of them and emotions start come to you like tidal waves but it's okay because you'll start being you and my god don't you just hate when you be you. He'll occasionally forget to text back and you'll usually just pull your hair out thinking what you did wrong. He'll come back, don't worry. Then you'll start doing that thing you do to the people you love. It hurts but you have to. You just couldn't bear getting hurt again. This never happens but he'll chase you. He'll chase you like no have ever did. He'll tell you you're important to him and you'll believe him. but deep down you didn't. At that point you'll start thinking about the times you stayed up talking to him. You'll think about every laughter you had with him and that time he sang to you through the phone, you'll start thinking about it. And a year later you couldn't handle it anymore and decided to do it. You told him. You were angry and you did it. He'll tell you the same thing but his just faded. And this is how you'll leave him. 

 
⁃ good hair days 
⁃ fast replies from your fav person
⁃ kitties
⁃ great movies with great people
⁃ good food when you're famished
⁃ short sufficient naps
⁃ long sufficient naps 
⁃ cold drinks on hot days 
⁃ discovering new good music 
⁃ when someone's laughter is funnier than the joke
⁃ hotel beds
⁃ seeing someone you miss
⁃ the beach 
⁃ art museums
⁃ the rain


Sometimes it all hurts too much. It hurts to pretend that it doesn't keep you awake at night. It hurts to pretend it doesn't make you cry in the middle of the day. It hurts to pretend that I don't care. 

Too sensitive and people won't like being around you. Say how you feel all the time and people will just be annoyed to be friends with you. Compromise and be understanding, that's what i've been telling myself. Put everyone else before you but nobody talks about how painful it can be, to silently sit at the side and watch how things you don't want to happen happen. 

No one deserves to feel this way and I try my best not to make anyone around me to feel so but everyone around me doesn't seem to bother that i feel like this. 



The thing about us humans and interacting with one another, I always think of us as something with an expiration date. We're like canned food waiting to turn bad, and while it's edible, you cherish every moment.

And that's always been me, appreciating, savoring, every happy moments I have with someone, something. I feel like there's always an end to every relationship I have and all this while I've been proving myself right. I usually like it when I'm right but not in this case.

One moment I'm living in the moment with someone. Capturing smiles and laughters, sharing inside jokes, having the time of my fucking life and before i know it, i'm looking back it, thinking of what the what if's.

Then there's you, right now, the present. Every time things go slightly wrong, i think to myself, "This is it, this is where we end." but thank god things get right again. A huge part of me is relieved and grateful because the high heavens hear me pray for us but i'd be lying if the voices in my head aren't telling me that i'm just fooling myself.

I go to sleep at night hoping to god just one more day. Let us survive just one more day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and hopefully forever.

but every good things must come to end and so i guess the question i ask myself everyday would be, when's our expiration date?

• Dreams by The Cranberries
• Paris by The Chainsmokers
• Somebody Else by The 1975
• Shape of you by Ed Sheeran
• Crazy Kids by Kesha
• We Can't Stop by Miley Cyrus
• Daddy Lessons by Beyoncé
• Sk8ter Boi by Avril Lavigne
• I Kissed a Girl by Katy Perry
• Gives You Hell by The All American Rejects
• Party in USA by Miley Cyrus
• We R Who We R by Kesha
• Chained To The Rhythm by Katy Perry
• No Air by Jordan Sparks


Everybody goes on and on about finding the right lovers, finding the one you understand both emotionally and physically. No one talks about the journey of getting there. All they focus on is the loneliness but how about the only light when everything seemed so dark, when family is the last person you can tell your heartbreak about. I don’t believe in making your lover your best friend because your lover was never the friend you needed before you met them. This post goes to everyone who has been a good friend to someone. Thank you for the shoulder to cry on, the ears that has been listening. Thank you for the inside jokes that have been shared. Thank you for the overreacting compliments and all the saved ugly selfies. Thank you for noticing the fuckboys before we do. Thank you for being the gay friend everybody needs even if we’re the same genders. Thank you for stolen shirts when you slept over and also wasting the Polaroid Films only on yourself. Thank you for the gay moments and knowing when to stop because it’s getting too weird. Thank you for the drives home and the weekly sleepovers. Thank your mum for the lovely food and your dad for the night drives. Thank you for the lipstick borrowed and that tank top you lent. And thank you for knowing whenever things are wrong and staying both when things feels like they’re on top of the world or under it. You’re the lovers that could never be replaced.
“She won’t be me. She won’t sit in the car for an extra three minutes just to finish the song. She won’t hoard words and scribble them in the corners of post-its hidden around the house for you. She won’t actually laugh when she types out “lol” or even crack a smile. She doesn’t stare at the stars and drink black coffee like it’s the only thing keeping her alive. She doesn’t get excited over the smallest things like space and puppies. She won’t eagerly run up to you and attack you in a hug, even though she saw you yesterday or kiss you like it’s the first time every time. She’s not me, but you’ll wish she were.”
“In my mind it’s 5 am and we’re thinking about each other but neither of us know it. 

