Talk

people said that eyes communicate better than words, and I couldn't help but to agree, quite a few times, for your tones and those heavy sighs are such bad liars. but there are moments when the honesty in your talk of passions and wrong decisions speak the loudest. every time you have the short-clipped breaths in between those sentences, I was, for a moment, assured that what people said is not always the truth. so close your eyes, and talk to me.

Mind Game

mind is the strongest one among all, don't you agree?

when lips muttering his name half consciously,

hands reaching out for his warmth,

eyes looking nowhere but at his engaging pair of green,

and tongue craving for nothing but his taste,

who do you think has the absolute control?

"he loves me, he loves me not

he loves, he loves me not

he loves me..."

it wonders,

and wanders

and just like that,

deep down into the rabbit hole she goes.

Saturn (iii)

I like you, because for once after a real while, you make me feel like I can wholeheartedly be myself, that my personality wins and my appearance is just a little icing to the cake. I like you, because you make my stand matters, that keeping myself until marriage is not a silly thing to do, it's remarkable even, and that me communicating with my God in times I don't feel like I could juggle the prayer in between my schedule, is beautiful. I like you, because you make it feels like talking to you is not a waste of time, that I get to do my things first before your night time comes, so I have a bunch to tell you while sending you to sleep. I like you calling my name, I like you calling me with names you made yourself, I like you calling me with names I proclaim myself as, and I like remembering them like they never go away.

I should have stopped, when you said none of those things are real, that it's just another play-pretend and make-belief episode, similar to the poisonous one I had years ago. I should have stopped, when our talk becomes a routine I can't get myself out from, like the sick gravity I once got myself into, knowing well once it's ended, I'd stumble miserably, again. I should have stopped, when you told me you have your own issues, and that somehow, somewhere, they involve us in it. I should have stopped when you told me you like me, when it slipped out of your mouth way too easily, when later on you said you were sorry on how much you have mislead me, when you said we should not go further because you don't want me hurt.

But I didn't. You are too good to be true and I just don't want to let go, at least until I get to experience the most with you, however it would end, and that's selfish of me, to stay when you obviously has shown how not interested you are in our conversation anymore, how, maybe, I got you so wild that your flame has actually went off that none of the sparkle is left to dance the night away anymore. I cling too hard onto my thoughts, onto my idea of you. Maybe I'm the one who mislead myself all these times. Maybe it's not you who I like, maybe it's your company, our conversation, my time spent with someone real, about something that is not. Maybe what I fall for is the way you make me feel, the confidence boost, the excitement, and the crazy rush in my chest.

But anything too much isn't good, and I think I got too much of you already. I think you, or should I put it, the idea of you, took so much space that when you are finally gone for good, it leaves me this huge hole in my chest, full of nothingness. Something is gone, and it feels fucking heavy. It's so unfair, how short the fireworks last, yet how much it affect my night, making it lonely. It's so unfair to know that I'm the only one among us who ends up with the feeling, that you are doing fine, probably reading one of those articles with your glasses slipping down your nose until you fall asleep. It's so unfair that I'm not okay and you are, and how easy it is for you to disappear, and for me to be erased, when disappearing for me is hard as I kept on coming back, wishing you would say "don't go," when erasing you ended up in a session of rewriting.

I guess it's just the tendency that I have, putting too much trust into something that has such small percentage to work. What can I say? I grew up believing in miracle, in fairy dusts and Neverland, in hope that someday I'd have my own definition of them. But funnily, I have no regret for the falling this time. The short stay in your field of gravity has been the most pleasing ride in awhile, even. I'm glad we met, I'm glad you stayed, and I'm glad you're gone. You're a lesson learned hard, slapped right onto my face, yet a lovely short story I'd like to keep in my shelf forever. Instead of remembering your last painful goodbye of how we went overboard with each other, I'd rather remember you as a friend I found mid-galaxy, a friend who has the remarkable ability to help me grow into a better person each day the past three months, a person who leaves me with a self-love as his legacy, and as he once told me, "You are kind, you are strong, you are beautiful."

So thank you, Z. I might have missed my chance to say it to you directly but, good luck taking the baby steps out of your comfort zone. You deserve all the good things in the world.

The Man Who Can't Be Moved

Some times I wonder

if it's just in my head

him having his voice lower

a sign of being so upset

every time I skip a prayer

or having my tears shed

for things that shouldn't matter

as I bury myself on bed

he'd stand an inch closer

just enough to pat my head

"they're a bunch of losers

no better than your dad!"

To the man who can't be moved, happiest August 15th, Daddy! I hope I don't cause you any frown, despite how suck I have been these past couple of weeks. Love you heaps and miss you lots. Al Fatihah.

Peace

I find peace in long train rides

in autumn leaves that brush against their branches before they fall swiftly onto the asphalt, coloring it brown

in the smell of an old library, of the dusty pages in books which sheets have gone pale, filled with marks of folded papers done by uncountable fingertips

in the peeking sun from my half closed window blind, landing on my forehead like a spotlight, a morning kiss that warms my mind up from the cold thoughts I had the night before

in a cup of coffee a stranger brew, which scent catches my sense on my way home, with a subtle hint of mint in the middle of mixed fumes of cigarettes coming out of the mouths of unfamiliar faces

Selflessness

In a way, it introduces her to her real self

the girl who is capable of having

all of the feelings that

she was not aware was there

the messy jumbled of mess

she did not know she was able to handle

It makes her feel too much

too much of herself

but at the same time

it engraves the selflessness within her

and as she dives deeper

surrendering to the ecstatic excitement

the more pieces of her she gives away

the lesser there are left for her to hold

She wakes up every morning

questioning the mirror

which is reflecting someone else

hiding beneath her skin

staring back with unfamiliarized eyes

seeking for things

that have never been missing

and a lonely heart that is

craving for happiness but her own

"what's left of you for me to love?"

she asks the foreign reflection
and just like that

the selflessness creeps right back in

Home

the brushes

the strokes

the pressures

they work like a midnight storm

in a warm summer

like an off tune lullaby

in my dad's shaky voice

like laughing for something

we would have cried about

if only we were alone

like a long ride with windows down

like the cool breeze

that waves our hairs flirtatiously

toward the moving scenery

like the sound of the moving cars

on the main road two blocks away

or the ticking clock when

everyone else is asleep

like my name, said in a low whisper

in between the pillow marks

half closed eyes

and crazy hairs

Almost, just almost home.

Things

Things have been confusing; simple, yet complicated in a way, easy, but at times too tough to handle, and as if it's not enough, there are things you can easily distract yourself from, which, at the same time, can slip back effortlessly into your mind like lines Dylan Thomas wrote. They say the only way out is to figure yourself out, that while you are your own problem, you are also your own solution, but if it really is that simple, why do things still all fall into the wrong places? What if I'm not the kind of person I want to meet?

"I hold a beast, an angel, and a madman in me, and my enquiry is as to their working, and my problem is their subjugation and victory, down throw and upheaval, and my effort is their self-expression." Dylan Thomas

Silent Dialogues

They are uttered in mumbles, against half-closed palms with eyes closed, of unspoken names whose faces never leave, of undisclosed desire which flames never die. "I hear you, I'm here. I know" He said. There was a long pause, a silence of warmth, before He continued, "So be patient."