“Will You Still Love Me In The Morning?”
“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.)
More Posts from Thsdfnngslnc and Others
MATUTULOG NA AKO TAPOS PAPAIYAKIN MO AKO. WAG GANITO BES. MAMAMAGA MATA KO. ABA. SUSME. MAGSUSUOT AKO NG SHADES BUKAS NITO. PERO SALAMAT KULOT. LECHE KA. DI NA AKO NAG ENGLISH
PERO KAYA PALA DI KA MAN LANG MAGREPLY SA MGA MESSAGES KO. KALOKA
SAKA AYOS LANG YAN, NAIINTINDIHAN KO (the books part). ALSO, ANG GANDA AT ANG GALING BES. SHET. LOVE YOU XX
PS SIGE. PAGBIBIGYAN KITA NA MAGANDA KA. LOL. MAGANDA KA NAMAN. IN YOUR OWN WAY, PERO BES BALANG ARAW, MAY MAMAMANGHA SA KAGANDAHAN MO. PROMISE YAN
A promise
She smiles.
Time itself stops.
She feels like a good music.
A song in the wind.
A good song different (in) every single phrase.
Happy 21st birthday, you, mother of three dragons. HA! I just want to say that this is my first black-out poetry and it is about you (and you should be thankful). This is my way of telling you, I am lucky to be your friend and I am thankful that I am beautiful. oops! hahaha What I’m trying to say is, Happy birthday to you, my friend. I will always be here, Raphabelle (@thsdfnngslnc ).
Love, Khayonardo :)
PS. to answer your unasked questions, Yes, this is my book (from Every Day by David Levithan page 11), and yes, this edited. I love you but I love my books, too. I know you understand that. HAHAHAHAHA
HALYANG
Dear (z a),
Sometimes you remind me of eating sweet chocolates under a night full of stars near a breathtaking view of the sea with the wind flushing our cheeks red
Because I hope you’re like a movie where you’re a happy ending and a lovely soundtrack that’s like a lullaby
But you are cigarette ashes left unwanted near the window panes and an unheard song that will always be buried deep inside my head
Because you’re like an old piano playing sadly alone in a dark room a dangerous whirl of the wind as the light of day walks away
No, no, no this shouldn’t be like a love letter
Because that would mean kisses planted on pieces of paper hoping you’ll feel them under your fingertips or each letter and phrase etched like teardrops that won’t taste salty but bittersweet romance
No, no, no this shouldn’t be a love letter
Because you deserve more than that you deserve green lights on a busy day or full breakfast served on your bed and homemade cupcakes sweet as love you deserve sunrises and sunsets beautiful as you
Caught up like a fly on a spider web I now don’t know where this river of words lead to when all I want is to witness your glory and be a torch of hope to your seemingly never-ending dark roads
My friend,
When the night eats away your life I’ll breathe into you my soul when the day abandons you during your weakness even if I can’t, even if you don’t want me to I’ll shine on you
Yours sincerely,
(eusie.)
In-se-cure
a.k.a. I want to forget your name
I turned my back away from haunted walls one night with shaking hands and eyes lost in focus, with lips startled and words buried deep within six feet down my throat. There had been a war across my horizons, among my thoughts, along with bombs exploding leaving me deaf to every “You’re beautiful” thrown against my face ever since. They see me flush in red, but burn with questions that can make every human’s words into ashes. I don’t trust what they say, because whenever I see myself as I stand in front of the mirror, I can hear my own eyes gasp. With my hands clasped to each other and tied above my chest, mouth slightly open, eyes glued to the ceiling — I started crying again. The moonlight peeped through my windows, and I think I saw your face in the dark. My knees traveled to be clenched by my arms. There was sudden heartbeat, then another.. like a continuous bang on my bedroom door. Ignoring it, I tried to forget the reason why everything seemed to be connected to you. More like I tried to find the reason why, because although they said I am worthy and I didn't deserve you, what I have been keeping in mind is when you let go in a whisper, “You just weren't enough.”
