There are tons of reasons why people say I love you. These are a few I mentally noted while walking down the staircase of your heart.
Pierced hearts with words of disgust and loathe. On the very day you left the freshly picked daisy on the counter to die, an amalgam of self-pity and hatred played inside my chest, perforating every vein that I possess. I remembered that you don’t remember, and diatribes are passed along with the minutes of the day. A debacle waiting to be unfold, with culpability evident in your used to be refulgent and deceiving eyes. Blossoming flowers, no matter how beautiful, tend to die.
Quietness isn’t what I asked for, but it is all that I got.
This is what it is like — and how it will be like for the next ten, twenty, forever years. There is this pain that is so great it makes me grit my teeth. My heart is broken, and will continue to be broken for the rest of my days. How I wish I can bottle it up inside, place pebbles and shells and throw them at the sea. Perhaps this bottle will take my sorrows down to the darkest and coldest part of the waters— the one where memories are forgotten. Perhaps it can eat away all the hurt and scars that I can no longer bear. Perhaps this will do. Perhaps.
It’s hard to find impeccable beauty in people nowadays, but if you keep on trying, you’ll find the most beautiful, most precious and one of a kind beauty — and it is found deep down inside a person’s heart, a person’s soul. That’s precisely why it’s so hard to find. Only the curious and the reckless and the willing and the fearless will discover it.
We used to fill this silence with sweet words and truthful loving. It’s hurting to know that the silence is back — this time even louder, without passionate words to ease the pain, without love to satisfy the longing. We shout at each other, and then I stop to think The words that we say… it shouldn’t be like this. And then I caught myself biting my lip and stifling a sob. How could this be — when the silence that used to be filled with sweet words and truthful loving — is now filled with anguish and fears, frustration and tears. Please stop shouting, I think. You did. And then all that was left was the piercing tune of our hearts beating, painfully wanting to say I’m sorry but too afraid to show our vulnerability. Love should have told us what to do. It didn’t.
If only I can apologize, then I wouldn’t have to cry it out.
Her voice sounded like a fragile angel — broken in love, hanging in vain. She whispered in my ear and sang a song softly, but with a voice so rough and tired. I closed my eyes while she hummed melodies close to my ear, only to find myself wanting to hear more. I held on to her waist, but as soon as I felt my fingers touching her, her song ended with a breath. Was it a sigh that I heard, or a moan? Whether it was the former or the latter, I didn’t know. I probably thought it was something in between of pleasure and of pain, or probably everything was just clouded by what I consciously desired.
A long time ago (or so it seems), I loved him more than the seas and the oceans I grew up with. I loved him with a pressure greater than the waves and the tides, temperature warmer than the heat of the sun at the sky. I loved him more than anyone could ever put in words, I loved him more than words could ever convey. But to some, it seemed like I loved him in a way you would love an insignificant speck of darkness. They said I loved him with hatred, I loved him with cruelty and anguish. That I loved him in an excruciating way, and that I loved him enough to hurt him.
I’m probably not going anywhere with this ‘the month-titled project’. I am not quite sure if this will help me at all. I started this project to practice title making (since I’m bad at titles), and of course, practice my writing skills. I’ve been idle for a while now, and I’m afraid of abandoning my passion just because I wasn’t feeling good. It’s been months since I last read a book (and I am ashamed, as a reader). I shouldn’t be feeling this way. It’s still August and I’m already dying inside.