In my mind you’re missing me because we left too many things unsaid, because I never got to really wrap my arms around your neck and kiss your face and say I was thankful for everything I ever felt for you. In my mind we are walking alongside the pavement on opposite sides of the road and you are so close, but not close enough. And I’m yelling at you, I’m saying ‘hi, hey, remember me?’ but you have your arm around the waist of somebody else. In my mind you’re running, I can see the blur, the flash of your person running towards me. But, when you arrive, I am not the one whose face you are touching. I am not the one whose air you are breathing. I am not the one and the truth is you left me behind a long time ago. 

The truth is you are here; always, constantly, irrepressibly here. 

And the truth is, this - all of this, has to be worth something. Right? 

Tell me I’m not the only one with this on my mind.”
“You just have to learn her", I heard you once say to someone by accident when they asked you why do you even bother with me. “You just have to pay attention and stay quiet when she talks. Oh god, when she speaks, you never want it to stop because you can tell she values every word that comes out of her mouth. I think that’s what I like most about her, the fact that she doesn’t talk nonsense and she really knows, like really knows what’s happening around her. She might look like she’s the most shyest person ever but she’s not. She has fire behind her eyes and once you approach her, she’ll smile at you, the widest yet softest fucking smile and you’ll have to stop and check if you’re still breathing because you could’ve sworn your pulse stopped beating. She’s perfect in an imperfect way. She sometimes talks too loud and she sometimes stumble for words when you say something unexpected towards her and she’s clumsy so you’ll have to place your hand on her elbow when you’re walking outside so at least when she falls you can reach your arm out and catch her because god knows, you’ll never want her to fall on her own. I bother with her because it’s her who I see myself with in thirty years from now. It’s her who I’ll never stop wanting to learn as each and every day passes. And I guess, what I’m trying to say is that when you watch and learn, you fall in love and all you’ll ever want to do is catch her. Always catch her, even in the days where she’s quiet and lost in her own world because that’s when she’s most precious. So if you ask me again, even if it’s a year from now on why I still try for her, I’ll tell you the same thing until you fall in love with her too
To whoever loves me next,

I’m sorry if I’m afraid of you or if days of flirting turn to radio silence, without warning. I’m sorry if I make you say the words over and over and over until I believe them. (I’m sorry if I don’t believe them.) I will probably spend more time worrying about losing you than I spend trying to keep you. Trouble is, every single time I’ve ever thought something was too good to be true– I’ve been right.

Understand, I will know how to be vulnerable with you, but I won’t know how not to regret it. And I have no idea how deep we’ll be into this relationship before I admit I’ve never done this before. Not really. Not in any way that counts. Before I admit that I know
how to put my body inside someone else’s but not how to make it beautiful. I probably won’t be easy to love. Too many people loved me badly, I’m not sure I know how to do it right. 


And that's the thing with me and friendships, it hits me harder than any type of relationship there is. It woke me up on more nights than any boy ever did like how an average teenager should go through. 

Brokenness, misunderstandings, hatred, that's all there is to it. That how friendships are defined in my life. 

I beat myself up for not apologizing enough or maybe for the wrong thing. I blame myself for cracks formed those friendships. I looked myself in the mirror and said, "YOU were the reason they left." 

I crave long term friendship more than I imagine about my future husband. I want those cliché group of friends that go out in the middle of the night to get snacks. But why do everytime I care for someone, they never care back? Why do everytime I be there for someone, they want someone else to be there for them? Why am I treated as if I'm invisible? What is so wrong about me? 

Maybe I'm meant to stay alone for the rest of my life. Maybe, just maybe 
“why can’t superheroes be sick?

when i told my brother iron man was my favorite, part of that came from the fact that a man used humor and wit to make light of a situation. he, like me, had a brain all full of ideas. and he, like me, was sick. he had what i had. he had flashbacks, he had anxiety attacks, he couldn’t sleep until a project was done. he had ocd that looked like mine. and yet he still fought it.

and i thought: well, maybe i can.

when bucky barnes comes out with dark eyes and no memory, i think of myself. of how certain words make me fall back into the places i never want to return to. of how i can’t erase everything that’s been taught to me by the people who hurt me, but i’m trying. that love, above everything, helps me ground myself to the present so i’m not sent tumbling. i think of my own actions - all full of risk, of hurting people i genuinely care about - that i don’t control. how not everyone holds him accountable.

and i thought: maybe there’s hope.

but at the end of the movie, we put the sick man back into sleep. he’s too much of a burden on his friends and family. he’s a plot line that needs to be wrapped up neatly. we don’t put him in therapy. we erase him completely. mentally ill people don’t deserve to be treated gently. we are a disaster waiting to happen. we are a war breeding.

