It’s 2am and I feel like Taylor Swift

More sensible posts.  Or at least more sensible thoughts.  I’m not very proud of my vulnerability in my recent posts but a writer does not retract her words. Aspiring writer that is. 

I’d really like to write more about my insights and the music I listen to.  The films I watch but that would be like extracting a painful memory unto the pensieve regardless if it’s comedy.  I’d love to tell stories about my daily life, take pictures of the road and the traffic, pictures of food I make and eat.  Throwing in stories about the work I do would be both fun and stress-relieving.  In a way, it’ll be my own pat on my back too especially when the going gets rough.  I would go on telling about my dates with people I love which is most likely one of three things: 1) my beautiful family 2) my awesome friends and 3) Bobbykins my brother, pet, cuddlebuddy, love-of-my-life, all-time favorite teddy bear.  I would take their pictures though uploading is such a chore.

But tonight isn’t much different from the nights I would come home late from work for the past weeks and weeks. Thinking. God, I hate coming home thinking.  Laying on the bed tired and thinking.  

I’d really like to write more about sensible things and have more sensible thoughts. It isn’t fair to be thinking about just one person.  With matching soundtrack.

I was curling up in bed this afternoon with an overdue reading book when I decided to take a break and wrote a few lines until it made out a verse.  It was poem. And I have not written about anyone new in a really long time.

I barely know you. 

Oh, can you tell I’m losing sleep?

There are just some things you know won’t work from the moment they start to happen. They’re the kind that no matter how much you don’t want it, just falls naturally into place. But it doesn’t mean it’s anything close to perfect either.  There’s that little phase you will do everything to deny yourself of it, avoiding it at all costs. No, you won’t give up without a fight to suppress it. Maybe it’s our way of assuring ourselves we didn’t just let it happen, that in a way, we didn’t want it to come to whatever it is now.

Yet, it will find it’s way to get to you.  It will start feeling like home.  And somehow, it will unfold itself as if it was meant to be there all this time—as much as you hate to admit it.

But life happens and the thing about life is that it’s nothing close to perfect.  Shit happens and you feel shittier why some things will never work out even how hard you would want them to.  I’m the kind who will end up choosing the logical thing to do even if it means doing the illogical thing of giving up whatever that makes me happy. I’ve just had enough of the lies and liars and every phony thing there is.  I’ve been told to be cynical and I really wish I could do something about that. So right now, I have this rational belief that maybe there would be at least one person out there who will prove to me I could let my guard down.

And if you happen to be that person, do let me know.  Don’t stand there looking at me, conceiving concepts of what you think of me. Like me for who I am.  And learn what I am not. Don’t go believing everything I tell and show you I am because nobody totally knows who they are. Don’t go telling me you love me when you are only half-sure. Don’t go telling me about forever too, because I’m not the kind who believes in anything uncertain. Love me in your own lovely way of loving.

And as much as you can, don’t go telling me you’ll always love me when you don’t. At least when you’re not yet there. I might believe you and when you cannot hold your word, I cannot promise I won’t think of you as any other person that has come around. I just don’t want you to be that kind. It’s not every day that I would believe anyone.

we are haunted

Sleeping alone in my room already became unbearable.  I basically grew up sleeping in it alone but monsters started growing in, creeping out at night.  Guilt dressed as monsters that is, and the worst feelings I could ever held and flashing scenes of when I felt the most horrible person.  I hope you’re not getting the wrong impression here.  I just thought that, that haunting moment late at night when you’re about to lose consciousness and dreams and nightmares start to fill in the passing time, is something that’s not only true for me.

I guess the part wherein I become ashamed with this whole story is when I say that I still get haunted by the things I thought I’m already over with.  And I never thought it would still have that much impact to me but it does.  Almost like how it did one, two, three, four, five, six years back.  It’s not like I want this or I’m not doing anything to get past it, and that’s actually the thing—I have, in several different ways, I had.  But I guess I just haven’t felt pain as beautiful as this hurts me.  That’s when I think you know something is once in a lifetime wonderful; when even the hurt you feel is beautiful.  I thought that maybe one day, I would wake up and stop thinking that this is all just a dream, and realize that I belong to this world more than I know.  I am the only one haunted.