Archive for March 2014

Details and Precisions

Tuesday, March 25, 2014 Comments Off

I saw you in someone else.

His eyes were deep, loving,
with longing for something that isn't there.
His words were gentle, cautious,
but was not as moving as yours

And the way he drove . . .

It was like watching you all over again
with me next to you, listening to your chatters.
I had to sit next to him
but it was not the same

And the way he move . . .

Constant trust was all I could see
with rehearsed precision of teasing gestures.
He plunged, dove, clashed and collided
but it was a different strategy altogether

And the way he love . . .

He gave others the spotlight they deserved
with all the small comforting gestures when they talked.
It was encouraging
but not in the same way you did it to me

And the way he throve . . .

Sounded completely different,
complex, barely enough and inaccurate.
His idea of challenging himself was notable
but extremely different from yours

I saw someone else in you.
(the same way that I saw you with someone else)

"It's The Smoke"

Wednesday, March 19, 2014 Comments Off

If you were here, I'd be nodding my head to your blurry figure from across the room. We would smile to each other. Your eyes would look like you were just about to cry, or just did. It's the smoke, you'd say. You have never been good with having those kind of situation, but funnily enough that kind is supposed to be your crowd. With the overly excess amount of bass thrumming the walls and the overflowing money being spent on small amount liquid on tiny glasses, you once exaggerated about how this place changed you--and I don't know if it's for the better or worse.

But at least you'd be there, smiling at me. We'd come to the place together, you wouldn't fuss at my spending time too much on curling my eyelashes or finding the right shoes or going through numerous of outfits--because you have known my family for years and you'd end up sleeping on my brother's bed anyway, like usual. I'd smile at your antics, pointed out the humming of heavy traffic outside before you could fall into deeper slumber. We would immediately go to your car, that was park nicely in front of my dark wooden fence. I'd mess up your dashboard. Or perhaps sitting awkwardly. Or maybe staring at your face, hung at your words and the way you explain things to me.

By the looks of it, it would be forever until we'd reach our destination. But we would be okay, we would be packed with our words, with your stories and your informations and your hand gestures. We would discuss about our mutual friend, how so-and-so was doing really well with her study but not with her love life, how that buzzcut guy was now doing oration and how most of our inner circle friends seem to have scandals with one another.

Then we would laugh. Our eyes would tell each other secrets that the mouth, nor the head or the heart, could not convey. Mutual understanding--simple agreement between both parties that neither acknowledge nor realise until it is too late. We would pass it as another affection-like adoration. Again, platonic. We would pass another traffic light. And then another, and then another.

And at one point, one of our favourite songs would come up on the radio and you would sing along with me. It would end at the exact time you park your car and let me out of it-- our temporary mode of transportation, because you prefer riding the tube or walking. My arm would hang itself through your purposefully created loop with my hand grip tightly on your forearm, the place where your temporary tattoo was once made. You would kiss my head, once (or perhaps twice, discreetly). And I would know then, I have fallen in love with you. You would be someone that I love.


You would be my predestined soulmate.
(but now all I got is only a lousy hello)

Leather Boots and Jeans

Monday, March 10, 2014 Comments Off

This is not love. I know.
It's an almost love--it is deeper than love, but much weaker since it has not known any perfect redemption that love provide and it is also more na├»ve, a tender feeling that last longer than a whole bottle of wine (which the owner tried to drown in order to forget about said feeling).

But this almost love is so pretty, like poetry.

Uneasy, perhaps at one point seems ethereal, and loving. So much loving. The absence of hatred that could be caused by the mutual agreement of a relationship is the most appealing part of it all. But I guess it is because I have experienced what some would have perceived as "romantic notions of a relationship" with you.


We've gone to the museums together--even science museums where we tried to detect each other's heart beats but failed amusingly. We dined--lots and lots of time we ended up at my place, eating leftovers and created some unearthly food that we ate anyway. We shared secrets--nothing deep, we decided, but we knew it was enough to show that our presence were important for one another. We have shared each other's arms--protective and safe cocoon in the worst of circumstances possible. We have travelled together--not to mention you have successfully persuaded my mother to let me go on a road trip with you. We've watched movies together--horrors, your favourite, and mine, thrillers. We have made similar temporary tattoos--from the week we spend by the beach eating grilled mahi-mahi.

Our touches in another's skin were some welcoming comfort--it was not foreign, like when you have once told me when there was someone else touching you, I loved (still do) the sensation of being touched by your being. Especially when we were being incredibly clingy.

You were endearing, lovely, exquisite, rare and kind.
I was yours, platonically.

And we were.
Even though we aren't anymore.

Fish and Chips

Thursday, March 6, 2014 Comments Off

"A dollar more, a dollar less
Who are you trying to impress?"
And I'd sigh, exponentially tired.
You were smiling, never smoking.
Beer in your hand, taste of defeat in your lips.



Maybe the best thing of us is our what-could-have-beens. Our scenarios that we purposefully almost otherworldly create with the thoughts of each other but not actually with each other. Scenarios that are filled with wide-eyed kids with curly hair and thick lips, with vivid colour of annual summer trips, with honeymoons in London eating fish and chips. Scenarios that are just too far, too otherworldly, yet absurdly purposefully close to home if we chose to go through it. These are creation of my own interpretation of what I saw in us--what I've failed to notice (years and years ago).

What we had was something that all the philosophers, scientists and human behaviour specialists unsuccessfully try to solve--the intimate unromantic platonic friendship. Such things couldn't have happened, since more often than not, either one of the parties would fall for the other. I did. For you. Especially, exclusively, irrevocably.

You've had enough--I haven't tasted it all. Funny, how, all these years I've been longing for a certain hypothetical person--but I was too busy to take notice of your full-grown heart, mature head, your endless patience, your tired sleepy eyes, the warmth of your hug, your accepting smiles, that playful tug on my hair when you were not patient, and everything that made you who you are. I was too busy for my person.

But that person is gone. Your phase in my life is over. It's time for me to move on.
You are now blurry, far away, and with your back on me.
(Please come home soon)

Lost in Sensation

Sunday, March 2, 2014 Comments Off

Our love for each other was like that certain clothing articles from the past that made their comeback in the recent years--they didn't quite match with the era they were born to, out-of-place but not quite out of date. They should have been reborn into another masterpieces, ahead of its time, they are supposed to be enjoyed later in time when it is right, when they are ready.


I think you and I are the same, no?

We were right for each other. Our flaws mixed together incredibly and our fears mingled in each other's minds like the taste of that awful beer in our lips. Our lips were hopeful, but our eyes were hiding itself from the truth--lost in translation, lost in sensation. We were none, but you and I were exceptionally made to be one.

We've always had a head start from everything, you mostly more than me. In life, we had it all first--you knew where you would end up and I knew what kind of things that I dislike, but I suppose not in romantic feelings towards each other. These unmentionable feelings were perhaps always skulking around us, even at the times when I shared my food with you, and especially at the times we were in a beautiful trance when you drove me home.

You were too eager to start your next life.
I was too eager for that guy.

Now I love you. Now I need you. Now I long to be yours.
(but you don't need me.
you don't love me.
and you are certainly not mine)

Now we are metaphorically here, reduced into strangers that do not even send birthday greetings through the unknown realm of internet. Now we are physically apart. Now we live in different moments, moments that could have been shared with each other.

Now I fall asleep while you are waking up.
Now I am dreaming of you in my sleep while you aren't here.
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