at the end of the movie, nobody has helped tony stark. nobody has made sure he gets home safe and doesn’t drink well past dark. he has lost everything, can’t even get his friends to listen. he’s doing his best and still isn’t seen as a victim. his girlfriend is annoyed with him because illness is a burden.

mental illness works as a great shock value. they trot out the idea that they’ll actually represent us, and then they pull out the rug. black widow’s depression and trauma is just discussed to make a man feel safe. the story never touches on how that shapes her every day.

at the end, we are left with empty hands. the message is clear enough. if you are walking with something bad in your brain, you don’t get to be a superhero. you’re too much. you just need to be put to sleep so you stop bothering every one. your illness is a stunt. a character flaw. not serious enough. your lover will become angry with your compulsions. nobody will ask you if you’ve ever gotten over things. 

at the end of the movie, tony stark’s friend jerks awake: he missed the whole story. the audience laughs and i find myself ready to start crying. “he was trying to get help,” i say, but can’t hear my voice through the chuckling, “he was trying.”

and i thought: what if nobody really cares that we’re dying?”
I don't wanna share him, even if he wasn't mine. I'm selfish like that. I wanna keep him in my hands, gently touch him like he's a fragile, rare vase. I don't wanna let the world know about him like he's a long lost, never seen before Van Gogh painting. I don't wanna show the world the different shades of brown his eyes display in different lightings. I don't wanna let the world touch his pale skin, ever so cold but as soft as silk. One million marvelousness about him I'd like to keep to myself, keep it in a tiny chest and swallow it whole. But he couldn't be kept, he couldn't be hidden. He's full of wonders and he's ready for greatness and I am not the definition of adventure nor wanderlust. He deserves to be pinned up a wall like an actual Van Gogh painting because to me, I'll always look at him like a painting I've never seen before 
She was poetry. Dark and mysterious. A star. A rampaging star. Flawed to perfection. And he collided with her chaos. “This is what I need,” he said. “To be lost in a beautiful madness that becomes my reason to breathe.” She became the whisper of life and inspiration. And he needed that to survive. In her madness he could thrive. Without it, he was a falling star. Only embers of an existence remaining on earth
Happy Mother's Day to the mothers out there who's lost the love of their life to death or to the change of fate but only to be replaced with a miracle who'd wake them up at 4am and they wouldn't be angry about it

Happy Mother's Day to the mothers out there who's the literate meaning of empowerment and eat career for breakfast but still manage to come home and have dinner with their kids

Happy Mother's Day to the fathers out there who's been busy being told that they should get a job but staying home being the mother of the house while mummy's busy changing the world never bothered them even a bit 

Happy Mother's Day to the mothers who's been told to stay at home to cook and clean and nothing else while daddy's too busy cheating to help out 

Happy Mother's Day to the mothers with normal families and normal situations and never find much contentment in them but realize who needs contentment when you have your kids 

Happy Mother's Day to my mum who has been there at times I thought no one was around. Happy Mother's Day to my mum who has showed me that if sincerity was a person, she would be it

Happy Mother's Day to all mothers out there
#1// I’m scared. I’m so very scared. 

#2// I feel like everything I do has been wrong, that it wasn’t good enough. Why am I feeling like that again? 

#3// I can’t sleep anymore. I stay up all night and then I’m tired all day but I still can’t sleep. I tried, but I’m so restless.

#4// My heart hurts and I can’t stop crying. I miss it, I miss being happy. I miss myself so much. 

#5// I honestly thought I was doing okay, but then everything came crashing down on me and I’m drowning again. It’s suffocating and I don’t know what to do. 

#6// Do they even really care?”


Don’t date an overthinker.

She’ll spend days analyzing your facial expressions when you speak, and nights deciphering what the period placement in your text message meant. She’ll agonize for hours over why you didn’t say hello to her at breakfast, and start to create unrealistic scenarios in her head that you decided you no longer liked her. Don’t date her, because otherwise she’ll suffocate you with her care. She’ll always ask you if you’re okay, and constantly say that she loves you just to hear you say it back to her. And she’ll cry, oh lord will she cry. She’ll cry over the way you looked at that girl, or the way your eyes stopped lighting up at her name. She’ll cry when you start kissing her like it’s your job, and touching her like it’s a habit. She’ll even overthink the fact that maybe she’s just overthinking. That you do still love her, that all these worries might actually just be in her head. And so when you do leave, she’ll still wake up nights six months from now replaying the memories over in her head like a jukebox thinking “Where did I go wrong?” or “What did I do this time?”. 
Do not date an overthinker unless you plan on marrying her.

credit to writer
‘How do you know when it’s over?’

