My Defeat

This will be the first time that I will declare my defeat–
I have lost the will trying to fight back what I feel for you;
I have lost the walls I have built over the past months;
I have lost the pain that used to burn in my chest;
I have lost track of time for every moment we are together, and how I wish I could extend our weekly get together to a lifetime;
I have lost the desire to hold back the words that I have always wanted to tell you;
But most importantly, I have lost my heart to you– and only you could find it.
So what are you doing there standing by the door?

Assume X

Assume X: This is a common statement in Mathematics. You assume something for you to arrive at your desired outcome. In real life, though, this doesn’t always give you what you want. Instead, it gives you a gut-wrenching pain reminding you of how reckless you have become.
In life, to assume is a sin, it is a kind of mistake that will consume you until all you have is the option to let it go along whatever shredded piece of dignity left of you.

They say to never assume unless it is stated or explicitly said to you. But in love, you have a slim chance of getting that confession, that clear proposition letting you know for sure how things are; that they really love you. Instead, you are left in the shadows, you ask questions and are given vague answers; maybe these are forms of safety nets in case their mind changes. You cannot just assume that ‘love’ means their wanting to be with you forever. It does not guarantee that their heart is yours and yours alone, or that the time they spend with you equals to the quality of time you spend for them. 

To you, they may mean the world, but to them, you are just the place they visit when they need to feel good about themselves.

(to be continued)



Your stories form part of my day, as if it was coffee and my life runs on caffeine so bad I cannot start a single task without it. But this is my story, and in this part, you are the legal addictive stimulant, and I crave for you the moment I wake up. And your stories comprise of adventures I am terrified to ellaborate. There will always be this girl with the most beautiful smile, like they were oceans ready to swallow your heart whole, and yours ever willing to be devoured; or that girl who stole your heart over your shared love for toys and robots, and despite its lack of a heart, yours throbbed and longed for her and yet she shattered them into pieces. You pick up the fragments after every crash, and you do it over and over again. But now you say it was over, I want to know if you were able to patch up all the pieces and if light could enter the cracks now, perhaps, I could, too. But I make my own imaginary competition, as if I have to fight for my right to be there, to have my own perfect spot inside your heart. That’s what I have been used to; trying to win, fighting for my place; something I wish I didn’t have to do this time.


Everyone has their burden to carry, and mine screams out like huge cymbals, banging loudly cautioning anyone who attempts to go near to keep their distance, the flame is burning too brightly, it will scorch and scar, and when they realize the damage, it might be too late. My baggage is a duffle bag filled with the carcasses of my broken relationship. I have spent ten years of my life trying to work out something I eventually had to give up because it was too much, and I had too little left to give. My love has been spent and exhausted until I ran broke. Now I am left with nothing but a sorry suitcase filled with memories and remorse, and I cannot afford to drag you into this pit of bitterness and angst.


There are cozy restaurants I would’ve wanted to try with you, coffee shops we would’ve spent countless hours talking about movies, books, our faith, love, and the stars. There are wines we would’ve have tasted together, mountains we would’ve climbed or trips we would’ve taken; by this time, I would’ve been looking straight into your dark brown eyes telling you how much love I have for you in my heart. But instead, we talk about our bodies, how your hands could exquisitely explore mine and how our lips seal the words we should’ve spoken. On cold nights, you long for warmth in the form of arms and hands reaching out to you, and I long for your words, your eyes, and your voice. It has since drawn an invisible line between us and only our hearts could see the thorns peaking through those lines. Each time we get closer to crossing it, we change our minds.


Sadness is more beautiful than joy. I say this because I have had happy days, blue skies were like canopies over my bed as I sleep. But it did not include you. You stepped into my world during my sadness and you wiped every tear dry. In my despair, it was when I found you, and you lull the ghosts in my head putting them to sleep and I find comfort in your warm chest when my world is broken into pieces. I would not trade happiness over my tragedy, if it meant finding you.


You talk of the future, and it makes me wonder if you would still want me there; because you are in mine.

I Refuse to Let You In

I refuse to let your full smile walk around inside my heart parading its charms
Or your wide eyes to consume me like ocean waves swallowing every piece of drift shells.

I refuse to let your hands touch my palms when I cannot contain joy
Or let you reach the world where I keep locked from people who don’t see my sadness.

I refuse to let you in when you do not even bother to knock or ask if you may come in,
But if only you did, I would’ve welcomed you with arms wide open.