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Wednesday, September 30, 2009


Perfection is the stuff of dreams. If this is true, then I'm having a nightmare. I never knew perfect sadness is possible. You can't be perfectly sad. There has to be a bit of happiness in there somewhere. Or so I used to believe. The world loves to prove you wrong. It has a sick sense of humor. I am perfectly sad. Perfect sadness is the stuff of nightmares. I know of nightmares very well.

I have chosen not to sleep tonight. I don't know when sleep will come. It's the dreams I fear. That's where I see him, all the time, in so many different ways.

Compared to things other people have experienced, other griefs, other pains, other sufferings, mine does not compare. This is only a broken heart. This is only disappointment. This is only the pain I feel because I think things are unfair. I thought I was special. I wanted to be special. But I think he kissed her, and he hugged her for such a long time. Longer than he did me. And I realized the truth. I am not special. I am just another girl in his ocean of women and their attention towards him. I thought I made him feel different. I thought I sealed my heart in his hands and that he gave me his to be mine forever. I thought we were perfection. I am wrong.

I am not special. I do not make him feel different. He is not more comfortable when he is with me. He does not consider me his world. He does not love me as much as I love him. I was never the only one. He did not return to me because I was always the one in his mind. I was always there. Always available. I was the fallback girl. I was a floor mat. He considers me that annoying ex who just wouldn't go away. This was all a sick joke, and I'm the only one crying.

Your problems are only worse because they are yours.

My mouth tastes of cigarettes and my tongue is numb. My fingers are frozen and jittery from the many coffees and sitting outside an airport in 6 degree weather for two and a half hours. I was afraid to go home. I am afraid of my bedroom, closed doors, being very very alone. I'm afraid of what I might do to myself. I am afraid of tears. I am afraid of sleep. I am afraid of nightmares.

I pray you never read this. I pray this fades to complete nothingness, such as I am to you. Nothing. A forgettable fragment of a time in your life. Dispensable. Dismissible. Unworthy. Flawed. Laughable. Naive. Pathetic. Pick a word, any word. It describes me. Pitiful.

Hey mullet girl. Thank you. I love you, for everything. I know it will go away. I'm glad you're there to help me along. I wish I had done the same for you. Again, thank you.


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Saturday, May 02, 2009

Hopeless (an accompaniment to Moonlight Sonata) 

Let's pretend forever started tomorrow. I promised you my hand. Promised to hold yours, tighter when we turn corners. I never know what comes, but I swore I'll bear it.

Let's pretend I'm fine. There's tears on the table, on the floor, the tips of quill pens I use to write to you. There's red on wishes. There's blue on waking dawns. And there's gray, everywhere.

Let's pretend it's not real. The lumps in my throat. The taste of your lips. The warmth of your skin. The unbearable pain no razor can silence.

Let's pretend I don't care. I want you to connect the lines on my left palm. It's so cold. There's chains of screaming silence. Look into my eyes. It's desperation. Insanity. Gut-wrenching loneliness.

Let's pretend it's not true. I lie to myself every day. I laugh with a tear-streaked face and pretend I'm hoarse from endless chatting. Things like this don't happen to good people. I'm naughty, remember?

Let's pretend I'm not lost. This is not life. I'll never find you again.

Let's pretend I'm not dying. Every day. Until you leave. Let's pretend.

I have.


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Thursday, April 23, 2009


She hugs him tight under the covers and waits for him to come around. Little twitches of his fingers and his uniform breathing tells her it's not going to be anytime soon. So she waits. And waits. And couldn't wait any longer.

She gets up quickly and turned back, checking to see if her movements woke him up. No such luck. She steps off the bed and winces as her feet touches the cold floor. Where are my clothes? After much searching she finds her shirt underneath the bed and her sleeping shorts nowhere in sight. She settled for his boxers and decided it looks better on her. She gives him a little peck on the lips, opens the bedroom door and steps out.

*image fades*

The new high heels she just bought are killing her, but it's a small price to pay for looking as nice as she is tonight. It's a special day for a special someone, and she has to look good for him. There will be many important people tonight. Looking her best is a must. She wouldn't want to let him down.

"You look wonderful. Keep smiling. I think we've got them fooled". He puts his hand on the small of her back and it travels down. She gasps in delight as he squeezes, just right. It was enough to give her goosebumps, and at just the right time. They were looking. And they were convinced. Tonight, she belongs to him. And the pieces fall where they were planned to. Perfectly. The night was a success.