When the passionate red, depressing blue, and mellow yellow flowers seen each lonely morning look grey as fuck.

When the sun shines its light into your eyes as reminder that you should sleep more and cry less because as bright as it is… it still reminds you of their aura.

When you feel like you have seen the moon move more times than your own reflection in that broken mirror.

When you are looking down on a dark screen; there’s no text or missed call,


no ‘I love you’ or 'I miss you.’

When breathing becomes cigarette shortages even if you have never smoked before, welcome to the smoker’s lungs. 

Heartache makes us feel like a carton of nicotine set on fire with gasoline and a match left inside of a room with no doors and no windows.

You’re suffocating. And? It is just you. No one else to share that last kiss with.


No one with damaged lungs from when you last felt rose petals and poetry as lips.

That’s when you know… it’s over.

Someone once told me that I’ll never know what it’s like to experience real pain. But yet it’s almost four in the morning and I’m thinking about what life would be like for the people around me if I wasn’t here while I’m letting out silent screams in hopes for no one to hear just so I can have more of an excuse to be alone while I’m suffering with a dangerous mind and an aching heart. The only words escaping my mouth is the name of someone who once promised me that they wouldn’t leave but did and if that’s not real pain then I don’t know what is

I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled. I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I took joy in the things that made me happy

And this is how you love as a writer-


There is no cap to contain this spillage, the ink thickening while these feelings you didn’t expect overtake you.


This is a tragedy, you question yourself; you question them; you question if any of this is actually real and your answer comes in the form of the metaphors you’ve just written, your emotions splattered across the page in the most artistic form you could muster.


It almost looks like a mosaic, little pieces of your heart assembled to create an image of the faces of the ones you hold dear to you, or at least wish you could because sometimes it just doesn’t work out that way.


Almost. 


The difference between what you see and what the people who read your work see is they don’t see the process, they see the cracks and they see the blood but they don’t see the amount of times you had to piece yourself back together again.


As a writer, your work is a tourist attraction, a museum of midnight thoughts people who have only ever heard of you in name or may have never heard of you at all can come to learn about your life.


They call it beautiful.


You call it tragic.


Where is the beauty in all of this broken?


You wish you could ask them how they arrived at that conclusion, you wish you could see what they see but you don’t because you know how you got there and cannot be oblivious to the sadness, happiness and fear that some nights feels like it’s etched into your soul so instead, you just keep writing, leaving yourself in each metaphor and simile hoping that one day you can look back on them fondly and hoping they don’t end up as merely another exhibit to be so intensely misunderstood.


To the person I fall in love with someday, this is how I will love you, with every bit of me that I can still manage to present.


So when I write you poem after poem, please bear with me.
Someone once told me that I’ll never know what it’s like to experience real pain. But yet it’s almost four in the morning and I’m thinking about what life would be like for the people around me if I wasn’t here while I’m letting out silent screams in hopes for no one to hear just so I can have more of an excuse to be alone while I’m suffering with a dangerous mind and an aching heart. The only words escaping my mouth is the name of someone who once promised me that they wouldn’t leave but did and if that’s not real pain then I don’t know what is

“She wraps her legs around your waist.

She whispers in your ear.

"Stay.” 

This is your cue to kiss her. Wrap your fingers in her hair; enclose them around her neck. Hard. Just hard enough to feel her pulse, the quiet beat beat beating. 

She won’t always be this vulnerable, this open. Right now her trust is in the palm of your hand. 

This is your cue to pull her closer.

Place a gentle thumb on her bottom lip and breathe. “Stay, stay, stay” she says. 

Tell her you will. Tell her: “okay.””
what kinda love do i want?

you know how it was that one time you were up for the sunrise in warm pajamas with your hands around a hot mug and your heart full of birdsong and for an instant the morning didn’t taste like iron but instead swelled big and beautiful in your chest

you know how it was when you fell off the swings and it knocked the air right out of your body and for a second you couldn’t breathe and air meant everything and you realized how humans break so easily

you know how it was when you were walking in a museum and stopped dead to stare at a piece of art nobody else seemed to really notice because for some reason it hit a place in your bones that nothing ever made sing before and part of you wanted to laugh for it and the rest wanted to start crying
you know how it was when you were listening to your favorite songs on repeat, belting them in the passenger’s seat, somehow knowing this was how it’s supposed to be

you know how it was when you had that day at the beach that never seems to lose its shine in your memory so every time you sink in your teeth it always tastes golden and happy

you know that one time that you woke up on a rainy morning and everything was quiet and you got to stay at home all tucked up in blankets just doing nothing and spent the evening watching bad movies and couldn’t stop laughing

i want that. i want a love that feels like that. like a whole forest opening up for a thunderstorm. like a day where nothing hurts. i want to feel like how it was the first time i really looked at the stars. i want a fairy spell and a chemical burn and a name that never erases from inside my jaw. i want quiet moments and a perfect red fall. to love you in every square of your body and soul, every perfection, every flaw. that’s the kinda love i want. i want it all.

