Between the Soil and the Sky

Clandestine;

Shrouded by darkness, many spirits show themselves under the veil of darkness. As the analog hands of the setting sun fall into place in between strips and swirls of crimsons and violets, the sky mutters a soft word before stretching its lips thin and swallowing the world into darkness. What the word is, we don't know, but what we do know is that in those few moments, we temporarily collide into another dimension, and, although we humans are too ignorant to notice, small, bright eyed spirits tiptoe their way all around us and take their places in a ritualistic performance we commonly know as night. 

Last night celebrated another month of the spirit La Luna's return to our world. You and I, we both basked under the handfuls of moonlight she generously scattered over the surface of the damp wooden deck we sat on as we talked about what happiness was made of. The spirits must have wondered that night, as did the clusters of people who left us puzzled eyes, what these kids were doing eating pizza and ice cream with spoons they had to buy in a pack of twenty. We're just kids after all, fascinated by the spirits playing with fire in the sky. Shimmers of light blinking mutedly like dusty lightbulbs in the basement, what a beautiful wonder to behold.

And then you came over and lay against me back to back. In that moment, I swear the sky must have muttered a word because it felt like two worlds collided. Or maybe it was just because we knocked our heads a little the first time, and I wasn't used to the physical closeness, but it all soon melted away like the world did in that moment. It must have been five songs, maybe twenty, later, but still every sigh drew me closer, every graze urged another, desperately searching. Two dying embers seeking their way through layers of clothes and darkness to embrace the other and ignite such raw feelings I thought I'd buried in the past.

In that moment, the spirits must have known, because I opened my eyes and saw them. I saw them leading a parade through the river, ribbons of blue, white, and orange cascading behind them like fish darting through the water. I saw them flying kites on the clouds, the air underneath their sails thickening to a roll of breeze that crackled the fire. And I saw them polish the moon with bucketfuls of light, letting it pour down onto earth and wash over our naked eyes. It was so beautiful, picturesque, sublime.

That night, those three words also crossed my mind as I watched you tiptoe on the railings overlooking the river. And even as I got to walk up to you, I already knew that I wouldn't have been able to hold you closer that night. That night, it was unclear as to whether the spirits entered our world, or we somehow fell into theirs. But it was beautiful, you are beautiful, and now I know what happiness is made of.

Coupla Months

It could have been worse, but why do i feel so dreadful about waiting for a few months. Its not like I haven't done that before, but has the last thing that happened between ck and I imprinted on me that waiting for someone for so long never ends in something good? Am I that afraid of hoping for the best? Its me questioning myself now.

I've never quite liked someone like her all my life. Everyone I've been with (including short-term ones I never really counted) is the kind of girl whose profile boasts confidence, flirtatiousness, and boys queuing round the block, the kind of girl I (quote my ex) "kinda saunter in and charm" my way to, the type of girl seeking a storybook romance. Never once have I liked a girl who likes the same things that I do, or is in more ways than one, a reflection of who I want to be. Kinda strange, but I'm guessing that's why I'm kinda afraid of how this would turn out as well. And also because given the kind of girls I've dated are mostly pretty confident, they're also the kind who's willing to get into a relationship as long as we both knew we were interested in each other. If it worked, it did, if it didn't then fingers crossed we'd remain friends. So I guess it took me by surprise that this girl would wanna wait for some time before deciding. Alright, to be honest, I don't know what I'm so concerned about. Or do I. Am I concerned that if I keep waiting then it'll only end up the way it did with ck, many long months of confusion and uncertainties about anything that went on between us? Or does part of me just want the experience of being in a relationship with such a person.

At the rawest, I suppose its because I've never been told to wait. And I really dislike waiting. God I'm such a selfish bastard.

Paranoia

Never love a paranoid one, because he won't be able to sleep peacefully until he's sure you've reached home safe 

Never love a paranoid one, because he'll want to get into the good books of your father, and be friends with your mother

Never love a paranoid one because he will count the seconds you've been gone, and will know in a heartbeat if your attention has been divided

Never love a paranoid one because he won't believe you when you say 'I love you' for the first three times

Never love a paranoid one because he'll worry you suppress a cringe the first time you hold him

Never love a paranoid one because he'll get frustrated if he stutters while reading you excerpts from your favourite books

Never love a paranoid one because he will spend hours finding a recipe he knows you will like, and then laugh at what he baked because he's afraid you'll be disappointed

Never love a paranoid one because he will want you wholly, even all the hurt and shame you've neatly tucked away under your bed

Never love a paranoid one because he won't be able to sleep at night from thinking too much

Never love a paranoid one because he will wake up sweating in the middle of night knowing I fell asleep on unfinished matters

Never love a paranoid one because he will never quite fathom why he means enough to you to stay

Letters to the Moon

The moon is a funny thing, really. It is something shared by many people, but belongs to no one. Though it is there all the time, it is only experienced by those willing to subject themselves and bask in its glow. And while it celebrates a new romance between the couple on the sidewalk, gives solemn company to the lonely child in her room, and sheds sorrowful stardust over the lost soul of the man jumping off the bridge, we never quite know the secrets of the moon. The moon never complains, the moon never says. And yet there she is, without fail every night, spilling light on the world though we never quite notice. We never ask the moon, what's it like on your dark side?

