Drunk Text

Give me liquor and beer, drown me with any toxic concoction you can think of and let the alcohol run through my veins – I still won’t send you a text.

I am not a drunk texter.

I am a 6 am texter and I will flood you with good morning texts until you wake up. I will not want to get out of bed and I will touch my hand where you held it in my dreams. I will ring you up at 6:30 am just to hear your morning voice, as you sleepily rub your eyes and answer me with an edge to your voice; I’ll be smiling at the other end of the line – falling in love with you.

I am a 2 pm texter and I will tell you I am thinking of you in the midst of my class. I have a lot of things to do but I will find time to let you know you still cross my mind, even at such a busy time. I will ask you how your day is going and send you a joke to make you smile. I will tell you I miss you, because I really do, and hope you say you do too – and mean it.

I am a 6 pm texter and I will tell you to keep safe as you go home, my eyes will constantly scan the darkening horizon in hopes of spotting your face in the crowd and I will want to know where you are. I will text you again to make sure you’re okay and wish upon the angels in heaven to guide and guard you; because if I had a choice, I would choose to wrap you inside my rib cage where you will be safe and close to my heart.

I am a 10 pm texter, when the warm sheets of my bed and the soft pillows wrap me in the darkness – that’s when I will ask you how your day went and I will tell you about mine, which is mostly about thinking of you and missing you in between the seconds of every hour. I will tell you my secrets, bare my mind and strip my soul and wish we’re sharing the warmth of each other’s skin. I will let your heavy breathing lull me to sleep and the intimate silence that will stretch between the two of us over the phone will be my favorite bedtime story – the story of how I am falling in love with you again and again.

I am a 2 am texter. When you are peacefully asleep on your bed, I will tell you I love you – that in the darkness of the hour, it is you who I choose to love. It’s when my thoughts and demons scratch my skin and haunt my head and only you can calm my chaos-driven existence. I love you. I will tell you I love you; repeat it again and again until it reaches you in your dreams and you will feel my lips linger at the edges of your skin and my warmth surrounding you because I love you – goddamn I love you. I will tell you I love you and never get tired of saying it. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I will tell you I love you, not because of the loneliness of the hour but because in the silence that will come after, I find solace knowing my I love you will be the first thing you feel in the morning – and you’ll know I truly love you, because I really do. I love you.

I have not yet sent a single 6 am, 2 pm, 6 pm, 10 pm and 2 am text but when I do, the reason would not be due to the suffocating effects of alcohol nor of the deathly grip of loneliness – no. I will send you these texts because I am drowning in memories of us and they will be my signal to you and I will know that I am saved.

The First. The One. The Last.

(in collaboration with the amazing Katrina Gayle Blanco)

 

The First One He’s the first flower to bloom after the harsh winter nights; strong and noble, he broke through the layers of ice you covered your heart with – he is spring. He is the first ray of sunlight that travelled across the universe to kiss you the warmth of a new day, the one that breaks through the darkness you covered yourself with. He is the morning after a long, rough night; the one who keeps you looking forward to a new day. He is hope; the beginning of everything; the beautiful start. He is the introduction – the first line in a story; the first “hello” and the first “goodbye”. He is the beginning and you love it because you know there’s always more to come.

He is Prince Charming straight from the bedtime stories you’ve read; he came into your life on a white horse and you feel like Juliet on the balcony as you utter his name in the dark; again and again you play with it in your mouth because you’ve never tasted something so good. It’s unbelievable, the way he makes you feel; he touches you with hands as gentle as the morning dew that slides down a leaf, whispers your name like it’s his prayer at night and there are times when he plays with it in his mouth, moving it back and forth with his tongue and all you can do is melt into his arms. Ahh yes, his arms – strong like the arms that carried you when you were a baby and you love to cling to it all the time because you have not felt another man’s arms besides your father’s and it feels good; to be protected, to be secure and to know that you are safe. Safety, that’s what he makes you feel. All your life you have been guarded because life is cruel but with him, you tore down the walls you have built. He is the first man you welcomed into your sanctuary. And first to burn it down.

He is your failed attempt, your best lesson. He taught you all there is to learn about love, and he was certain he made you feel it. The first love – he is your benchmark. He is who you compare every other love with, and he is the toughest one to beat. He was the man you shared every beginning with, as he was the same man who experienced the first of many endings with you. He is long gone, his goodbye was spoken seemingly more than a thousand lifetimes ago, but he still lingers – he will always linger, and no matter where life takes you, a part of your heart will always belong to him.