(eusie.)
Don’t even think about it
The two of them are on top of the world, and with only a little bit more, they’ll be on the edge. No one else knows where they are. Instead, the music circulating on their veins take them away from the fact that she is with him. No one else knows that the town will forever be dripped in red starting from that night. No one else knows.
She looks at him though, as if he created the universe with his smile. Her ribcage breaks from how fast her heart beats. It is chaos to be in love with him, but she doesn’t know it yet. Tick tock — Her breathing halts — tick tock — after he sings her name — tick tock — and she thinks her whole existence will rupture — tick tock — with the sound of his voice. She barely hears someone screaming at the strike of midnight. And with another tick of the clock, her mind becomes a black hole.
He knows he has this effect on her, of course, and his soul rejoices with it. But does he put his lips on hers? No. Instead, he caresses her fingers slowly and softly. Then he whispers, “Like waves crashing on your shores.” He reaches for her neck, and he sucks in her smell. “Like a storm coming your way,” he continues. Then as his nose ventures from her jawline to her cheeks, he goes, “Like a gun sketching on your face.”
The night appears to be calm. Both of them appear to be calm. She appears to be calm. But —
The night feels flustered. Both of them feel aroused. She feels dizzy. And he feels victorious. He starts —
He tells her she is a treasure chest that shouldn’t be hidden from the world. So he opens her up like her insides are gold. She feels like glowing. He kisses her curves in between like knives cutting through skin. It’s a ticklish feeling, she thinks, as a satisfying warmth flows down to her stomach. He pulls her out. And if she was struggling to breathe ever since he kissed her skin, she struggles more so as her lungs die from his touch. But she still feels like glowing, as if she is the sun. She is the sun to his universe.
This time, he finally he kisses her lips as his fingers linger on her cheeks. She notes to herself that he tastes painfully delicious. He looks down on her and she blushes. She covers her heart, embarrassed that maybe he can see his own name on it. But he can see it, and so he travels in between her heartstrings, planting his teeth. He smiles at her after, and her heart stops right there. But she manages to kiss him, and she gets dizzy again. She feels him punching something, but she calls out to the universe. Her moaning harmonizes with the night’s melodies.
And then, “I’m in love with you,” comes out from her abused and wet lips as it reddens more than a red sea. “I’m in love with death,” comes out from his as he horribly presses hers together. “Then I am too,” she continues, but her words disappear with the wind’s cries.
Tick tock — There is silence, then a couple more exchange of murmured words — Tick tock.
The two of them are on top of the world, and after crawling gracefully on this starless night, she finds herself on the edge. And she falls down. No one hears her groaning as she lands on the scattered stars on the ground. No one even notices. Until everyone does. But no one knows what happened. No one.
Six hours later. Six days then. Six weeks after. No one still knows. And no one knows that someone knows. That he knows.
He remembers their last words. He remembers his heart dancing on fire. “Don’t mention it,” he says after she thanks him. He remembers her eyes bleeding and burning. “Won’t even think about it,” she says before she closes her eyes.
No one else still knows what happened that night. No one even notices his murderous eyes prying on everyone who asks him about her. Because, no one will ever admit it, but everyone is probably in love with him too. So no one else questions when he answers, “It’s suicide.”
( k & eusie.)
Hello, it isn’t me.
I don’t know when I started to feel the coldness of my bed. But these sheets beat me when it comes to the realization of the absence of your warmth. It took me days to understand that you won’t march back in with all the stars in your eyes. I never tried to open the lights after the day you stormed out, for I don’t know if I can stand to not see your shadows moving in to hug me from behind. Or to sneak downstairs at dawn just to let me wake up to the smell of pancakes or macaroons. I left the kitchen sink on, just so I’m not the only one who continuously fill one’s self with wasted tears. The house is a mess just as I am. Everything is flooded with our memories, and I feel like I was blinded by the smell of your breath every time you mention my name.
I guess, I just really miss you. But I won’t admit it yet.
(eusie.)
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