Jun 6, 2016
5 notes

May mga taong sobra kung magmahal,
at kung may labis pa sila, pakipatir ng
puso kong uhaw.

Jun 5, 2016
1 note

Hello, nice to see you again.

Oct 2, 2014
2 notes

Still the same.

Jan 5, 2014
7 notes

I am writing again: about all that have been turned down, lost and forgotten. About how exactly it is to write when you feel like not writing; on empty paper with empty mind. And how it dives into me about the pain of sorrow and how I could not describe it; with lack of words and a moment full of emotions.

I write so that I can make mistakes. About what I can improve and the reason I’m afraid to dismantle.

I am writing again. About the politeness of my words and the intimacy of my prepositions, and how I wish to go back again to the place where you found me: first, second, third. And how it ended. And how distracting it is to begin a sentence with an ‘and’ or perhaps 'end.’ It depends on how your brain works or how mine imagines, or how everyone gives a damn.

I am writing again. To you.

Aug 6, 2013
2 notes

I loved you not because I knew you were gonna die. I loved you because it was comforting to die right beside someone I painfully loved.

Jun 17, 2013
1 note
mytwistedturns asked: Good evening. Sorry if I took a dive in your archives. Your blog just feels really comforting and wonderful. I hope you don't mind. Have a good night! :)

Thank you. I appreciate it. A lot.

May 23, 2013
15 notes

Do you miss me? He asked.
Of course, I answered.
But why can’t I feel it?
Because I never felt you.

May 11, 2013
4 notes

Ito ‘yung mga panahong sa salamin na lang ako nakakangiti. Hay.

May 9, 2013
6 notes

i write. others read.


Apr 27, 2013
16 notes
tumblrmagph:
“ by @litdev
I’m sorry. It took me a while
to write; otherwise, to love
for love is vague
and to write is as dim.
Give me your hand
and I’ll sit on it. I’ll follow the lines
and trek on the path
where the end can be found,
where our fate...

tumblrmagph:

by @litdev

I’m sorry. It took me a while
to write; otherwise, to love
for love is vague
and to write is as dim.

Give me your hand
and I’ll sit on it. I’ll follow the lines
and trek on the path
where the end can be found,
where our fate can be clenched
and crushed
and contused
as you write our story-
I was there.

I will sway with your fingers
and I will hang on your callus,
I’ll sleep on your nails-
at the corner, with the dirt-
to prove that love is not as clean
as the ink that can spill.

I’m sorry. It took me a while
to write and to love you
back.

I didn’t know you can write,
I didn’t know you can make love.

Forgive me,
I received your letter
but did not read it.
I’d rather finish a cup of coffee
than read the words
because once I slit the mail wide open,
it will bleed-
like my chest.
One by one,
you pulled my ribs off,
one then the other.
And I was there, breathing
because I still have lungs
but barely living-
I had no soul.

Will you still give me another cup?
No, not coffee.
Just a little empty cup
where I can collect my blood and drink it,
to give me life and
to love, to love
to love you back.

I know you still have time
to write another letter
and send it to me.
So please, do me a favour.
Write again
and I’ll sit on your palm,
I’ll sway with your finger
and sleep underneath your skin.
But this time,
I’m not afraid
to slit it wide open
for I have nothing to lose,
I have nothing to gain.

I’m sorry. It took me a while to write.

(via radarph)

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