gakkuto

[gakkuto]

I think I hate that about people… and it’s what often makes me feel trapped inside a place where light has difficulty reaching.

If there is something I can rescue from my old relationship, it’s feeling like I could welcome anyone and anything with open arms and an open mind.

I hate that people put each other in specific boxes of who each one of them are and define them by big and small actions, as if we are incapable of change. Perhaps I am being naive, perhaps once again life will slap me on the face and I will be sitting here writing sad poems about how someone has once again hurt me. But tbh, I would rather get hurt than expect the worst of someone who I know only through whispers and blinded eyes. Because people can become beautiful with time if they choose to… but how would they if every space they want to be part of turns them away with judgement.

Tbh, I don’t want to be one of those people because I’ve met the most beautiful souls who have once done wrong and have chosen change. I have been one of them and would hate to be the reason someone feels like changing isn’t worth it.

[gakkuto]

To the things I took for granted…

I never thought I was much of a birthday person but when there is an absence of what we are used to, it weighs more than any birthday party.

The birthday mornings I woke up to my mom’s hugs and the ‘special’ but not so special breakfast she prepared that day. Even though I never eat breakfast, but on my birthday I did.

The nice lunch/dinner my brother offered. It’s always about my favorite thing.

The reminders of the birthday presents I received throughout the year even though that day was gift less.

In absence of home made lunch, the special takeout was enough.

I never celebrated birthday parties, but celebration was always around me, tip toeing silently but always so present.

Today, I celebrate alone. Or so it feels and suddenly, I am a birthday person.

[gakkuto]

For a brief moment, a small second it comes back. Just an image of a very unpleasant moment and it hits. I guess that’s what you call trauma.

I shook and took deep breaths… he helped me come back. I couldn’t say a word. My mind wants to say so much but my voice won’t come out. The words scramble around, ideas here and there but nonexistent sentences.

He stayed quiet. Didn’t say a word. I guess I expected him to say sorry, I’m not sure. But not utter those selfish words “I don’t have to pay for what other people’s errors. I didn’t do anything to you.” And he’s right… but he walked away with spiteful words. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be with me. I get it.

I’m not someone to be loved…

[gakkuto]

[gakkuto]

[gakkuto]

de.2g

[gakkuto]

[gakkuto]

1

Saw him sitting across the street, with his face covered... I didn’t really pay much attention until he sat next to me. 

I couldn’t stop looking at him. The shape of his eyes reminded me of another Summer love but this time I had different intentions.

I wanted to explore the culture I lost and in him I found answers to things I should have already known. Just like that, unexpectedly I began looking at him in different ways.

2

A Summer love never goes smooth. The ephemeral moments create an intensity that is hard to forget. Even more when that love was not meant to be. 

I torn down walls that were meant to crumble on their own, with time. He rushed to an idea of me and I let it be. 

Every moment we spent was felt with even more intensity than the last. His words and his essence followed me. All those 7 days.

3. 

At that balcony, after words and puffs were exchanged, he kissed me. With his shaking body he got closer and placed his arms around me for the very first time. 

I was shy... the inappropriateness of the situation made it all feel like a dream that caught me off guard.

I wanted to kiss him too.

4. 

A trip that began with 6 ended with 4 and a brief love story. We secretly held hands every chance we got.

We sat late at night to talk about our lives, our dreams and the idea of love. He kissed me good night. I didn’t want to let him go.

From there after we held hands across La Paz. He held me once or twice, kissed my lips in playful ways. He wrote me poems and played me songs... 

I missed him when he was gone.

[gakkuto]

[gakkuto]

[gakkuto]

[gakkuto]

[gakkuto]

[gakkuto]

[gakkuto]