i get hooked on the wrong things. or maybe it’s just that in all this time, no matter how badly i tried, i never mastered the art of giving up hope. it was all i had for so long. maybe i just got used to the taste of it on my tongue. i believed in friends who hurt me so many times that i got used to the way they grated against me. i trusted lovers long after my sheets smelled of their small betrayals.

i remember the moment i realized my own vulnerable heart, the open wound that trusted all. he was laughing behind a closed door about my poor excuse for a body. i crumbled under the weight of the things he said about me.

and later - and later, with his palms on my cheeks - he promised me that it wasn’t true. that it was just joking. but i had heard the tone in his voice, the honesty, the secrets he told that belonged to me. the way he was using my body.
he held my eyes. “please stay,” i told myself: don’t go back, you know he meant everything. he said. “i love you.”


despite everything, with this terrible weakness hope, i felt myself believe.



there were moments that would have made great poems, that lit up the sky with our love, that made our mouths red and our tongues numb.

but it was the quiet ones that were enough. it was sitting with you on the floor of your messy room with cheap takeout food, discussing what dinosaur we’d be if we could transform. it was leaning back all the way in the darkness of your car and telling ghost stories about lost travelers. it was two in the morning when i woke up panting, and you, half asleep, pulled me closer and kissed me. 

we chased the moon. we have made beaches remember us. we have walked forests. but here, in the slow morning of a work week, i love you simply because of the way you look while drinking your coffee 

She's not the girl baristas put their numbers on her cups so she's notice them. She's not the guy random strangers gives flowers to. She's not the girl someone gives a note to in the library saying how pretty she looks while she's reading. She's not the girl her neighbor has a secret crush on. She's the girl who's chasing her dreams. She's the girl who has been rejected her entire life. She's the girl who always gets rejected. She's the girl who's capable of making someone so happy but never had the chance to. The girl, she's the one. 
My mouth burns with the idea that I’ll never find another love like the one I had with you. How do I open the garden of my bones when you’ve burnt it all to the ground and I’m good at remembering hurt. You saw the hollow parts I keep hidden and made them full. You kept sunlight in the dark places of my soul. What if I never get that again. What if this was my only chance. What if after knowing perfection I’m given loneliness in the end.
"Have you ever been in love?", he asked while looking directly into my eyes with his night sky colored eyes. I think if I stare at it hard enough I could make up constellations in his eyes. 

"I don't think I've ever been in love", I said with such confidence but deep down still hoping he'd see the vulnerability in my eyes that I was in love with him. 

"Uh yea?"
"Yea"

"Cmon not even once? High school crush? Neighbourhood hottie?", he asked. Why was he so curious God dammit?

"Well yea duh but I wouldn't call it love. It's not worthy enough to be called love", yea they weren't. 

"What's love then?"

"Love is something you'd never forget and it'd never end. Love is pain, happiness, raw, vulnerability all together. If you can get over it within a year or two, it's not love. It's just something that wasn't meant to be", love is staying up all night contemplating about whether if it's love or not, love is something that makes you want to stay alive just to see how things ends, love is loving you. 

"Nu uh, I disagree with you," he smirks as he turned away just enough for the sunlight to hit his face & make the scar he made when he was five visible. I never noticed how it looks like a clover leaf. 

"I've been in love, tone of times in fact", he pauses. 

"I fell in love with this rack in the public library which had loads of interesting booms. I fell in love with the meat vendor who fed that pregnant cat outside his shop some unused meat. I fell in love with the old couple who took pictures in the park like it was their honeymoon. I fell in love with the moment I met you", i blushed. 

He continues,"love doesn't necessarily mean attracted to the opposite gender and have desires to spend the rest of your life with"

"Love is everywhere"
It makes me wonder where we'll be a year from now, who we are to each other. I'm not technically over you yet. I'm not done adoring you yet. Probably at times I do lie to myself that I have or maybe for a moment I have but every time we talk, I can't exactly say sparks fly, but I don't know, I just don't want it to end. 

I'm not sure how I'd react if I find out you ended up with someone other than me. A part of me says I'm not really for that yet. I'll probably be okay with it or mad at you for how treated me or maybe mad at myself for expecting something to actually go my way for once. 

At the same time I don't really wanna be with you, yet. I'm not ready for you. You're like a human sculpture of magestic. Too much beauty in you that I know I could never be ready for. I'm hoping you'd end up with the girl of your dreams. 

On nights I feel the luckiest, I wish I was the girl of your dreams. I'd make up scenarios in my head of us. I want to unravel that beauty of yours. 

Ready or not, in love or not, I just can't seem to stop writing about you. That has to mean something. 


