Look And You'll See

Louis T., 2013. “Always” (p. 28, para. 9)

a.k.a. This is actually about the day after we got married

An aftertaste remains permanent on my tongue like the kiss stains on my hair. The curtains keep calling out for the sun to get out of the room, and you notice I do the same. But you still travel your fingers on my naked skin. The night before shines on your eyes and I already miss your moans. You get up and scare off the sunlight, scolding it that it’s hurting me. I hold out my hand and caress your shadow dancing on the bed sheet. I hear you whisper, “I’ll make breakfast.” You make your way to me and pass the stars on your lips to the skies deep down my throat. But you didn’t move at all after that. We keep on tracing the constellations on our mouths. The bed creaks loudly, but I can hear the smile forming on your face as you fix yourself beside me again. “Have me instead,” I mumble, then I grin. I’m happy. You’re happy. We’re blissfully staring at each other’s eyes, knowing that finally, we won. But today is another day, and so is tomorrow. There will be mountains to climb again, and I know we both need each other to keep our feet chained on the ground. I wouldn’t let you sail off without me. You wouldn’t let me drown without you. “I love you,” you sing to me. And I hum, “Always.”

(eusie.)

ask me if i'm fine. i promise i'll say i'm okay as long as i hear your voice

“Will you still love me in the morning?”

a.k.a. She says, “Yes,” while he answers, “No.”

She arrives at home a few minutes after five, clutching her heart tightly with her fingers. She looks around for a certain display of messy dark hair, her knuckles turning white every passing second. When her eyes couldn’t see what it sought out but meet a pair of amber orbs, she lunges forward onto its beholder.

He’s wearing his favorite navy blue shirt with gray linings on its sleeves, both of his hands clasping a book. His eyes turns back to it, she presumes, as she settles down in a leathered sofa in front of him. He’s seated on the loveseat, half lying on it even; his back resting on one rolled arm, his feet relaxing on the other.

She looks at his face and straightforwardly asks, “Why did you do it?”

He — who understood the question right away without any needed explanation from her to clear what could be a misinterpreted query — simply supplies, “I don’t like the way you look at it, or the way your fingers last a little more unnecessary than it should when you trace it through. I wanted it off right away the moment I couldn’t take it anymore.”

But you love it, she almost whispers. He used to, her mind takes in on account. “Are you okay?” she chooses to inquire.

He only looks at her, his amber eyes slowly mirroring an ember fire. He stands up and closes the material he was reading. She can hear her fingers tapping on her knees. Or maybe it’s the walls pleading in soft creaks. Or it’s her heart, with its great desire to come off of her chest and run away.

She wants to run away from the burning heat of her lover’s stare.

After a few minutes, she finds herself lost in a blurry surrounding. She focuses her vision and sees herself in the same sofa, her hands bleeding from how tight she was holding the end of her dress. Like how she’s holding her pieces together, just for it to not clutter and break into smaller ones.

But when she raises her gaze and find him at the edge of the stairs, she finally lets go.

And when he quietly murmurs an “I’m okay,” she decides she didn’t want to pick herself up. Her wounds will only cut deeper.

He didn’t even ask if I was, she thinks. Later, she stops thinking.

(eusie.)

But there’s a Love that’s Worth the Wait

I've been always keeping in mind that there's more to life than falling in love, and that I should just wait. But the more I believe myself that I'm really waiting, the more I'm looking out everywhere, searching for love.

(eusie.)

Music Volume 8.1.12.1

a.k.a. The eight tracks of my life when it comes to you

(1) A recurring dream: you say to me, “It’s always been you. It’ll always be you.” Sometimes, with your mouth; soft bubbles came out of those lips, eyes shaking as if you were afraid that I won’t ever get to know; so I believed it was true. Sometimes, in a note; written in a hurry, tugging all of my fingers and pressing it onto me like a sacred promise; so I believed it won’t be broken.

(2) But I wake up, breathless and sweating, soulless and aching, and... you weren’t here.

(3) When I sit down for a minute and ponder about my decisions, I come back to those times when we have conversations past midnight. I would remember you looking at me like I were a secret you still kept, still deciding if you would let go or keep hold of. Those gentle touches in the soft light, more tender than everything illuminated by the moon.

(4) I wish I would have done something. Anything.

(5) Yet, you’re still a smoke that keeps on dancing through my nostrils I am yet to get out of my system.

(6) I used to love the first few times when you starred in my dreams. But ever since you closed your eyes each time I start to tremble out your name from my lips, I stopped wondering about the crinkles by your eyes. I stopped trying to miss the way you laugh, stopped trying to make you laugh. I stopped whispering prayers. I stopped altogether.

(7) At some nights, I don’t want to sleep anymore; I’m tired of sleeping. I’ll keep having dreams of you anyway. And I’ll keep having dreams of you anyway even if I’m awake.

(8) A recurring thought: I’ll ask you, “Will I keep holding on? Should I still love you?” I’ll ask you if ever get the chance.

i exist

you ask me if i’m fine. i say i’m fine. you look at me with one eyebrow raised, but you didn’t do anything after that. all these nights when you feel like shit, i swear i can feel your soul tearing apart with just one look at you. and you give your heart out as if you’re making love to me. but i know it’s only your sadness flowing out. and it’s not about the fact that you’re actually falling for me, or that you actually like talking to me. i ask myself what did i ever do wrong to be treated and feel this way. i ask myself what would i give for you to at least show that you care even for a damn minute, or a damn second. i just want you to know, i really need you to know... i exist; this heart inside of mine is beating. and it used to scream your name, but now it only stutters out each letter with so much pain as if with every one, one of my heartstrings break. i exist; the love i feel for you is real and it’s not made up. i exist; yes, you acknowledge that. but not entirely, only when you need someone when the one you actually need doesn’t want you. and yeah, i only exist during those times. am i fine? no, i’m not. but you wouldn’t know, because you wouldn’t care. i exist; i am human, and i have feelings. don’t break these pieces of my heart and shutter them more than they already are. i exist; can’t you see? (eusie.)

“You look at him like the story of Icarus is a lesson you’re never gonna learn. Oh, but maybe some things were just meant to burn.”

— like he’s the ocean and it’s a goddamn shame that you never learnt to swim | via p.d

B.raV.O.

Dear (b    n),

You’re: another shade of perfect that won’t match with my skin; a walking perfect disaster (a soft, soft sin).

You’re: a little too late — but still a wonderful feel — of autumn bliss; another fairytale worth a poisoned apple kiss.

You’re: pale, yet rosy and gray; midnight rumblings of ‘stay stay stay.’

You’re: a loss of breath; a wrong kind of fret.

You’re: my wrong-timing, my would-have, my what-if; my probably, my maybe.

Yours,

(eusie.)

'Cause I want a love that's meant to be.

while looking at two people, I asked no one in particular, are they each other's twin flame? (eusie.)

trying to write a poem. or even a story. but shit