 

The One He is the reason why you are willing to fall in love over and over again. The only person you feel who is worthy of all the pain life can put you through. He knows you, backwards and forwards, and is willing to go through time and space to find whatever it is that you need. You would go to hell and back for this guy, as he would you, and all the sacrifices in the world would not amount to what you are willing to give up for his love. He is the guy you casually dated in hopes to fill the empty spaces on your hands where countless of guys have tried to fill, but failed; he is the one who succeeded. He’s the guy you thought was like the other guys but he proved you wrong. He is the sigh of relief after a long search for a melody that harmonized well with yours. The One made you realize why it never really worked with anyone else; The One made every single failed attempt with someone else worth it. He’s the one who beat The First One, the one who makes you feel infinite, the one whose eyes reflected the glimmer of forever from the night sky.

He memorizes the pattern at the back of your hand, he can recite to you your favorite poem and most importantly, he appreciates your worth. He can finish your sentences, order your coffee, and go through your daily routine. You know he isn’t perfect but you look past the cracks on his soul because you have them too and they perfectly fit the ones on his; you were made for each other. You are not soul mates nor are you two souls who found their way into each other’s lives. You are one cosmic being the universe created even before both of you were born, preserved in the history books of the stars. And that is why you love tracing the constellations on his skin and he kisses the stars on yours. He is every broken piece of you and every little thing in your life. He is all the simplest things combined together to create the entire picture; to create the whole of the both of you. He is the other half, The One whose every single attribute matched yours perfectly.

But just because he is the one, it doesn’t mean he is The One you’d end up with, or The One you’d spend the rest of your life with, and he proved you right. Your goodbye with The One was excruciating, like half of your body was being brought away with him – it got more painful with every step he took. There became a hollow pit in your chest where he used to live and every time you tried to touch the place where your heart is supposed to be, you felt nothing but the sting of the empty space there; nothing lasts forever and you wish the nothingness in your chest would go away. As time passed, you’ve learned to live your life without constantly touching your hand in hopes of feeling his; but you never really got rid of your heart beating faster every time his name comes up in a conversation, and you’ve never really stopped your habit of looking for his face in a crowd. He will be the waves that will keep on crashing on your shore again and again; there will be times when you will completely forget about him but he will always find his way into your head. He was your daily routine and you of all people know how hard it is to break from your favorite habit. He is the favorite book you have finished reading but refuse to put down – but you know that you have to if you want to go on with your life and start reading others. But he’ll always be on the list.

 

The Last One He is your destination, the one who will lie with you at night after a long day’s work. He will cradle you in his arms and take your entire burden from you. He’s your safe haven, the one who will let you rest. The Last One is the one who is trying to make forever work, you both know that it doesn’t exist but you still bother to try anyway – that’s what makes him different. He is the prize – no, trophy – you receive after making it through every single goodbye, for surviving all the painful heartaches, the gold in the treasure chest you spent countless of hours, days, looking for in the deserted forest. He is the last molecule of oxygen inside a gas chamber, the end-point, the equilibrium. He is the morning star, the one who stays even after your favorite constellation disappeared. The Last One is the saving breath after being underwater for so long, he is the one who keeps you going – the one who keeps you alive.

He makes your heart beat more than all of your other ex lovers did combined. He makes you smile more than anyone else did. He loves you more than you ever thought possible. He is The First and The One combined – the epitome of love in all of its forms, the personification of love. You will have a hard time believing in him because of all the struggles you’ve had to put up with the guys before him but he is the one who will open up your eyes and make you believe that he is the one who will stay, that there is someone who will stay with you.

The Last One gives you more – more of everything everyone ever gave you. He makes you feel more, want more, need more, love more and be more.

The Last One shows you the true essence behind the saying, “patience is a virtue”. The Last One makes you believe that God waited this long to give you the best, and to give him the best. All of the things that you have experienced were lessons for you to be better for The Last One, to prepare you for him. He is the one who will not only read all of your stories, but keep you with him wherever you go; you are his favorite book, the most treasured art piece.