We talked again tonight. We've never had a solid conversation in such a long time or have we even had one? It was always the "I miss you's" or the "take care's" or the goodnight texts. I mean it's nice but what does it mean? We always have short conversations unlike last time. Last time we would talk for hours and I still didn't care if it was about the love of your life at least we talked about something. I crave those type of conversations where everything just comes out naturally like I just say the first thing that pops on my mind. I don't have to stare at your text for hours and think of a good reply. I hate that. I wish we could talk about anything and everything and I really wished you'd sound more interested in talking to me

I want to learn who you are when the lights go out. i want to learn about the person you are when no one is looking. i want to know where you hide who you are in the blistering daylight. come with me, crawl under your bed and shake out the skeleton you never wear anymore, all full of hopes and dreams and childhood innocence. show me the box where you stashed your lost tooth and your first love and all the trust you gave to people who hurt you. show me the bad days and the anger and the endless crying. show me you

Didn't wanna make a big deal about 2015 ending but where's the fun in that ay. Okay 2015 was a year shit happened and was also a blessing year. 2015 taught me that some things aren't always gonna go your way but sometimes it's for the best. I learned that the more you grief on something, the more you hold on to something, the harder it is to move on to the next chapter. The highlight of this year was the people I met and also stuck with me until now I know I make it sound so cliché but to me it's a big deal. I met people that touched my heart but never had the chance to meet them for the second time, I'll remember you always. I said hi to strangers six months ago but now they mean more to me than anyone. I've lost a friend who never considered me as a friend. I've lost a friend even though we talk to each other everyday up till now. I've lost a friend who was toxic to me but I still can't see in what way. 2015 was a year I lost people that had parts of me but also met people who made me realized that losing others doesn't define who we are. At this point I myself realize how stupid I sound right now lmao but it'sk. All in all 2015 turned out quite good thanks to the people who stuck with me (I wanna tag y'all but Im scared it's one sided and aku sorang yang perasan 😓) and to say it was a shit year would be an exaggeration. I'd like to say Happy New Years and may 2016 be a year full of blessings and happiness. And I'd also like to wish GOODLUCK TO THE 99's BECAUSE GOD DAMMIT NEXT YEAR SPM WOI‼️‼️. Let's prove all those who said what? Badge pt3 bodoh? yea let's prove them wrong. OK IM DONE HAPPY NEW YEARS PEOPLE!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉🎊🎊🎊🎉



You. I'd like to talk about you. Tell people how you are but at the same time keep it to myself so people won't discover how magnificent you are and so that I could have you all to myself and let you implode inside of me. You're amazing and even that would be an understatement. God why am I talking about you like this? I could be over you in less than a year and I'd look back at this post & be like wow was I that stupid? 

But in less than six months it'll be one year since I met you and gosh I wouldn't call it love yet but I still adore you as much as I did the first I talked to you, probably more (definitely more). I adore you I absolutely do and I'd like to tell you that but I don't want your reaction to be disgusted. I want you to be okay with it (and maybe you could adore me too?) we could be totally platonic but I still wanna call you cute names and tell you how angelic you are (you are btw). 

You're definitely one of the kindest guy I've ever met (even though what you do to me is horrifying and I'm still calling you kind because there's something wrong with me (and it's wrong for me to think this way)). You're so, you're too overwhelming for words. 

You're you. You check up on people. You try to keep in touch with people even though you admit you're really bad it. You cut toxic people out of yourself so easily (or that's how I see it). You ask people how they are. You tell people you miss them. You keep telling me you miss me and never once have I say it back because I never thought you really meant it. You tell people to be kind. You say stupid jokes. You're dirty minded. I still remember the picture you sent me. The one you posed infront of a display window of a lingerie shop and somehow as dirty minded you are, I know you know boundaries and I adore that dirty minded side of you. You're goofy especially when you're with your friends. You tell people what's best for them. You have a thing for traveling. You often tell me how you've always wanted to escape to somewhere with a few of your friends or with the love of your life. You appreciate your friends so much even when you say you don't. You sing, oh god, so well. I'd like to fall asleep with the phone next to me with your soothing voice dancing their way through my ear canals. You play the piano and I could never get tired watching you play the piano. Your hands, the way they move. Your eyes, they sparkle as if like when you're playing you're in your own universe (and I'd like to be in that universe with you). You say gosh instead of God (and how in the world could've I noticed that). I wish I could see you everyday. I would never get sick of seeing you and noticing small details about you. 

There's nothing wrong with you I know it but deep down I know you're the boy those mothers tell their seven year old daughters to get away from but somehow somewhere in my heart I know you're that lover who every mothers wish their daughters had and every grandmothers invites to dinner. You're that lover dads invites to thanksgiving dinners to question your love for their daughter. Are you willing to take over their posts as heroes in their daughters lives, are you ready to be the man of the house (you're gonna live in with the love of your life near the beach, or in the city). 

