Before the Fall

He loves all things classic; books, movies, places. He has a manly statuesque but looks like an imp when he laughs. But I love that part of him anyway. He don't eat mushroom when it is soaked in soups, he loves it on pizzas. He can't eat his fries without ketchup and a lil sprinkle of pepper. Cries on chick flicks but so tough and strong when he holds my shoulders and pat my head so gentle as if I will break anytime.

He loves to read and talk and stare. He was never a patient man, but he is when it comes to me. He understands my silence, my need to be alone. But he is pushy when he knows I'm at my brink of sanity, he crosses the lines I draw. Strips the walls I built and delicately rebuilt it when I'm okay. He knows my moods, when I want to talk, when I need him to push me to talk and when I really don't wanna talk (atleast for a moment). He knows how to make me calm but mastered the art of pushing which button to make me mad.

He was my best friend. My comfort. The person who makes me feel I'm home. My almost lover. And I, was once his muse.

Planes & Scissors

The thing is he calls me in name I prefer most but tells no one. Like you used to.

He tells me things about myself I'm not aware of. Like you used to.

He tease me in our first meeting like we're close friends meeting again for so long. Like the way we started.

I want to know him more but it scares me. I'm afraid that the more I get to know him, the more of your shadow will reveal itself. I'm afraid that I will see you in him and I know it's wrong. It is wrong. But like a train wreck, the scene is completely horrifying but I can't stop watching.

Take a Chance

My jam for  a week now.

Missed chances and forgotten promises.
Everything around me is sad,
And beautiful.
But I don't mind at all.

To My First True Love

"I'm sure you're my first love because I know one's first love isn't the first person you love or the first person who breaks your heart, not even the first person you were in a relationship with. Your first love is the first person who leaves a mark on your heart—a mark so deep that its life reaches the tips of your fingers and toes, a mark so deep that it transcends time and becomes your ruler for anyone who crosses paths with you even years after your first love said goodbye."

~Ayessa De La Pena

I feel guilty that I am not having the emotions I should be having right now. It sure hurt the first time, second time, third time. I thought it will always hurt the same way like it was the first time. But this time it's different. I feel nothing, think nothing of it. I don't grew numb, I guess I just got tired of it. 

Empty

Empty is the glass of wine sipped in a dark room alone.
Empty is a book beautifully written in ink without compassion.
Empty is the sky full of stars without the warmth of a loved one.
Empty.
Like your words, sugar-coated, honey-deep but empty.
Never assuring just words spoken at the most perfect time.
Delivered delicately with endearing voice and calm smile,
but never honest, never your deep thoughts. Never the person you truly are.
Empty is the heart of a broken man.

Empty, like my thoughts of you.