softlygrazed

[softlygrazed]

the rapture of the deep (04/23/20; unedited)

i have been a lover of freedom that it felt like a cage. the staggering claws of hawk lapping my heart out of my ribs, squeezing answers out of me that i didn't i have. the freedom i thought i needed is a feigned chain and a mistaken cuffs. if fate had ever had planned on containing me in this world, they have succeeded. they said you make your home, because no one would provide it for you, that home is not just a place, but also a person, or a memory, but what about me whose home is destroyed by other dreams? what about me who treated my dreams as my common solitude and songs as if to remind me that all the words inside my head could be someone else's safe house or safe hands to caress them with the stories i had sewn?

what is a home, when the place it belongs is the villain who made it suffer in the first place? i have always been a lover of freedom that i have thought of running away several times. and then i remember, freedom is a bitch who lures people into believing death is not a fucking choice.

[softlygrazed]

dead end (04/27/20)

nalimutan ko ang tamang daan pabalik. nalimutan ko ang tamang ruta na dadaanan. nalimutan ko ang tamang bilang ng milya—sumobra, hindi tinantsa, sumugal, hindi napili, luhaan, naka-paa. nawawala.

[softlygrazed]

ang maraming mukha ng kanto (06/16/21; unedited)

ang makaalala ay ang mabulag,  ang mabulag ay ang makaintindi, ang makaintindi ay ang masaktan, at ang masaktan ay ang gustuhing makalimot. sa tingin ko, parang isang malaking kanto ang sakit-- may mga sulok at eskinita; mga lugar kung saan ka nanliit at namalimos ng awa at pag-ibig; may mga tindahan na nagbebenta ng panandaliang ligaya, sa mga kaluluwa ng mga ubos at mga manhid; mga batang naglalaro at tumutulay sa sinulid ng pagkawala, pagkabigo, at pagka-buryong sa buhay na hindi man lang tinakang magtanong. sa tingin ko, nasa bawat kanto ang sakit, at ang bawat sakit ay may kanto-- nag-uumapaw ng mga kuluntoy  sa mga araw ng desperadang aliw, at mga iyak ng gabi sa nagbabalisang pag-iisa. sa tingin ko, pare-parehas lang tayo ng mga kantong dadaanan, mga tipo ng para na hindi mo gugustuhing hintuan at pagbayaran. mga tipo ng kanto na may masamang hangin-- ‘yung hindi ka pa nakakababa, dama na ang mansansang at maalinsangang lugar ng sugal, puno ng mga naglalarong umaasinta ng mga ngiti, ng oras, at ng pagkahibang, mga taong tataya para sayo, at ikaw para sa kanila, hanggang sa ang unang masansang at maalinsangan ay mababaon sa saya at pag-asa. ngunit ang makarating sa kanto ay ang masaktan, at ang masaktan ay ang makaalala, may mga jeep na sigurado ang ruta para sa mga siguradong pasahero, may mga jeep sa mga naliligaw at nakakaalala, sasakay para lang hintaying pumara  sa mga kanto na hindi pa inaabutan ng kanilang sakit. hindi gasolina ang nagpapatakbo sa byahe kung hindi pamasahe, mga baong barya ng hindi napapagod na pasahero. ang walang kapagurang pagsuyod sa maraming mukha ng kanto, ay ang makaalala at ang makalimot, at sa mga alaala at paalam, lilipana ang sakit, magpapakita ang panibagong daan, at huhulmahin ang panibagong ikaw. ang bawat kanto ay may sakit, at sa bawat sakit ay may kanto, sa pananabik, pagkawasak, at pagkatuto, anong parte ang pipiliin mo?

[softlygrazed]

(a line from a note; 02/14/21)

"no, it was a lie. it wasn't because i can't love anyone else, it is because i can love them, but i can never know if i can open up to them. maybe that's how love is impossible for me. maybe because i think and feel too much that i'm not sure if it would please someone. i'm not hard to love—that's true, in fact, i'm very easy to get along with, and get infatuated with. i'm very easy to let someone think i am easy. and i'm just as easy to fall in love with just anyone. i guess that's the thing about easy, it comes and goes, and then it's all that you know. it's all that you will know. you will encounter and witness this type of love that's earth-bounding and mind-shattering but never will you wish it for yourself, for you know it's impossible. it's impossible for you. romance is addictive, and sadly you will always just be the one to get addicted by the idea of it happening for someone—but that's okay, you're in control—that's what matters more, right? at least, choosing not to commit is your choice, and even though it's a horrible, growth stunting choice, at least you have the hand over it, at least you get to predict and dictate it. that's all that matters in the end, you will tell yourself. and you'll move on and live, and love and live alone.”