But you're so sad. So, so sad and it's devastating to see you like that. I don't know you (and I want to get to know you) but I know you're drowning. I know you need love and i know you want to feel loved. You once asked me "You take care of everyone but who takes care of you?" It doesn't matter who takes care of me, look at yourself. You're a wreck darling. I mean who am I to say that you are but I'm here for you, that's all I'm saying. No one can help you but yourself, I'll be here right next to you, rooting for you, even when you don't realize it. Even when you choose someone else to be next to you. 

and p.s darling, I could write about and talk about you every minute of my life and even then that wouldn't be enough. 


"I wanted to call him,“ she said, ” just to see how he was doing. But you can’t do that. You can’t talk to someone who held your heart in their palm and pretend it never happened. 

“I wanted to ask why it was so hard to get over him. I wanted to know if he felt pain like knives in his sides like I did. I wanted to know if he ever felt lonely when he listened to music, or if things reminded him of the memories we made. 

“I wanted to say that I couldn’t remember the sound of him saying my name anymore and sometimes that scared me but I knew it was important, and that our last kiss wasn’t anything like in the movies, that it was so brief the wind had swept it away before I’d had a chance to commit it to memory. I wanted to explain how now I’d forgotten everything apart from the way he made me feel, like I could do anything, like love wasn’t just for perfect people, like love could also be for me. 

“So my god I wanted to call him, but instead I sat on the floor and drank shots like they were tea. To be honest I don’t know if I still loved him, but then I suppose you have to love someone to miss them like that; like hell, like absolute-fucking hell.”

I hate opening up to someone. I tell myself that a thousand times and yet I still do it. I'm sorry but I can't help myself. Some people makes me feel so vulnerable and safe and like I could trust them. It always starts off with a word like "her", "him", "last week" or maybe something deeper, "I used to have a friend", "when I was younger", "there's this boy" and before you could realize you're vomiting a pile of a part of yourself. At first you feel relieved, like someone lifted a whale off you. You tell them every discrete detail from the scar he had on his foot to the times you breathed in and out that day. Metaphorically ofcourse. After that feeling of relief, it feels like the whale managed to climb on your back again, probably something heavier. The aftertaste hits you harder. You suddenly feel naked, literally. You feel like you've just flashed a complete stranger your appendix scar in public. 

You thought that they're gonna be with you, on your side instead it feels like they're pointing a gun at you on the enemy's behalf. They start questioning you and doubting you. "Why did you that?", "you should do this". In some cases they make it about themselves, "I get it. Last week I went through the same thing and oh my god I'm sorry I feel like breaking down now I'm sorry". 

The worst type are the ones who makes you feel bad about yourself. The make it seem you opening up to them is like you just told them you wanted to kill the president. They start scolding you and make you feel small. All the "sure you can tell me anything" and "I'm always here" seems so far away now and the person who said that minutes ago is now the complete. 

I guess I'll never learn 

We just had the longest conversation we've ever had since July. I forgot how I miss it so much. Before this it was just a bunch of "how are you's" and "I hope you're okay's". I forgot that you talk a lot. I forgot that you have so much theories and how your eyes shine whenever you tell to people. I can tell by the way you type. The feeling I hate the most when we talk is that feeling of wondering when it's gonna end. When are you gonna stop replying. When am I gonna run out of things to say. I didn't like that but we had our moments when we just say whatever we thought of like it comes out naturally. I miss listening to your stories about the strangers that touched your heart or about the adventures you went through. I didn't mind small talk. It's probably what kept our conversation going but I've always craved more than just small talks. Every time you reply a minute late I'm both disappointed but not surprised. I knew it was coming but I was living in denial. I'd sometimes run out of things to say. I'm so bad at talking, communicating, making conversations. When it comes to you I get so terrified of what will happen. There's a lot to talk about with you. I have a lot to say I just didn't know if it was appropriate for what we are. What are anyways? Friends? Internet friends? Strangers? Acquaintances? Lovers? Almosts? You keep telling me how you miss me then seconds later you tell me you don't even know me.

I've thought about telling you I miss you but a part of me disagrees completely. Not the fact that I miss you. That is something I'm very sure of, more than anything in the world. I'm just not sure if I should. What will you reply? Would you even bother to think about replying? I'm so afraid of what will happen in the next second when I'm with you and I'm not sure that's the right feeling I should have when I'm with someone. 

