'Cause I Want A Love That's Meant To Be.

get on the midnight train

i./ the ground feels familiar like the ivory colored tiles that greet me first whenever i get home/ like the cold cold cold ivory colored tiles at home that give out the warmest welcome ever because the ones i live with never bother to/ the ground feels gravely familiar like home/ am i home?/ the lights are dead and that’s probably why i smell a faint scent of roses/ the lights are dead but where are their corpses?/ the lights are dead/ am i home?/ the lights are dead; oddly, darkness is all i see/ am i really home?/ the ground feels gravely familiar and oddly, darkness is all i see/ where is the beginning or end of all these things left unsee?/ i reach out to find nothing/ i reach out but end up touching the skin of no one/ i reach out with a heavy breath and shaking hands/ where is everyone?/ am i home?/ i dare to run and nothing hits me, just the faint scent of roses getting stronger and stronger/ i realize the scent is actually of dead roses/ this is not home/ the ground feels gravely familiar and oddly, darkness is all i see/ i reach out with a heavy breath and shaking hands/ the faint scent of dead roses getting stronger and stronger/ this is not home

ii./ where is the beginning or end of all these things left unsee?/ this isn’t light blinding me/ this is darkness harassing my insides, making me me feel like this is something i want/ but this is not/ where is the beginning or end of all these things left unsee?/ why am i the only one here?/ this darkness with its friends, the scent of dead roses and the ground that seems to know my sadness/ this darkness with its friends, the corpses of all things left unsee/ where is the beginning or end of all these things left unsee?/ this is not home/ this is a prison where i am in because of something unknown/ but a murmur says otherwise/ why am i here?/ “because you didn’t go back”/ this is a prison where the beginning or end of all these things left unsee cannot be found/ where everything is gravely familiar but i still can’t put the pieces together/ why am i here?/ “because you didn’t go back”/ this is not home/ this is a prison where the beginning or end of all these things left unsee cannot be found/ and it’s all because i didn’t go back

(eusie.)

Probably not a poem

Saying what I feel isn’t easy as breathing but every day, I would want to express it to you as I need to breathe. The first gasp of air I make every morning when I wake up is like a whisper of your name that reminds me that my heart is alive to love you again. Then, the whole day just smells like you, like your scent lingers on the walls of our house and everything that surrounds me wherever I go. This just makes me miss you. While a few minutes later, I'll miss you more than how I missed you moments ago until I just start to yearn for you… until I just yearn for your eyes to look into mine again; for your voice to show off its magic as all of me feels tingly; for your lips to say my name or to make me feel loved; for your hands to touch me and make me shiver… or for you to just hug me so I can feel your warmth that assures me that you won’t leave me. Please, please don’t leave me even if there’s a thousand reasons why you should. I know sometimes (or more often) my words are daggers — my actions too, or even just my silence — and that I probably make you bleed every day. I know that I can never be enough (and I’m sorry for this), and that I can never love you the way you love me (but please know that I love you very much). But keep on loving me because I would want to soak under the rain of your love forever. I love you. I love you so much that sometimes it hurts deep inside that my tears don’t come out of my eyes but they pop out of my blood veins and contaminate me like they’re toxic. But I’m okay, I can still breathe. And you probably feel the same way, hiding all pieces of you that I have shattered every now and then  — hiding them instead of throwing them at me to wound me. But you always say that you’re okay, that you can still breathe. Our love for each other (or our relationship) may not be perfect, maybe all just wounds that turned into scars, or maybe just all bruises that cannot disappear, but I hope… I really hope we can survive it like a ship that succeeded to pass through a lightning storm in the ocean. Let’s remind the world that people can live because of love. So let’s make it through everything with our hands entangled and our hearts connected to every heartstrings of the other. Let’s keep on loving each other... loving all the flaws and pieces of the other all the same.

(eusie.)

things you don’t know: if he loves you back you think he might

3,024,000 light-years. across the stretched road silence drove you mouthed against my cheeks 'the universe holds no questions' in your eyes exploded a thousand uncertainties 1,209,600 light-years. it's a one in a million possibility that you feel the same as me i breathed against your skin 'i know i can't have an answer to a question unsaid' flushed across the skies my soul flew chasing my dreams of you 604,800 light-years. a spur of the moment i met your lips with mine resurfaced mantras of 'say my name like a prayer' collapsed once again with your glazed over eyes 172,800 light-years. held everything like a fragile box i gave it to you like a sacrifice 'don't make me your religion' crawled and lingered on my ears now on the finish line you casted me on fire zero light-years. picked up my own broken pieces as i puzzled through you and realize like a poisoned broken glass you never held my heart on the tip of your tongue my name never stepped past

hence, a.k.a. “Here’s to someone, ver. 2″ (eusie.)

Thank you for the judgment. I will eat them all till they fill my stomach with nothing but your words. I will let them burn all what’s inside of me till I die, and I will visit you and whisper these things you’ve said so you can eat them too and I will come out of your body and conquer your soul.

January 26, 2014 (eusie.)

“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.)

two hearts tiptoeing across shreds of an old vase of red roses

eles (eusie.)

being

silence is comforting. but sometimes, it’s like a gun to the head, or a start button for overthinking to creep over. (eusie.)

Love like yours will surely come my way