For the night is dark and full of dreamers ♥


There are times when I meet someone and feel this instant attraction. And everytime that happens, I can hear myself pleading, “Fascinate me.” 

And everytime too, I can’t help but laugh at that disappointed feeling that lingers when they don’t. It hurts too often that there is simply nothing to do but mock away the pain.


Air and Fire

For him, she was the reason for existing. She was not afraid to touch him, to let him feel like his desires and his passions are worth having no matter how terrifying they are to him. Hers was a fleeting kiss and the lightest caress. But she was the sudden thrill and surge of adrenaline too. She makes him stronger but wanting for more. She was captivating that way.

For her, he was an unending fascination. So terrible, she thinks, but so beautiful too. Yes, beautiful, there was simply no other word- how he resonates power when she touches him, how he reaches out for her endlessly. He was ashes with a bitter taste of death and pain. But he was also warmth and safety. He was art whose meaning is unraveled to those who are brave enough to try it. He was mysterious that way.

She was the very force that kept him alive but he was simply a puzzle waiting to be defined. It was a mistake to open up to her, to give her a solution that easily, thinking it will tame that wildness in her, thinking it will win her heart. What he failed to realize was that her heart belongs to this world and not to a single person, not even to herself. He was no longer a mystery, no longer unsolved and she would have not wanted something ordinary and unchallenging. She was air and he was fire. And no matter how you think of it, it couldn’t have worked out. For he, he is willing to burn the world down trying to chase her. And she, she would have left anyway.


I wanted to write of my loneliness.

I wanted to pour into paper every frustration and pain so I could free myself from them.

I wanted to find the exact words to tell my story so I am not its character anymore but its author and its reader.

I wanted to transfer every bit of anger to these string of words and be able to erase them.

Because it hurts. So much. Too much.

I wanted to make poetry of what I am feeling and put it here but nothing came out. In the chaos of everything I have ever felt, there is simply nothing to describe it.

The Ocean and the Sky

“But I love you…”  the sky said.

The ocean cried silently.

“You don’t love me as I love you.” The ocean whispered. “I love you. Do you understand that? I dont love you like the shore that I greet and adore during high tide and shy away later when the moon pulls me back. You are my sky. For every star that ever charted their tale across your expanse and every stormy cloud that loomed at your horizon, I will always be there to share it with you. When you smile, I’ll always be there to return it to you. And when you cry, I will always be there to catch every tear that falls until none is left. There will be no day, no moment, that I will  not do it for you.”

“But… I do love you like that.” The sky softly said.

The ocean smiled sadly. “You see everything there is to see in this world yet you will never be able to fathom the very depths of my heart. I could love you with the very whole of my being and you will only see my surface. You are my sky. And while I’ll always see the same sky, want the same sky, I know you want so much more of this world than a single ocean.”

And the sky realized then that while he had always denied that, the ocean knew it from the beginning. Yet, she loved. It was at that moment that he had come to understand what she said. It was simply the kind of love he cannot return.


It’s my head again. It’s screaming so loud— just screaming. And it feels like every nerve in my brain is  paper waiting to be burned by the fire that is lashing inside me . I wanted someone else to help me. I need someone to put out this inferno so I can breathe again. This is too much, too much for someone to handle. I looked around, everywhere, but they all are screaming. Everyone else is screaming. WE all are screaming for it to stop, for someone to help, just someone to notice.

Some have been burned alive, reduced to nothing but an ash for a mind while their body is still well. Some have endured it and became the fire that lights and warms instead. But still, they scream with voices that only they themselves will ever hear. And others? Others preferred to extinguish that fire forever.

We all are screaming. We all are burning, I realized. Sometimes I ask myself if the screaming I hear in my head are truly mine or do I perhaps hear the tiniest fraction of the screams from billions of people on this earth resonating with mine.