      Ignorance is bliss, I told myself and for once I truly understand that. Yea at first it was so hard to stop smiling over the fact that we're under the same stars and some nights I told myself you were the stars and that one day I'd name a star over you. But right now I've never felt so much at ease. I've forgotten you. I've forgotten how bad you've treated me although I never regret meeting you. Consider you were the best that happened (more like didn't happen) to me, I was willing to let go of the bad reminders and just hold on the good memories. I told Mira how I was over you. "Yea aha okay", she said to me. I don't exactly blame her, this is like the 100th time? Something like that, I said the same thing but I told her to have faith in me because I actually felt like I was going to get over you and I did. I was ready to get on with my life. I actually feel nothing. It only stings at night but I guess I'm okay after the sunrise kissed my cheeks, then I'm all better.

      Today I was so proud of myself that I even thought, "wow I'm actually doing pretty well." Don't get me wrong I still check up on you but it doesn't make me cringe anymore & I was absolutely sure that if you were to text me, I'd feel absolutely nothing. Then you did, at five in the morning. This sudden adrenaline rushing between spaces of my veins that I never ever thought was possible. I was so angry and happy and sad and pitiful. Angry, at you, at myself because of how your treated me, because of how I'm feeling. I'm supposed to be neutral about this. Happy, because you texted me (and I wasn't supposed to feel this way). Sad, because you texted me. Do I only cross your mind when there's only lonely and drunk people on the streets? Pitiful, because you told me you were drowning I've always known that I was a sucker for you. I couldn't bear see you hurt, even it was a paper cut. I was willing to hold your hand and wrap a band aid on the cut and slowly kissing it and telling you how everything's going to be okay. But I couldn't do that now. I promised myself I wouldn't go there but sometimes you can't help but to care about someone.

      You told me how I always check up on you and sometimes you just feel like crying thinking about it. I wanted to tell you, I wanted to scream at you how I cry every fucking time I think about you and how much I care for you and the things I would do for you and I hated myself for that, I'm not like this. This is not me what did you turn me into.

      You told me I didn't deserve your rants. "I don't, but I want to", was stuck in my fucking head and I typed it waiting for the impulse to go to my brain and fucking press send. I didn't care about what I deserve (and that's fucking wrong for me) because I cared about you (a little too much). "You deserve something better from me" I do. I fucking do but I can't do anything about that and you're treating me like shit and how the fuck am I okay with that. Ofcourse that was all in my head. Then you said goodbye. You left me there like you always have.


I told myself I was absolutely done with you & I've said this quite some time now but I was so sure this time was it, finally. I don't need you anymore, I told myself. I've finally realized what I'm worth and how you treat me was far from that even though I accepted you as my first love. I've fallen in love a lot of times now but I wouldn't call it love. Just finding a part of myself in someone passing by on the streets or just having a crush like how they say it. But you weren't, at first I thought you were but I took the time to actually feel what you make me feel and it's not those kinds of feelings those skater boys on the streets gives you so I thought this must be it. I enjoy the moments we had together the second we started talking even though now and then I really wished I didn't come across you but every living cell in me knew I never meant that. Those moments we had together was something I'm willing to carry and bear in my mind forever regardless of what happens. You made me feel a lot of things and sometimes, all the time, all at once and for a minute there you fooled me, maybe you felt the same thing. I wasn't willing to risk what we had by making the first move or do anything at this point to ruin what we have. I like what we have, something I've never had with anyone. You showed me all kinds of signs and made me so confused to the extend that I hated myself, like I don't hate myself enough. And I was ready, ready to let you go, to let you slip away or what I'm always good at, to walk away. But who am I fooling? There's this spark in my guts that's just so curious of what you've been through and what made you who you are and I'm sure you went through hell to get where you are now. The way you told me about your first love I just imagined sadness in your eyes. How both of you fell in love but can never be together. No one knows the ache of listening to your first love about their first love more than i do. There was so much pureness in you that I find it hard to hurt you, to leave you even though I know you'd never get affected but I never wanna risk it. I'd rather have you hurt me rather than the way round. I guess that's first love huh, willing to take a bullet for them, even when they're pulling the trigger. 
1. There will always be things I am too afraid to say out loud. If you ever want to know the truth, ask me to write about you.
2. Sometimes I try to convince myself I don’t believe in love so that maybe I won’t get hurt. It never works.
3. The only way I know how to calm myself down is to imagine the worst physical pain I could cause myself. I would never do it but anything hurts less than allowing my heart to break itself.
4. From the ages of fourteen to sixteen I spent every day wanting to die. I don’t know if I could survive being that bad again.
5. I will never tell people what I want from them. I will never tell what I need from them either.
6. Of all the things I’m afraid of nothing scares me more than losing someone I love.
7. I usually hate falling asleep next to other people.
8. I don’t like to drive because I’m worried I’m going to crash the car or worried I’m going to want to crash the car.
9. I am afraid and unsure of everything. Except for you.
10. I feel everything at once or nothing at all. I’m not sure which is worse.
11. I always thought I’d grow up to be a writer. When I was younger I’d write stories but I could never finish them. Happy endings are something I have never been able to do



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