He understands that you still carry in your heart The First and The One but doesn’t bother and worry about them because he knows that they only occupy a minute place in you now because he knows that time has eroded them from you – the reason why it took both of you so long to find each other – and he knows that he is your present tense and he will do everything to stay that way and be the future tense you deserve. He will not try and take them away from you because he accepts you for everything that you are; your past, present and future. The Last One is the one who will make you realize why it didn’t work out with The First and The One – he’s the guy who will make you realize that you do not need The One to make you happy.

The Last One may not be The One or may not have been The First One, but he is the best one, the one you deserve.

Small Bump

I was a small bump unborn, in nine months time I’ll be around

You were an innocent girl, new to the struggles of the world

You were young and free, what were you to do?

A little demon in the dark, a little touch, a little kiss

The deed has been done, the seed has been planted

No turning back; life or death for me, your choice all to make

 

Did you curse? Did you cry? Did you wish to have died?

Did you punch your tummy as I was beginning to have life?

Did they hurt you, despise you and put you to shame?

Did they make things even harder than they already were?

 

I was a small bump, nine months pass, brought to the world

You were an innocent girl, trembling in a hospital gown

You were young and free, what were you supposed to do?

A little push, a little pain; wait who am I kidding, a lot of pain

The deed has been done, the seed has been cultivated

No turning back; you held me as gentle as you can

 

Did you smile? Did you cry? Did you thank God above?

Did you think we’ll be okay, when you saw me for the first time?

Did you kiss me on my fragile skin? Did you think I was cute?

Did you notice my hair, or my eyes that I got from you?

 

I was a small bump, years have passed and I grew into my skin

You were an innocent lady, toughen up by the struggles of the world

You were strong and independent, oh the things that you could do

A little sacrifice here and there, sleepless nights and my unending wails

The deed has been done, the seed is growing

Keep moving forward, enduring our endless days

 

Did you curse? Did you smile? Did you ever ask above, why?

Did you ever get tired singing lullabies during midnight crying?

Did you ever regret giving life to the boy you carry?

Did you still think I was a blessing, your one and only?

 

I was a small bump no more, settling in my skin

You are an independent woman, fighting life’s demons

You are brave and firm, oh the things that you do

Blood, sweat and tears, for the children that are hard to deal

The deed has been done, the seeds are learning

Keep moving forward, more battles are to be fought

 

I was a small bump no more, living in my skin

You are a strong woman, supporting and carrying lives

You are resilient and daring, braving seas and storms

Headaches and heartaches, disappointments and tears

Our deeds to you are undeserving, the seeds are rotting

Sons and daughter, you’ve never dreamed of

Trying to be better, the one’s you’ll be proud of

Keep moving forward, eternity we’ll conquer

 

Are you proud? Are you thankful?

Are you comforted by knowing, our love for you is timeless?

Are you aware that we too hurt to see you hurt?

Are you contented and happy of how we turned out to be?

 

I was a small bump; soon you’ll bend and wrinkle

You will have been still so strong; a warrior for your age

You will never be a burden, never be a thorn in our backs

You carried us, 9 months, blood, sweat and pain

And so we will carry you, love you and thank you, ‘til the end of your days

 

Will you look back and not regret? Will you be proud and be happy?

Will you be thankful of how things turned out to be?

Will you still cry and smile because of us?

Will you be a proud mother, a supporter and our forever lover?

 

You carried us, 9 months, blood, sweat and pain

And so we will carry you, love you and thank you, ‘til the end of our days

For now we say, we love you and thank you; forever and always

You

                For the past couple of weeks I’ve had trouble sleeping and eating. I can’t think straight. My heart ached. My heart ached. My heart ached. So I decided to visit the doctor. A couple of tests here and there then I ended up sitting in his office. He checked the test results and shook his head. What is it? Do I have cancer? Am I dying? I asked. I’m so sorry but I fear it’s much worse than that. He said. He explained my case to me as gentle as possible, I could tell.

I went home, head hung low, and locked myself in my room. This can’t be happening to me. Why me? Why me? Why me? I cursed and thrashed and cursed some more but will this even do me good? Then I remembered you. Your eyes, your hair, your lips. Your smile, your laugh, your voice. Your skin, your hand, your touch. Your eyes, your smile, your touch. It made me smile and I felt like it took a little of the sickness away.