And for the first time, I wish I was alone in this experience. Because no one, no one deserves to be in such excruciating pain.

photo credit:


I saw a post in Pinterest that says ‘describe the color red but don’t use red’. And it was so marvelously written that it has moved me to create mine also. I chose black which I know is not a color. In fact, it is the absence of light where all colors come from. But it is for the same reason that it is isolated from all others that I believe it is a color of its own. 

[Describe black without using black.]

It is the color that you see when you choose to close your heart from what the world demands you to feel. It is the color of tranquility, of momentary rest, when nothing needs to be achieved, no one needs to be pleased and no pretentions are needed to cover a battered soul or a chaotic mind. It is what you see when you are done staring at your own pool of blood on the floor at 2am or the color that your exhausted senses welcome as you swallow a handful of pills. It is the color of your coffin, the color of tear-drenched funeral clothes. It is the color of your ashes as you meet the sea. It will not be the color that they’ll see when they’ll remember you. It was not the color of your favorite dish that your father loved to serve you. It was not the color of the first dress your mother had bought you. It was not the color of the fading edges of a photograph of your family a long time ago. It was not the color of the convenience store you used to go with your friends to waste time and have a laugh when everything else is so fucked up. It is not even the color of your tears as you decide to leave it all away. But all the same, it was the color of salvation. It was the only color that you saw.


Leave your marks all over my body. Claim every inch of it like you never knew what satisfaction means until you’ve had me intertwined, like you only know thirst since you tasted the breath of life in your lips until your tongue danced with mine. Paint my body red with every bite and every kiss from the curve of my neck to the inside of my legs down to the nerves at the tip of my toe. Reach inside me and find the galaxy you wanted to escape to.

My entirety is yours. It will always be yours. In every moment you decide it to be.


“Maybe the journey isn’t becoming anything at all. Maybe it’s unbecoming everything you think you should be so you can finally be who you are.”

I was switching between radio stations when I heard this quotation by chance. I remember being emotionally exhausted on top of going through thee burden of studying for the licensure exam. It is draining me beyond anything. So I lie there with my consciousness drifting between sleep and wakefulness when I heard that over the radio. It has then become so fitting at that instant as if those words were meant to be for me. And it struck me how a lot of aspiring youths like me would rather categorize themselves among others than realize that each of us are unique individuals. Everyday, since the moment we learned to read and write, we were taught to be this and that. We were taught to be a ‘what’ rather than a ‘who’. As for me, the goal would always be to succeed in the profession I had. But that’s what I wanted to become. That’s what I thought the whole journey was about. And that, I think, is what dehumanizes people as they grew up. Because we are so pressured by the expectations of society, we lose the sense of individuality and uniqueness. We would rather conform than be different. But we are different, you are you and I am me in every aspect, every bit of vulnerability and imperfections. That’s who we are. And somehow, I think this whole journey in life is suppose to teach us that. Maybe this is more on untangling the net of deception and expectations rather than covering ourselves with it. Maybe we are not meant to find a purpose, an explanation or a validation of why we are here at this very moment. Maybe we are not meant to find but rather to free ourselves and let that be the purpose, the explanation and sole validation of why we should be here.


All she wanted was for someone to be brave enough. All she is asking was for someone to stop her when her monsters take over. When they lash out, when they endlessly scream the disappointment and frustrations, when they pound so hard in her head like an alarm clock on snooze, all she wanted was for someone to care. That’s all. All she wanted was someone to realize she was in pain. All she needs is for someone to hold her hands and stop them from the physical torture they are doing to her body, to look at her angry and crying eyes and never look away from them, to not be afraid of being devoured.

But the moon waned, the sun rose and no one was brave enough. So when someone came in the middle of the havoc, she became so hopeful. But it was just her who came tired and sympathetic part of her who embraced the monsters like a mother’s welcoming arms extended to her child. It was that day when she cried out of exhaustion, of pity and of grief. It was just her all along, all this time of waiting for someone else to save her. 

It was the loneliest moment, realizing that. But it was also the strongest she would ever be.

She wanted a hero but time taught her to be one.

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