tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30005870891261196982024-02-29T07:41:53.114+08:00Endless Lineyou spent your life working for keys to set you free when you were free all alongUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger326125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-32918504806319925382023-07-02T15:25:00.006+08:002023-08-16T05:24:37.497+08:00i went to therapy because i wanted to fix my relationship<div style="text-align: left;"><br>I told him that we're not in a good place and lately I'm finding it hard to truly be happy. That we're too different and our differences in beliefs and opinions are taking their toll on me. That I hate when he says he's wrong or changes his mind about something just so we don't have to argue over it. Not long ago I would've felt kilig to know that a guy changed his mind because of me, but not anymore. Now I know that I can't change anyone. For change to be real, it has to be something they want for themselves, not something they're doing for someone else.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">He said okay, and told me he'll pick me up after therapy and we can have lunch. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">Therapy was supposed to be an hour-long session from 11am to 12pm, but I had too many things to say and my therapist was kind enough to be flexible with time. We ended at 12.45pm.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">I saw him when I got down to the clinic's lobby. He fell asleep waiting for me. Knowing his penchant for arriving early, he must've been here at 11.30am. I checked my phone - he didn't even send a message saying he was already there or asking me where I was when my session was supposed to be done 45 minutes ago. He just sat there patiently and fell asleep.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">He looked handsome, as always. He's been tired from work, business and family stuff lately, but at that moment he didn't even look haggard. He just looked peaceful.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">I tapped his shoulder and he slowly opened his eyes. He smiled softly when he saw me, and took the bottle of water he'd bought with him to offer me a drink. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">And suddenly I remembered everything that made me fall in love with him. Everything that is making me stay and try to work things out even during the time when I feel like our relationship is at its lowest. Because even when I'm not at my best, he still wants to make me feel loved.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">I kissed his cheek. He looked at me in surprise then grinned. And then we got up and he held out his hand for me to hold. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">"Tara na."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">We are still very different. I still don't know how to sort out all my issues and all our issues. And we still have couple's therapy after this. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br></div><div style="text-align: left;">But I'm 100% committed to making this work.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-91209883207266508922023-06-29T17:03:00.001+08:002023-06-29T17:07:32.803+08:00san pupunta, tapon basura?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-53488158803573966932023-06-03T23:30:00.003+08:002023-06-10T22:46:56.199+08:00here i swear | forever is just a minute to me<div><br></div>It seems you see the world in black and white, someone told her once. "But the world isn't black and white. Sometimes there are grays."<div><br></div><div>She thinks about it sometimes. Black is wrong. White is right. Gray is arguable - not wrong, but not right either. Or maybe both wrong and right, at the same time. S<span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">he wonders sometimes if maybe he's right, that she looks at the world too binarily.</span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">It ends the same way, all the time. No matter how she thinks about it, white is white and black is black. Wrong is wrong and right is right. </span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">The people who say there's gray - they're the people who know that they're about to do something black but are to cowardly to admit it, or too vain to think they will ever do wrong. </span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;"><br></span></div><div><span style="letter-spacing: 0.2px;">So they try to justify their actions to themselves by saying there's gray. </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-55336055436639008902023-04-12T18:05:00.004+08:002023-04-12T18:26:52.111+08:00 she is fire and she wants to be loved like fire<p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">She is fire and she wants to be loved like fire
</p><p style="text-align: left;">With sparks, with heat, with passion
</p><p style="text-align: left;">With flames that burn tall and fiery and red
</p><p style="text-align: left;">Fervent fevers that consume
</p><p style="text-align: left;">Embers that glow and smoulder