And in this way, I suppose, you are like the child of the moon. After all, we are all made of stardust and particles of the universe, but I believe you have a greater part of you that's formed by fragments of the moon than anyone else I know.

And I know that you are the moon, and not everyone will find you intriguing. But that shouldn't faze you because it is not up to you to interest the hearts of those too busy staring at their feet. But you should know, there will be people, small clusters of people who gather round circles to tell stories about you as they sit under the great cosmos that they feel blessed to be a part of.

And I know that you are the moon, and you will often be forgotten as people trudge through the buzzing monotony of their lives. But you shouldn't worry, for when they get lonely or afraid of the dark, it is you to which they will turn and seek comfort. You are a constant, even when they forget, and let me tell you a secret: you're in all the favourite books that they read to their children when they cannot fall asleep at night.

And I know that you are the moon, and the weight of the world might sometimes be too heavy for your shoulders to bear. But never let that hurt you because it was never your fault that the world bore so many problems. But there are people, people like me, who write poetry about the craters on your skin, in pathetic hopes that small words will make up for this wretched world.

And I know you are the moon, and I know sometimes you're dealt with more than you can handle, but I know that you are strong beyond our wildest imaginations. And even when you're gone some nights, I hope you know that somewhere down on earth, there's a boy waiting for you with open arms and a little hole inside him where you should be. And I know that you're the moon, and that's extraordinary enough for me.

Number Four.

They always said that women make perfect killers. Well, no they didn't, I made that up. But there's something so allusive about a great woman that makes them ideal for the kill. The smarter they are, the more dangerous they are. They more beautiful they are, the more easily people fall prey. The gentler they are, the less traces they leave behind. And the greatest killers might be the ones who looks nothing more than just another girl next door.

He's always known the girl next door, maybe their moms were classmates in high school, or maybe he's written poems under the covers about her best friend for a year and a half. But he's never quite taken a second look at this girl because even though she was always there, she's always just, well, there. Now everybody likes a pretty girl, but this boy had his head way up in the clouds. He was drawn to the intelligence, strength, and resilience of the working lady, and in his mighty quest in courtship of such a specimen, he found himself galloping his horses some fine years ahead into the horizon. He cast his mind to a will of iron, and with it, he trudged forth into a land forbidden by worried mothers and fathers afraid of the lost. He took his tongue like the strings of a dusty violin, and tuned it so that each note rang out a like silken thread between an angel's lips. Tedious work never broke him, and a copious amount of sweat, blood, and tears poured into hours each day chiselled his body into a brazen statue carved by the worker of god himself. But this iron plated man and his powerful golden stallion never got the hand, nor did the heavy timber doors to the castle ever allow them to proceed, and eventually, they left, empty handed, a boy and his mere country horse exiled from the land of unrequited love and unforgiving chances.

How apt it was that it drizzled sheets of grey on the streets below his house that day when he felt his world crumble beneath his tired feet. The cool pane of glass he rested his forehead on gave a little breath of exasperation, not unlike his as he counted scores with the raindrops racing their way down his window. How strange is, his thoughts whispered, as he watched his neighbour peel her window open and, a little clumsily, made her way up on the window sill. She was small girl, about a head shorter than he was, and he wasn't very tall to begin with. She's climbing up to the roof, he thought. She had beaten feet, a dancer, maybe, but her precarious stature scampering up to her roof made him think twice about his judgements. Silly girl, his breath fogged up a circle on the window, who would climb up to the roof on a rainy day? I would, his mind confessed. A while later, another figure appeared next to her on the rooftop, a male from the appearance of it, and she shifted her posture slightly. Boyfriend, maybe. He didn't know why, but the gnarl of annoyance lulled at the pit of his stomach. Great, now another one enjoys sitting in the rain too.

Some people find comfort in solitude to get over a heartbreak, while others drowned themselves in alcohol to escape the sadness and for the boy, the window became his shot of morphine that made each day a little more bearable than the last. He watched as his neighbour spilled her mind with watercolour lines onto mounted canvasses that seemed almost larger than herself and scowled a little at all the forgotten art lessons he left behind in elementary school. He listened and cringed a little as she struck the chords on her guitar a little too loudly, and allowed himself to smile for the first time as he belted out words on his own guitar to songs he made sure he could play better than she did. And he felt, that night as the girl next door scrambled up to the roof once more, a dire urge he's never felt before. For the first time in his life, he pushed open the windows and took a deep breath. It was like a soft flutter of icy butterfly wings inside his lungs as his eyes adjusted to the deep blue hues of the night and shadows. Clumsily but hastily, he made his way up to his roof, feet a scramble of cluttered steps as he finally reached the top. How apt it was in that moment, that he looked up at the glowing heavenly body above him, when he heard her gasp "the moon!". 

And how lovely it was, joining the punctures in the sky's canvas, not a boy and a girl from next door, but children of a universe too complicated for them to understand, two souls in pursuit of simple happiness.

