“Sometimes I Wonder / If I’m Really The Best / Person For This Body.”

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

The lines on your palm are the road I want to travel and the place between your fingers is where I want to go; your hand in my hand is my home.

January 29, 2014 (eusie.)

an interview with my neighbor

part 2: macy edwards-johansson

i knocked on the door with a force that could break my knuckles as if my heart isn't enough with all its pieces crumbled to the tiles of the doorway

please don't let this one break me again

macy wasn't always home she looks for it in certain places and from a number of persons i wouldn't want to know

"home shouldn't be about the t.v. going nuts as you rest on your couch after a long day “so you sleep instead and it should be okay “home shouldn't be being aware of the bloody smoke coming from your cigarette that will blind you from living “but you choose to give in anyway because damn it, you're already dead from all these shit happening in your life “home should be sitting on the bottom of stairs with no one to calm you down “but the walls lull to you that it's okay to cry so you cry “home, to me, is when you want to be fucked up “so your home fucks you up, but in the end, it stays beside you, unbroken and full to cope up with your brokenness and emptiness"

she wants to be loved so fucking bad i don’t know if she’ll ever get to find someone who’ll make her feel home

macy didn't respond on the first to three banging on the door

i hoped she's somewhere inside sleeping peacefully and not anywhere hugging her fingers on bottle necks, getting damn wasted

i shouted her name and then her house shrieked her door slowly danced open, revealing macy with droopy eyes

before i can even drop a phrase, she whispered gently — and i saw the universe glowing in her eyes —

“i finally found my home”

and that was all i needed for today

(eusie.)

How to spell?

She starts to talk about Mississippi, and across these ill-painted walls, I hear a whisper. You’re a fool for her.

I remember when my mother used to say, “Don’t use all of your heart,” and “Leave a little bit of love for yourself.” I always rolled my eyes, because I didn’t know back then. And now, if my mother would yell at me for being this close to giving myself up just so she can say she loves me back, I wouldn’t care.

Fighting the urge to caress her cheek, I fond over her smile. She continues to go on about attending her favorite band’s concerts. Her eyes burning like she’s on fire. She says she’s excited to wear her tight black dress if she ever has a chance to go. I notice how her face’s suddenly painted in crimson as she longingly looks to a distance. Then she says, “I want to be kissed by someone as we listen to my favorite song being sang live.”

I could feel my soul closing in on her and kiss her lips, as if I’m the one that she wanted to be with her. But I know she doesn’t. So I pull myself back, and try not to feel hurt.

I return into trance when she mentions my name. That’s when all of my insides dry. But fuck. Her voice is like my blood, and the way the letters of my name slip from her tongue, I would think that she was the one who weaved my being. I ask her what else does she want to talk about.

And if I lose myself once again with just by her presence, I wouldn’t want her to know. I’ll just let her continue to tell the things she dreams about, even if I’m not one of them.

I’m a fool for her. Yes, I am.

(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.)

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.)

Never say never

There is a spot on the ceiling of my room that resembles the scar you have on your right arm, and lately, it became one of the things I forbid myself to look at every time I sleep at night. Just like the paintings you once gave to me that even if most of them were portraits of me, I put them away. Because I couldn’t look at myself smiling knowing you were the reason. And through every one of it that I see, I could hear your voice saying my name. (I don’t know if I am crazy enough to encounter these, but I guess I still love you the same.)

I remember that day you said you would never leave. It was the middle of autumn when everything was tinted orange and leaves kept on falling. Your smile was so bright and your eyes were full of promises I thought you would fulfill. But I swear you were like the sunset to every tiring day that I have had. You were beautiful as it was, beautiful enough to make me cry because I had you. And beautiful enough to make me cry because I lost you, for I believed in what you said that you were never going to walk away. It was when the sun began to meet the moon that one winter night. You held me closer to your broad chest. I felt your warmth beneath me, and your heartbeat lulled me to sleep with a smile on my face. Your breath roaming around my hair was nevertheless one of the many things I have always cherished. And the silence and the space between our bodies were probably one of the best things that I’ll remember even they were just in-between’s or nothing to you.

I kept on holding on to that time between the summer solstice when you said that you’ll never let me go. You hoisted me on your back, and placed my thighs on the sides of your waist. But you couldn’t bear my weight so we crashed down on the sand and we kept on laughing until we have to catch our breaths. (Sigh.)

Maybe, I shouldn’t have eaten everything that was in front of me just because I thought it was all good. Or just because I thought it’ll last forever inside our hearts as we’ll hold on to every moment we have had every day to keep us alive. But how could I have known, right? Yet, I wish you could’ve just said the truth, because to be honest, when you said you were never going to leave, you were never going to walk away, or you were never going let me go, I think that you never really meant any of them. I realized it just now.

Because I believed you said you loved me but then you just said you never did. And how I wish I could say to you personally that you should never use the word “never” if you know that what you will always mean is the otherwise. 

( chloe.  & eusie. )

and suddenly, i just miss you again

sumesex naman ata di murder eh

// murder naman yata eh, hindi sex //

This is about Don’t even think about it, yes?

Hi. I’ll just be in the corner and contemplate about what I did wrong. And probably study about read between the lines? DUNNO. Good evening

@bookhay: “Nalibugan ka lang bes hahahaha”