</p><p style="text-align: left;">Even her name means ardent
</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">But he is the sea
</p><p style="text-align: left;">Spectral dark blue water
</p><p style="text-align: left;">Deep and quiet, never screams like fire
</p><p style="text-align: left;">He is the Cheshire moon at midnight
</p><p style="text-align: left;">Smiling silently over the waves
</p><p style="text-align: left;">That softly whisper songs to the shore
</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I love you, he tells her
</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">But sometimes it all feels too cold
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</p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-17435057375137607602023-03-01T22:05:00.007+08:002023-03-01T22:32:06.911+08:00i gave so many signs (so many signs, so many signs)<p><br /></p><div style="text-align: left;">He used to take pictures of her when she didn't know it. Pictures of her walking, eating, lighting candles at church. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />She was so happy when she first saw those pictures. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Now she takes stolen pictures of him all the time. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">But he doesn't do that to her anymore.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-49530612766991309572023-01-01T21:50:00.003+08:002023-01-01T21:51:51.084+08:002023 Task List<p><br /></p><p>1. Learn new piano pieces.</p><p>2. Go on a solo hike.</p><p>3. Go to a bar and drink.</p><p>4. Renew accounts on time.</p><p>5. Market at least 1 new account.</p><p>6. Ask for 1 week break.</p><p>7. Go to therapy again and sort out personal issues.</p><p>8. Track budget and expenses.</p><p>9. Get and use credit cards efficiently.</p><p>10. Write more creative works.</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-1231709850136648362022-12-30T21:45:00.006+08:002023-03-13T21:15:52.098+08:00you got that james dean daydream look in your eye<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCemzIebzoCHxn84eMGxpJUk7U9sbPxdK7v6u2nwDlxx1wSw2L0iWRqkJ6tv0Z4oZtRccTEDZzZsE3rNHJOfZGBJrFhZeyDuOXBNEA0tzWTn0CgwZRBFntLZeWF2rPttBAx2Uigm_jey6A3bK3VTd9um5K8ip5UOxELNBsLRd7dnifwd4nye40Yeqg/s1915/Screenshot_20221231_035443_Video%20Player.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1915" data-original-width="1078" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCemzIebzoCHxn84eMGxpJUk7U9sbPxdK7v6u2nwDlxx1wSw2L0iWRqkJ6tv0Z4oZtRccTEDZzZsE3rNHJOfZGBJrFhZeyDuOXBNEA0tzWTn0CgwZRBFntLZeWF2rPttBAx2Uigm_jey6A3bK3VTd9um5K8ip5UOxELNBsLRd7dnifwd4nye40Yeqg/w360-h640/Screenshot_20221231_035443_Video%20Player.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCE2j89y7fCkPO10N7mQpIAwF_re3oSIorXupAdqqsvjYFYpVDscv5OlXTnYQr8hFkKpJxM3sqA-lZNz7rvBuGKZGPktiEnaHsP-QvQ-0f1QqBBNcPXH2U6rdSpQqTjTOUOaO1IqXwVqrpF__NTjGc2DnPUsXKAWjaZdqz5Ya3BdCnTIpxa5n6AFS3/s1917/Screenshot_20221231_041307_Video%20Player.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1917" data-original-width="1079" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCE2j89y7fCkPO10N7mQpIAwF_re3oSIorXupAdqqsvjYFYpVDscv5OlXTnYQr8hFkKpJxM3sqA-lZNz7rvBuGKZGPktiEnaHsP-QvQ-0f1QqBBNcPXH2U6rdSpQqTjTOUOaO1IqXwVqrpF__NTjGc2DnPUsXKAWjaZdqz5Ya3BdCnTIpxa5n6AFS3/w360-h640/Screenshot_20221231_041307_Video%20Player.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJBWOGEuP0R5n-3B-CZCjZ-5jiZAkbxDPMutYSCEe6lZvQPnBd4HBsxy4RZsaDartrW5PAiEqRDaUAxtB8BvCumiZ7J6eKgSH2_gu-ohEZLytRe4bUvHaHt7wqkw2wz6JdIc_9PNCEimpb8EZZnvlwurWq5m6vco2aRl5XuJ52hHIcmvsYPMG7Gaw/s1900/Screenshot_20221231_035338_Video%20Player.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1900" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMJBWOGEuP0R5n-3B-CZCjZ-5jiZAkbxDPMutYSCEe6lZvQPnBd4HBsxy4RZsaDartrW5PAiEqRDaUAxtB8BvCumiZ7J6eKgSH2_gu-ohEZLytRe4bUvHaHt7wqkw2wz6JdIc_9PNCEimpb8EZZnvlwurWq5m6vco2aRl5XuJ52hHIcmvsYPMG7Gaw/w364-h640/Screenshot_20221231_035338_Video%20Player.jpg" width="364" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and i got that red lip classic thing that you like</div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-27391044135394117702022-11-28T22:31:00.003+08:002023-06-26T21:55:34.469+08:00i listen to sad songs <p> </p><div style="text-align: center;"><i>singing about love<br />and where it goes wrong</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>-</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">He looks into the camera, eyes filled with the same annoyance and frustration creasing his forehead and lacing his voice as he vents about how he just wants them to communicate instead of having her keep it all in and keep him guessing. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She looks away silently. All her life she's been told that language is her strong suit, and yet at that moment she is at a loss for words. He thinks it's so easy - that any problem can be solved if they talk about it, that any concern can be accepted because they love each other enough. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Because that is how he is. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And she feels so goddamn guilty that she doesn't feel the same, and she doesn't know how to tell him all of that. Because she tried, she's trying really, and really really hard but he just doesn't understand because he thinks it should be easy but -</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The tears are there before she even knows it. He looks at her from the corner of his eye and for one split second, she can hear his heart breaking. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He takes her into his arms and places his hand on hers. He is warm and assuring and all the exasperation is gone, just like that. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">"You can take your time. You can take your time if you're not comfortable." He says softly.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And in that moment, she has never felt so loved. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-81750043636365488082022-10-23T15:05:00.017+08:002022-10-25T21:29:56.635+08:00and time is taking its sweet time erasing you<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span> "Happy birthday Jens!"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>"Thank you dear. It's been a while, we must catch up again!"</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>She knows she should leave it there, but she can't help but click on the Jens' page and see. It's the same pictures he used to post years before, of his girlfriend and their children. People who welcomed her into their family, people who for a long time she always thought would be her own family. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>People who are now strangers with whom she shares distant memories. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>Jackie is beautiful as ever, and busy with the bakery. There's pictures of the kids all over and some of trips abroad. And then... there's one from Danielle, with the man she used to call Love - the one Danielle now calls Babe. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>Jackie leaves a joke in the comments, a funny quip about Danielle, and Babe reacts with a laugh. It stings. Of course, Jackie has always been kind, it's no surprise she would welcome Danielle the way she welcomed her into their family years ago. But it's just... different, to see them all happily moved on while she is all alone. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span><br /></span><span>She closes the app.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-50520693897337312042022-10-13T16:43:00.004+08:002022-10-23T15:06:43.349+08:00supermarket flowers<p><br /></p><p>You write this in your car</p><p>Heart pounding like brass drums</p><p>Stomach churning and vomit rising up your throat</p><p>Three unopened pregnancy tests on the passenger seat</p><p><br /></p><p>You'd like to think you're just overreacting</p><p>The numbers should be on your side after all</p><p>Why did you have to search what certain things mean?</p><p>It could be a many things</p><p>What are the odds that it's exactly the one you don't want?</p><p><br /></p><p>You think about yourself</p><p>How this will change your world, at a time when you want stability</p><p>You think about him</p><p>How you have no doubts about him, but you are not sure about you two</p><p>You think about your mother, your friends</p><p>What all of them are going to say</p><p>You think about all those strangers who wrote about getting knocked up when they don't want to be</p><p>And you almost want to laugh bitterly because God</p><p>You almost told them off, only to find yourself here now</p><p><br /></p><p>You wish with everything you have that you're just overreacting</p><p>That things will stay the way they are</p><p>The only thing to do now is</p><p>Find out</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-3773266191389573792022-10-11T22:01:00.006+08:002023-06-26T21:53:51.469+08:00you look happier, you do<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_TcZs-uQzUKWMkMMAZCghfuxA4K9dPkQTxW_FTGh7FwjiY0hWyBWvKa0TyHCQWy1c_5xLXFTyEEfKC8Y9Nnw0SfeTqXF_SugU3e300qlOSB2TxYMtKa2J7uvm9r8Igp3y-naG8SSa4nkdyLUvhCj252y5fY2EBPxjiFkzLoqHRHAqfentwr1LwP82/s600/20220917_204914.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_TcZs-uQzUKWMkMMAZCghfuxA4K9dPkQTxW_FTGh7FwjiY0hWyBWvKa0TyHCQWy1c_5xLXFTyEEfKC8Y9Nnw0SfeTqXF_SugU3e300qlOSB2TxYMtKa2J7uvm9r8Igp3y-naG8SSa4nkdyLUvhCj252y5fY2EBPxjiFkzLoqHRHAqfentwr1LwP82/s16000/20220917_204914.png" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-32461513114245440352022-09-06T00:16:00.001+08:002022-09-06T00:16:22.204+08:00nursing an empty bottle and telling myself you're happier, aren't you<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDU5P9dTtFL-WkakjKiPfp55OlYis91ma0PYVDyywFUSYn76MdZD0rWjbJGwLcwmV61aoAuEdL2crsbYvZH5aarTIZWRnexIJMY3VRCU-dREZRFoFznRu27JRdkzCVqdeD9To9dZGpfwibuLy-age0qkvXebEgW6qEHl_nfeWmm6kZa7or2OUfaNMn/s650/Untitled-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="650" data-original-width="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDU5P9dTtFL-WkakjKiPfp55OlYis91ma0PYVDyywFUSYn76MdZD0rWjbJGwLcwmV61aoAuEdL2crsbYvZH5aarTIZWRnexIJMY3VRCU-dREZRFoFznRu27JRdkzCVqdeD9To9dZGpfwibuLy-age0qkvXebEgW6qEHl_nfeWmm6kZa7or2OUfaNMn/s16000/Untitled-1.png" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-70681649901421296102022-09-04T09:19:00.003+08:002022-09-04T09:19:48.040+08:00but