They step into his car and he leans over to kiss her. She looks at him, and something in her face made him stop.
"What?" he asks.
"This is all a lie. Let's keep it that way."
"Why can't we make it true?"
"You know why."
"Is there someone else?"
"No. There is no someone else. Because you're not a someone. Not to me."
"Then pretend. Just the way you did tonight, and all the other nights. Pretend you're mine, and I'll be content."
"You won't be. You know better."

He didn't change his expression, but certain muscles in his face set in a way that made her feel uncomfortable. As if he has made up his mind. He finally asks, ".... Who is he?"
"Like I said. No one. Can we please keep this professional? You hired me to be yours until they become absolutely convinced, and now they are. Can we stop this now? You're making me feel very uncomfortable."

He leans back in his seat and starts the car. The drive home was tense, neither of them wanting to break the silence. Thirty minutes later he pulls into her driveway and parks the car. As she opens the door and is about to step out, he grabs her wrist a little harder than he should.
"I will find him. And I swear to God I will kill him."
She pulls her arm away from his and his nails dig into her skin, drawing blood. She jumps out of the car and looks at him in defiance.
"Fuck you!" and slams the door. Behind the wheel he grins broadly. He knows she'll see him again. She can't stop.

*image fades*

The bathroom was steaming when he walked in. She had been in there for a while, apparently washing her hair. He loves the smell of her shampoo. Strangely enough, it reminds him of lazy afternoons at the beach. He opens the shower door and steps inside. She had her back towards him and was furiously trying to get all the conditioner out of her hair. He chuckled and she turned around, surprised.
"I didn't hear you come in."
"Good morning. You need help with that?"
She smiles widely, and he fell in love with her all over again.
"You noticed? It's a bit of a struggle but I'm getting there."

He reaches up to her hair when he noticed the cuts on her wrist. He grabs her arm and gingerly runs his fingers on the three red lines. She winces and pulls it back.
"Where'd you get that?"
"I don't remember. I think I did it to myself by accident."
"Bad liar."
"It's nothing. I really don't remember."
She smiles again, just a little too wide for him. She reaches around him and gives him a big hug. He gently pushes her away.
"Tell me."
"I. Don't. Remember. Okay? I really don't."

He gives up, and nudges her chin with his hand.
"Okay.... I love you."
"I love you too."
They kiss under the shower, and he drinks her whole being into him, noticing every curve, every touch, every sigh as she moves against him. He forgets everything when she is with him. Everything.

*image fades*

"So are they both buying it?"
"What idiots."
"When are you gonna tell them what's really going on?"
"Try never. One wants to kill the other, apparently, but they'll never meet. The other one will never find me. He doesn't even know where I live. He thinks I live with him."
"Hahaha... Seriously. When are you gonna stop?"
"I don't know. I'm enjoying this too much. It's ridiculous how they continue to fool themselves. They actually think I'm in love with them."
"And we both know that you're only in love with me."
"Yes, dear. Of course. Only you. They're just toys."

*phone rings*
"Hey, babe. How's things? Good? You finished work? Okay that's great. I'll be coming home soon. Yeah, just got some things to finish up at the office and I'm home free. Uh-huh. Yup. Milk.. bread.. yup.. okay. I love you too honey. I'll see you very soon. Uh-huh. Love you. Okay. Bye now."

He hangs up the phone and buries his face in her bare stomach. His hands slip between her legs and she moans in excitement. Between the strokes of his fingers she manages to whisper, "Was that your wife?"
"Yep. She has no idea."
He stops what he is doing and looks into her eyes. She seems a little disappointed.
"Don't stop. It feels good."
"Hehe.. I know. But I need to tell you something."
"I'm going to leave her. Very soon."
"Oh yeah? Why?"
"I'm leaving her for you. I'm insanely in love with you."
"I love you too"
"I'm leaving her, and I'm gonna marry you. I'm gonna find us a house in another state and we're gonna move, and finally I'll get to really keep you. All for myself. You won't have to play around with all those idiots anymore."
"Really? You promise?"
"I promise."

His lips meet hers and he slips his fingers inside her. His kisses silence her moans and they make love. Hours pass, unnoticed.

*image fades*

She sits at her backyard, a book in one hand and a cigarette in another, a cup of coffee steaming on the table beside her. She marks her place in the book and places it on the chair between her legs. She takes a deep drag on her Chesterfields and waits a moment before releasing it, the smoke like mist escaping from her lips. She closes her eyes and smiles to the sky, the wind, the world. She smiles to herself, her heart. It is only with herself that she can find peace. It is the only place where she can truly love. No one else. She sighs and picks up her cup. She takes in the wonderful aroma as it nears her lips, and another smile lights up her eyes.
Mm.. idiots.