I imagine your hand on mine as we walk barefoot on the beach. I imagine my arms wrap around you in the cinema. I imagine your breath on my cheek. I imagine your laugh in the air. I imagine your smell on my sheets. I imagine your taste on my lips. I imagine. I imagine. I imagine.

And in every thought of you I thought I was getting better, but I wasn’t. My soul ached even more. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t act. I couldn’t smile. I couldn’t smile. I could no longer smile. What’s happening to me. It’s the sickness.

Then I remembered you. I remembered you. I remembered you. How you talked to me endlessly every night. How you asked me how my day was. How you told me you were thinking of me. How you listened to me. How you laughed at my jokes. How you told me you were happy. How you asked me why I was sad. How you asked me if I was tired. Was I tired? Was I tired? Was I tired?

More thoughts of you. Of you. Of you. Of no one else but you. How you left without saying anything. How you made me wait. How you made me fall. How you came back. How you came back but things didn’t come back. How you acted ignorant. How you acted like nothing happened. How you acted like there was nothing. How you acted like we were nothing. How you acted like I was nothing.

It no longer helped me, it just fed the pain; nurtured it into a full grown monster. But I am a little masochist so I kept thinking of you. I’d rather have memories of you that bring pain than to have no memories of you at all, now that would be a much more unbearable pain. For you are nothing but pain. Pain. Pain. Sweet dreadful pain.

As I crumpled myself into a piece of paper, a little voice in my head said. You’ve got to accept it and try to live with the pain because it never really goes away. It never goes away. It never goes. It never does. So I told myself. I am sick. I am sick. I am sick. But I will never be sick of you. Maybe we’re the two lines that make up intersecting lines; destined to meet but fated to separate. Destined to smile but fated to cry. Destined to live but fated to die. What if our role in each other’s life was to touch but never really feel.  To go and not come back. To move and never stop. To give love and not return.

For the past couple of weeks I’ve had trouble sleeping and eating. I can’t think straight. My heart ached. My heart ached. My heart ached. So I decided to get help. A couple of tests here and there then I ended up sitting in my doctor’s office. He checked the test results and shook his head. What is it? Do I have cancer? Am I dying? I asked. I’m so sorry but I fear it’s much worse than that. He said. He explained my case to me as gentle as possible, I could tell.

The doctor diagnosed me with a rare sickness, he called it You. You. You.

He called it you.

Date A Guy Who Writes

Date a guy whose hair may never be as perfect looking as Zayn Malik’s quiff because he doesn’t have time to do all the pampering. He’ll have problems with his looks but doesn’t have time to better himself because there are billions of words and endless stream of ideas in his head that he cannot wait to write down. His laptop will probably be low in disk space because of the unfinished works he started and the others that he left on tabs, unsaved and unedited. You’ll usually see his playlist with gazillion songs being shuffled and repeated and multiple YouTube tabs opened some paused mid-chorus while others left unplayed. He’ll be sorry for all the paper clutter filled with rejected ideas lying on the floor and the black ink stain on his carpet, a result of frustrated nights and broken G-Tech pens.

Let him kiss you underneath the rain. Listen to him as he tells you what he thinks about “love”.

Find a guy who writes. You’ll learn a lot from him, facts from the deepest part of the Amazon, adventures of Captain Nemo and his Nautilus. He’ll try to make you laugh with the humor of the books he has read and he’ll be gentle and caring to you because he doesn’t want you to feel how the girls in tragic stories like The Fault In Our Stars or Romeo and Juliet felt. As you listen to him talk, you’ll be amazed as to how far he has brought you; from the plains of Narnia to the beaches of Miami. He’ll make you feel like you’ve spent the night in Paris or early mornings in Bali with the words that he has written and said. He’s the guy who frequently smells of Starbucks coffee, with dark shadows under his eyes because of lack of sleep. See that guy sitting alone at the corner of your favorite coffee shop who is busy typing on his laptop, his mocha latte left untouched? That’s the writer. He will talk for hours about his ideal adventure, of daring heroes and notorious villains, of wizards and ogres. He’ll talk endlessly about the infinite battle of light and dark. Of Love and Pain. He can’t resist filling a blank page with black ink. He can’t resist filling a blank mind with his colorful words and ideas.