my darling i am still in love with you<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhbkeOJOWA-NdxVVj0aytaKpbZUEED9xD2apxnDwKKRINGG324Ci9TmvO0aAp-9SgNqD9I126DL1YTgbTja5_CT-7hNyZBVYLyjfhVLeXd1hX7V6PqDcJTwS4yJEQPua-AHHhmG3l7e4WOknnb7jUR5bmsLTWKZAmSY_575Y85pDApb2agkgC64IU/s547/Untitled-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="547" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKhbkeOJOWA-NdxVVj0aytaKpbZUEED9xD2apxnDwKKRINGG324Ci9TmvO0aAp-9SgNqD9I126DL1YTgbTja5_CT-7hNyZBVYLyjfhVLeXd1hX7V6PqDcJTwS4yJEQPua-AHHhmG3l7e4WOknnb7jUR5bmsLTWKZAmSY_575Y85pDApb2agkgC64IU/s16000/Untitled-1.png" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-48364576458315993142022-09-02T23:45:00.003+08:002023-06-26T21:53:12.918+08:00for my part i know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-27349534565135637132022-09-01T01:16:00.004+08:002023-06-26T21:58:30.739+08:00but i can't be whole until i let all this anger go<p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><b>a silent strain i've carried long enough</b></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;">-</p><div style="text-align: left;">"Did he cheat?"</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />"Not this question haha because I'm gonna answer yes."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She feels the blood seething in her veins. She takes a deep breath and reminds herself of the promise she made when she said yes - accept all of him the way he accepted all of her, don't bring up the past, and give him a clean slate. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Just let him have this. </i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;">She wants to tell him that she chooses to believe he is a good man, no matter what mistakes he made before. That he has learned from his wrongs, and is a better person for it. That she loves him enough to see past all the things they can no longer change, and she trusts him enough to believe that he will never disrespect anyone else's relationship again. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">She thinks that yes, to her he is a cheater all the same. He kept going out with someone who was in a relationship, someone he knew was hiding him from her boyfriend, someone he knew was hitting on him. He could've walked away like she did, but he didn't. He let himself be used in an emotional affair because he wanted it. Everyone makes bad decisions at one point or another, and this is his.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">He paid the price in flesh and in cash, and there is no need or sense for her to keep punishing him for it. She reminds herself that she isn't perfect either, so she can't keep on holding this against him. She just tells him that they shouldn't expound on it anymore and quickly digresses to another subject. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">-</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">it's taken a lot to forgive you</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">oh it's taken me so long</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">i tried in vain to forget you</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">oh i tried everything</span></b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-68732956262228053902022-09-01T00:27:00.002+08:002023-03-13T21:15:28.898+08:00see i'm all about them words<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKv1fglDABnHWsP8LiruYNdOvHgbwj-zjM20S4agNAa7FoCLOeO4DQRccJBQhR8Ug__bdrF4gNf4stub4OStJHmTiVFSI6GH6CKlM3A5-1W5YyN1bg-fHpG8sg-hRtU_fiq_1kuDMi_gwMA13G-A7mocv2StS9pT3A7G0HcuXHyqWbXvNxQYE-Xcno/s805/Untitled-1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="805" data-original-width="505" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKv1fglDABnHWsP8LiruYNdOvHgbwj-zjM20S4agNAa7FoCLOeO4DQRccJBQhR8Ug__bdrF4gNf4stub4OStJHmTiVFSI6GH6CKlM3A5-1W5YyN1bg-fHpG8sg-hRtU_fiq_1kuDMi_gwMA13G-A7mocv2StS9pT3A7G0HcuXHyqWbXvNxQYE-Xcno/s16000/Untitled-1.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">over numbers, unencumbered numbered words</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;" /><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">hundreds of pages, pages, pages forwards</span><br aria-hidden="true" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;" /><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;">more words than i had ever heard and i </span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 14px; text-align: start;"><i>feel so alive</i></span></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-21487173369507504282022-08-20T01:24:00.008+08:002023-06-26T21:59:51.313+08:00you are either the one or the one that got away<div style="text-align: left;"> <br />The first time she imagines a husband, she is twenty
three.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />She is young and driven and has lofty goals for herself.