This Week

Good job this week. Don't let off the steam, don't burn out, just keep going at it one day at a time. Sure, you may be tired now, but take it day by day and the time will all pass eventually. You will get stronger. Just keep going. Heads up.

She can't keep any eye contact with you as it turns out.

The Ones That Couldn't Be

This post is just for you, and I hope it offers as much closure for myself in letting you go.

I just thought about it just now, funny, we could've been together half a year by now. A friend asked me, "do you still like her?" And my answer to that was "it's past the point of liking". After all, I suppose liking alone doesn't encompass caring about someone's happiness more than your own, wanting the best for them even if it's nothing to do with you, but that's exactly how I feel. Hence I wasn't lying when I said I'm more concerned with being friends, I really do just want to be in a position whereby I'm able to witness your growth as a person. Funny. I've fallen in love with you over and over again. It'll be hard to say I'm over you because it might just very well be in a cycle like how we are very well used to. With you, I find myself changing, growing. Since you, I've found myself grown. 

Backtrack one year and I find myself a selfish, happy go lucky, rebellious boy who honestly thought a relationship might be based off one's massive dependence on the other. After the break up with my ex girlfriend it seemed like I would never find another that I would love half as much. And then I met you. And of course it was nothing like love at first sight, you were the kinda nerdy bespectacled girl with straight As and full attendance and I was the alcoholic who barely turned up for any morning classes at all. But I talked to you, I got to know you, and I found myself getting drawn towards you day after day. 

The first time I fell for you didn't end well. I struck too fast, you were caught off guard, and you reeled back faster than I could catch you. We didn't speak for a few months then, each wary of the other. I ended up liking another girl, someone I would go home with every day, and I thought to myself, how convenient would it be to love someone who lives just a few stops down from you. We would take the bus past the town and occasionally drop by for dinner or a night movie or just a walk around the posh neon label shops. I remember how they'd say you should always take a girl to watch a horror film because she's mistaken the adrenaline rushes as love, and I guess it worked. We'd huddle on the bus when it was cold and the little droplets of condensation would race each other down the glass, and she'd fall asleep with her cheek on my shoulder and her arm around mine. But that was as far as it would go. I loved her more than she did me, and it just wouldn't work out. In her words, "you loved the wrong girl", and though at the time I never believed it, i suppose I must've known all along because the moment I confessed was the same moment I knew it was wrong. A few times when our fingers entangled I caught myself thinking about you, and I remember being so confused about it because I thought you were long gone. I was wrong, wrong. Always wrong.

It was then that we reached the peak of our friendship, you had a boy chasing you, and we were making plans on how to boycott a dinner without being too obvious. I should've seen it then, how you accidentally rested your head on my shoulder once and I jumped in surprise, how your hand lingered for a moment after you hit me, oh a rough one you were. I remember you stabbed me with a bottle for refusing to leave your seat. We'd argue, we'd always argue, and I've never quite liked arguing as much as I did with you. I remember that one lesson, where you had to go for a scholarship talk after and had to be in formal attire, and you wore this black dress. That black dress. Colour me cliche but I couldn't take my eyes of you if I tried. Friends said it was a tight dress but it wasn't just the dress and incredible just doesn't cut it. 

You were elegant, classy, and sexy in thick rim glasses and a tight dress. 

I was a puddle on the floor. 

I loved you in glasses, I've always loved you in glasses. These thick rim, a-little-bit-too-big-on-you glasses are my favourite, not that I've seen you wear many others, but these suit you. And I know you've always preferred to take photos without them on, and sometimes you forget about them until they slip off the tip of your nose, but I guess that's alright with me. And though by the time we got to clubbing for your birthday I was still holding back, I already knew you'd caught me by the cuff and got me reeling back.

The clubbing wasn't a very good experience. I was unaware and I wish I could renew the experience with you. I wish I had stayed awake longer that night when we were laying next to each other on Pam's bed. And I wish I knew then that you felt the same way toward me that I did towards you. You already knew then. You went ahead to ask your mother but she said no. And just like my ex girlfriend, you couldn't go on loving me for too long.

"If I'd wanted a fling with you, I would've stayed. But I wanted a forever, and that's why I'm leaving."

And that's exactly what happened with you as well. When you were in japan and I was in Italy, it was already over. We were in the afterglow of making love. That was the first time you scolded me after I didn't reply you for three days straight because I didn't have access to wifi, but you scolded me because you missed me. You and I were busy picking out dresses and shirts for each other when in fact we were just dressing up to leave. You and I on our own little trip, wishing we could be with other to make an adventure for two. You and I were maniacs in love, smiling at our phones in your sunrise, and my sunset, halfway across the world. But the afterglow will soon fade into monotonous routine, and as it did, our friendship struggled to exist. 

Today, I stand a different person. Watch you fret work after work has inspired me to be a responsible person, listening to how you struggled with your parents' divorce, leaving you to take the mom' role in the family, that taught me to take responsibility for my actions and my life. I've stopped drinking, I now work a double job, I'm engaging in competitions, and I'm taking responsibility for my education and my future. That's how you changed me. And I'm thankful for that, thankful for you, even if we only ever will be "just friends".