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Saturday, April 18, 2009


Shh.. Don't tell anyone. Come closer. I have secret I want to tell you. It's important you don't tell a soul. This is just for you, from me. Now listen.

I can barely wake up in the morning. My alarm is a rather annoying song and it plays continuously until I actually bash the button that stops it. Every morning at 7 am. But I'd wake up anytime to watch you sleep.

I spend hours looking through recipes on the internet and at least one hour in the supermarket looking for things to cook for you. I'll then slave over a stove and spend a majority of my day making something while praying that it would at least be remotely edible, if not actually tasting good. Then I'll act as if it was something I did at the last minute with no premeditation whatsoever, and tell you that I've made something for you. You don't have to pick it up if you're too tired. It's fine. I'll just bring it to lunch tomorrow. Or something. No biggie.

If I know you're going to see me or pick me up after work, I'll dress extra special and not eat at all the day before just so I'd look better. But of course I won't admit that to your face.

I think bad thoughts about you. Very bad thoughts.

I hate it when you compliment other girls. Makes me wanna tear their hair out and then pout and sulk in a corner until you kiss my heart better. Or at least my cheek.

I love your breath on my neck. Hell, I love your breath on my anything. Well... maybe not my toes.

I enjoy watching you dress up. It is extremely sexy.

I meticulously plan what I'm going to wear to bed. They would be items I'd want you to peel off me. One day I'd like chocolate sauce in bed. And handcuffs. And edible underwear. And other kinky things.

I know. But I refuse to remember. And I've accepted. And it's okay now. I'm okay now.

I want you to stay.

Shh.. Don't tell anyone. This is a secret.
Sarang hae yo. Je t'aime. Ich liebe dich. Saya cinta kamu. Ana behibak. Wo ai ni. Ik hou van jou. Ti amo. Nakupenda. Te quiero. Always.


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Friday, April 10, 2009

Trying something different. 

It's always cold here where I live. Always. Any attempts to warm up is futile. I've tried everything. There are no longer wooden furniture in the house. I've exhausted all my matches. They've all burned. All of them. I've burned them. Everything. I sleep in tatters and what remained of my clothing. I can't afford to burn what little I have left. Besides, there's no use. Not since she's gone.

There are holes in the walls where the windows used to be. The door doesn't even exist anymore. I sleep between four standing walls and under a roof that's a lame excuse for one. There's nothing to stop the wind from chilling me to my bones but my two gaunt arms and folded legs, cowering in the furthest corner of the room. These days I wonder when the chill will take me away.

Despite the cold I wake up sweating at night, screaming. Sometimes I find my tears on the tile floor and I stay up all night with my hands in them, wondering how so much water can come out of someone who have drunk barely any in such a long time. I wouldn't return to sleep. I fear them. I fear my dreams. But I don't eat anymore. I don't see the point. And so I always fall asleep. And it's always her I see. Reaching for me. Shouting my name. I never arrive in time. Never.

When daytime comes I sit in the center of the room where sunlight falls through a hole in the ceiling. This is the only warmth I feel for hours at a time. I drink it in, as it reminds me of her. Under my breath I recite Shakespeare, the greatest love poet of all time. But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, for Juliet is the sun. Arise, fair sun... and... and... and I can never continue. My Juliet is a sun that shall no longer rise for me. The envious moon has won in this tragedy.

I often hear someone crying and I sit up wondering who it is. It is a man, and he sounds as if his heart has been torn in a million pieces. I search and stalk every room trying to find him. His sobs follow me everywhere, and yet I can't find him. Maybe one of these days I will. I would like to share my tears with him. It will be good to find a friend in sorrow. I haven't spoken to anyone in a very long time.

I am a man devoid of warmth. I have had love torn out and away from me. I am walking desperation no longer able to speak of hope. My consciousness is a prison in which I spend my waking days. I am a man running after death, and though it stalks behind every corner of every other man's life, it seems to only follow me from behind, laughing as I turn every bend and find nothing. I was blessed to have her, and cursed to have ever known such love and have lost, as to lose her was to lose everything. She was life itself, and though I am separated from life I have not died. These rooms are purgatory, and the chill are my chains.

I saw her in every lick of flame as I burned everything around me, trying to keep her, unable to step into the fire as my cowardice of heat pulled me back and away. And now there is nothing to burn. I am the poor matchstick man. I pray that death will find me.


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