No, it wasn’t love at first sight. I was barely attracted by your physical appearance. But what caught me (and still remarkably holds me) are the way you perceive things, the way you talk, and the way you make me laugh. Your courage to try, your efforts despite of the unknown, your respect, your honesty. All of these I not just once saw, now I terribly miss. They’re either gone with you leaving or disappeared with you changing. Yes, these things I terribly miss I could hug myself. Now they’re like memories - stayed but I can’t get back. They’re like developed photographs where all I can do is stare.
She just want to be held. That’s all.
Santosh Kalwar, Obscurity (via observando)
(Source: aplaceforart, via his-unfailinglove)
If ever we meet, as if we don’t. What I mean is, if ever we could talk and have a deep sensible conversation, I’d probably find myself falling for you again. I’d fall into your words, the way you talk, the way you move your hands as you emphasize a thought, the way you smile in between sentences and even in your expression as your mind wanders. If ever our eyes would meet, I’d probably stare at them straight and searching, letting my eyes ask the questions left and speak the words I’d been dying to send. And if, if only, our skins would meet, I may become paralyzed, stiff and frightened. I may abruptly withdraw as a reflex response to what was long familiar, but the sensation from your touch will still linger as if being burnt from a hot tea. And worse is, I guess I may not forget. Everything at most, all of it at least.
But maybe, if ever you would come back for me, just thinking about it no matter how impossible it is, I may refuse. I would refuse, I had to. I may not believe you. I can’t believe you. I may not trust you. I may not trust myself too. Because you left me with the fear of lies and what ifs. And as much as I wan’t to, I just can’t. And well, you even won’t.
Dugay pajod na
Kamo lang guys
"If this is the last, thank you", you texted. Then you called.
Soon did I realise that you were drunk. You don’t usually get drunk. I tried to help you but you were so stubborn. I couldn’t get you to listen to me, as always.
You were warm, the same comforting warmth.
You were under my arms - drunk, sick and sleepy, asking me “why did you come here?”. I was asking myself the same question. I didn’t understand you when you called. I was worried. I wanted to see you. I think that was it.
From the moment I was running in your street to the minute I was looking at your face, I knew I was in trouble. Even if I knew what it would do to me, I still rushed to your apartment. I can’t refuse to you. I cannot not worry. I cannot pretend that I don’t care all the time.