He’s the goofy guy from her past – the first guy to ever give her a ring – who she
hasn’t seen for six years. They bump into each other at that fancy bakery at
the mall where he walks up to her while she’s halfway through her rotti and
gushes about how beautiful she’s become since they last met. It takes him two
tries to get her number because his hands are shaking and he can’t save it
right the first time.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />He asks her out on a date. She remembers what a fun play
boy rich kid he was – that grin on his face when he slipped a ring on her finger,
and the shock on hers when she told his girlfriend that she’s sorry they’re
having a rough patch and his girlfriend asked her what she is talking about
because they are not. She thinks about what a future with him would be like,
and sees a miserable marriage where she has to endure a wealthy but exasperating
life with a high functioning alcoholic who goes home reeking of whiskey every
night while secretly wishing she’d married his twin brother instead.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />(After all, Mac was the one who was good at Math.)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />She turns him down, just like that.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />-</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />The second time she imagines a husband, she is thirty and throws herself on the guy who tells her that she just needs a good man to show her
that she can be happy with someone else.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />He loved her – in his own toxic way – for a time. He gave
her everything she needed, everything she wanted, everything she craved for. He
gave her his dreams: a serious relationship within the quarter, marriage plans
within the year, hundreds of thousands from stock trading, a house in the
plateaus of the South, children with names like Ace Enexor and BSC Marie. And
in exchange she only had to pay the cheap, cheap price of near total submission
and access to her body whenever he wanted.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />She imagines a life where she is well taken cared of, albeit
one subservient to a self righteous husband, who, hey, wants and knows what is
best for her after all. Where she soothes his quick temper with meek kisses to
his cheek, where she hands him his favourite chocolates after dinner with soft
reminders to be patient with people not as smart as he is, where she is the
pretty main character that the douchebag villain is inexplicably kind to
despite being an asshole to everyone else.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />And then he broke her heart and all the rest of her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />-</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />The third time she imagines a husband, she is 31 and vastly
different from her twenty three and thirty year old selves, but she knows she
is in love.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />He is quiet and kind and patient, with deep brown eyes that speak of stories old as time and ravishing lips that make her shiver over and
over and over again. He is the moonlight tide rising lithely into the shore, calm
and comforting but strong and self-contained. He is everything she ever wanted
and everything else she didn’t even know she wanted.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />For once, she imagines a happy life – </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">- but she stops
herself, because their pasts spill over to the present and the waves keep
crashing on the castles she builds with not quite enough sand.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />She hopes to God that one day love becomes enough.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />-</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><i>“This was when she asked him whether it was true that
love conquered all, as the songs said. 'It is true', he replied, 'but you would
do well not to believe it.”</i></div>
<p class="MsoNoSpacing"><o:p></o:p></p>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-15967455407211810572022-08-13T11:37:00.005+08:002022-08-13T11:37:41.534+08:00you'll see me in hindsight tangled up with you all night<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnhrmZOxWob5e_8jzHDULZ5iwcuA5Cg3_xML3ZSfjNyjI1cOjRFf6P9TlGMqbBbM0LNewRaf1Ii1MvwdDiWDkALU83DUtHJspSwV4E4jCqh7_6S_1LmA_aUQ43daP8x3pvtSkwBdBbocXL2usGSCObkWdZIsvghUsh9eqXDJYR1d5xx6pi6XbYzb3/s602/2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="602" data-original-width="503" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOnhrmZOxWob5e_8jzHDULZ5iwcuA5Cg3_xML3ZSfjNyjI1cOjRFf6P9TlGMqbBbM0LNewRaf1Ii1MvwdDiWDkALU83DUtHJspSwV4E4jCqh7_6S_1LmA_aUQ43daP8x3pvtSkwBdBbocXL2usGSCObkWdZIsvghUsh9eqXDJYR1d5xx6pi6XbYzb3/s16000/2.