He’s the guy whose face is buried in the pages of his favorite book, rereading his favorite lines again and again. You might feel like he’s ignoring you with the endless silence that consists the tiny gap between you two but be patient with him, he’ll surprise you with words you never knew sounded so good. If you check his coffee, you’ll only feel the cold china underneath your palm. He’ll peek at you and smile; loving the fact that you took notice of his deep reading.

Read the book he’s reading, or at least get background knowledge about it and surprise him with a line or two.

If he puts the book down, ask him if he wants a fresh, hot cup of cocoa latte. He’ll repay you with unwritten ideas and words in his head. If he stops typing, smile at him and tell him about the books you’ve read; tell him what you think about The Great Gatsby or how you cried when Snape died. Tell him how you felt after reading The Five People You Meet In Heaven and your thoughts on To Kill A Mockingbird. Tell him your favorite books, characters, your fantasies and ask him about the book he is currently reading.

It’s hard to date a guy who writes. But be patient with him.  Buy him books for his birthday and  hand written letters for your anniversaries. Surprise him on Christmas day with a story you wrote just for him. Let him know that his fiction will not stay fictitious for long and that his reality will become a lot better with you.

He’ll give you a kiss.

He is a master of words, don’t lie to him. He can instantly detect if you lie to him. Tell him directly; tell him the truth, for a boy who writes will understand. He will nod and smile at you and tell you that you two can work things out. He will understand because he knows that life is not like the fairy tales he has grown tired of reading. He knows that books were inspired by people’s lives. He knows that no fairy tale ends without a little poisoned apple somewhere in the plot. Though his head is mostly floating in the clouds, he is realistic. He isn’t impatient. He accepts your flaws because he knows that these make you who you are, just like the little typos in every book. He’ll understand that endings are meant to happen, whether happily or devastatingly.

Be his love, his life, his everything.

If you find a guy who writes, hold him close. If you visit him and find out he hasn’t slept yet because of this new idea, brew him a hot cup of coffee. Insist if he refuses. Then sit beside him as he types furiously on the keyboard. Notice as his brow furrows and as he harshly presses the backspace button, notice the dark shadows underneath his eyes. Marvel as he stares blankly on the computer screen, frustrated by writer’s block and cheer him with a smile as he overcomes it. Be happy for you have just witnessed him at the time when he is most vulnerable.

You are the light to his yelda. You are what he longs for. He longs to embrace you just as one embraces the sunlight after many rainstorms or hours of darkness. You will be the one to save him. Hold him close as he cries over the character he decided to kill and help him plan out the death of the villain.

You will be all smiles as he talks to you nonstop; appreciate that, it means he has no secrets and can trust you with his “top secret” ideas and upcoming stories. He’ll fill your stomach with butterflies as he cuddles with you on the chair in front of the computer, kissing the back of your ear and neck as he continues his story and he will write a magnificent book about your lives together. He’s rare, remember that.

A guy who writes will tell your children brilliant bedtime stories.

Because that is the best part about a guy who writes.  He is imaginative. Inside his head is a labyrinth of art galleries. He has spirit and substance. He’ll whisk you away to a place made only for you two. He will be your shooting star and the penny you threw at the Trevi Fountain. He’ll be your two AM guardian and your knight in shining armor. He will make himself a world for you in his messy hair, ink stained arms, in the crease on his temple, the curves of his half smile, in the deepness of his eyes, the words coming out of his mouth like musical notes in perfect fifth drowning you in sweet lullabies-such feeling that will leave you clinging on for a breath of life by a boy who writes.

Maybe there’s a lot of error in his stories but it’s ok.

Date a guy who writes because you deserve him. He’s funny, sympathetic, he’s poignant at times and maybe quaint but he’s impeccable, seamless and gorgeous. He sees the world through a kaleidoscope. He may be living in a house with a library or simply with an unkept bookshelf or two in his room or basement. Date a guy who writes because a guy who writes reads.

A guy who writes understands reality. He may get into your nerves at times and maybe you’d hate him. Sometimes he’ll get annoyed with you too. But a guy who writes understands human beings and their need for security and their vulnerability. He will not go away with the Midnight Circus when a rift appears in your lives. He will understand that real life is far from the books he’s read, because though he spends his time making up stories, he still accepts the fact that he is a real boy living in a real world.

Date a guy who writes.

Because there is nothing better than a guy who writes.