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">burnin it down</div> <p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-3609430665736096042022-08-13T00:05:00.017+08:002022-08-13T00:11:17.445+08:00i think I’ve seen this film before and i didn’t like the ending<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />it starts - always - with an inkling<br />that she tries to fight<br />silent minutes that pass while she counts<br />a handful of words, strung together but still broken<br />restlessness that she smothers with smiles<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>she tries to remember the good memories<br />the peace in his eyes, the warmth of his arms<br />laughter trickling roundly like mercury<br />all the things that she thought were enough<br />she ends up asking when things changed<br />and why the cold she runs away from keeps coming back<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>she tries to light her own fires<br />alone in cafes with bright lights and white tiles<br />late nights typing away numbers that mean nothing<br />driving mindlessly through roads dimly lit, wondering<br />how much time she has until the clock strikes twelve<br />the lyrics of his favourite artist ringing in her ears<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><i>“Someday when you leave me<br /></i><i>I bet these memories<br /></i><i>Follow you around”</i> </span></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-57029304278270171492022-08-02T14:40:00.001+08:002023-06-26T21:53:38.353+08:00show you all the red lace underneath this dress<p> </p><p><i>The way his lips curl into a smug smile when she's close and begging him to kiss her and he refuses to</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-65546047835471156982022-07-26T01:14:00.004+08:002023-06-26T21:53:21.829+08:00i have this feeling when I finally find the words to say<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKMgg2Ub-9jTT11cezg0IQZFxnUmHaj2BmbbUVqMrZsU5EfL40PQMpVz-kJD1gGTo8f7QiPWLN4Jl-oBT0wLVCwI_AiCfc5LwKSgB6MVZruibqrNSymOdymv-GXEq1BUpYmGLj_G0FxGQG7_i-OOmixpsk5sA85pmK01kHlpblx4a6DuctRboZcXk/s564/1.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="564" data-original-width="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyKMgg2Ub-9jTT11cezg0IQZFxnUmHaj2BmbbUVqMrZsU5EfL40PQMpVz-kJD1gGTo8f7QiPWLN4Jl-oBT0wLVCwI_AiCfc5LwKSgB6MVZruibqrNSymOdymv-GXEq1BUpYmGLj_G0FxGQG7_i-OOmixpsk5sA85pmK01kHlpblx4a6DuctRboZcXk/s16000/1.png" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-74885956341133001112022-07-26T01:09:00.001+08:002023-06-26T21:52:21.276+08:00then i go out and paint the stars<p> </p><p>He is stability and simplicity and silent strength</p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-18609198920671472872022-07-19T21:13:00.004+08:002022-07-19T21:16:01.427+08:00everybody's looking for something<div style="text-align: left;"> <br />She remembers how he used to ask her if she was okay. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />She'd say "Yeah" most of the time, but sometimes "No."</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />He'd tell her that he knew it, that he could feel it whenever she wasn't okay.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />She used to find it annoying - at times even cringey - that he thought there was some invisible string that tied him to her, that bound them together. Other girls might've found it romantic, but she was not an ordinary girl by any means. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />She never thought the day would come when she would find herself missing randomly being asked if she was okay. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-23372889543494156212022-07-19T21:07:00.005+08:002022-07-19T21:08:05.825+08:00hilaga<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NI2SAesD5oTrjuKpQDurZhbLl9u2c8_KOkIr5Gmef70DldC4Qinbo-F2TZGmGUMaFY_Q_Puzx-nvZ0QLX2T6uwPTNzEW1Hmf0TRaY1_PYVk2aejFVIhoq5vlSw8A-rwo57zM2sIL7bl0Oh0z1ZwyIttDGuYBpmnn0wVEOUSttcF1ejBsKPnTB3Or/s889/20220717_170529.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="889" data-original-width="500" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5NI2SAesD5oTrjuKpQDurZhbLl9u2c8_KOkIr5Gmef70DldC4Qinbo-F2TZGmGUMaFY_Q_Puzx-nvZ0QLX2T6uwPTNzEW1Hmf0TRaY1_PYVk2aejFVIhoq5vlSw8A-rwo57zM2sIL7bl0Oh0z1ZwyIttDGuYBpmnn0wVEOUSttcF1ejBsKPnTB3Or/s16000/20220717_170529.png" /></a></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3000587089126119698.post-14508520090766267112022-07-09T00:03:00.006+08:002022-07-09T00:04:35.440+08:00i'm well aware of things that can destroy a man like me<p><i><br /></i></p><p><i>"One of the things I didn't approve of was that you never stopped seeing people. I don't think you've had ample time to fix yourself nang ikaw lang. You haven't had enough time to work on your baggages. Hindi ka nabakante e. Hindi ka pa buo. Hindi mo pinahinga ang sarili mo. You haven't had enough time to reflect on who you are, or who you should be, or who you want to be, without any reference to a guy you're dating."</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com