[softlygrazed]

untitled (03/02/21; unedited)

i knew enough about mourning and grieving, about loss and death, and starting a day again waiting and anticipating for the inevitable cycle bound to me, to not know how it felt like. i guess i have mastered it. instead of incinerating myself with the blaze, i've chosen to burn with it, weld myself into an armor catalyst to the danger and pain of it. i knew enough about it that i've accepted it as a part of me. but maybe, this one's different. how do you grieve for someone you don't know? how do you mourn for someone you've seen all your life but having no recollection of seeing them as they are? how do you send someone for eternal peace well knowing you had a deep hatred shoved into your chest, so intense, that at the very last day, you could not make yourself forgive it? what do you really know about grieving when the person you should be grieving for is one of the reasons why days killed you, why you had to question between loving and hating, and feeling nothing and being in pain? it went quiet again in my head. maybe, i loved you until the very end.

[softlygrazed]

in the end they are all just flowers (04/06/20; unedited)

when it finally begins, i will probably walk away— as far as that of the sea shore as unreachable as that of the stars; when it finally begins, i will probably be gone. there are times when i am stuck between staying silent and knowing nothing, and i guess the fear of being  in between is the uncertainty of what to expect, or the tether of phantom i badly want to stay away from.

when it begins, i will walk away or maybe not— perhaps i'll linger, just to see the gist, to see the glimpse; because maybe, maybe, it will hurt less, maybe it will be bearable for why does something beautiful rots the moment it loves? i will walk away, and never look back, i will walk away, and live the life i was supposed to live i will walk away, until my feet begin to hurt, until i forget what i am meaning to do, until the terrains of the earth get tired of my pleasure to escape. when it starts, that one blooming flower in the midst of spring, will be blown away by the zephyr wind, and maybe, no matter how many springs transpire or how many butterflies have come, that one flower in the midst of spring, will be something they cannot ever get to know.

[softlygrazed]

a love letter at 3 am (06/02/20)

i. i fell in love with you without knowing that i did,  it felt natural— like a melody in a dream, like this moon-sprinkled tranquil splattered in my heart, as if my soul has known you all the time, as if my soul has never sensed anyone, but you. 

ii. we were equal— finding each other's existence completely harmonious with one another, we were like the salt and the sea, the stars and the moon, the sun and the blue sky, the wind and the clouds, we were completely beautiful— for the universe conspired our bounding perfectly fit— like equals in every pair, shining and beaming with light, together. 

iii. you were my comfort, my saving grace, your warmth seeped into my bones like morning blooms, cradling my ringing silence in amity i never knew much about anything, but i knew exactly how it felt when you smiled, when you laughed, when you looked at me, and your eyes mirroring the sunshine in you i never knew much about anything, really, and so i never bothered finding someone else. you were my comfort, my salvation, and those were exactly what i have known, then.

[softlygrazed]

the lent lily (11/01/18; unedited)

you know that feeling of not knowing what to do and where to go? it's like you are stuck in the middle of nowhere and nothing really makes sense. it feels as if you're here because you have to. like surviving another day and not living, it's just that you have to be here to fill the extra gap that this life has provided.

as if you never had a choice in the first place.

the thing is, winter has not started yet and i feel this never-ending cold within my bones that gradually enables me to be nothing but a twinkling star above of a dead sea. more ironic is that these pricks of frost that i had let to be in me have succeeded to administer the pumping muscle right at the middle of my chest.

i never knew that loneliness and coldness are synonym to each other. both invisible but both able to seep their tendrils and raging feeling upon me.

well it has been a while, i think.

it has been a while since i had talked to you and associated with you and i don't know, it is just that this longing feeling in me makes me feel empty every day. and i thought that sending another letter would suffice this need in me.

let me tell you about my favorite flower.

they are like a bulb light with long stems holding their flowers. they are coated with this bright yellow color that literally adds up to their beauty. you may wonder, “what is the relevancy of this to me?” well, i guess you need to stick with me--for a while.

just think that this is another episode of me telling you another sort of story.

remember what we had back then?

ready?

you know what comes after the long months of freezing and living under the frost and breeze of winter? well, in wales, if you spot the first bloom of a daffodil, your upcoming twelve months will be filled with wealth.

the thing about daffodils is that they may look strange to someone but they do hold this sort of essentiality in everyone's life.

winter will end with spring following its steps. and . . . you know spring. flowers will begin to bloom, trees will start swaying in accordance to the movement of air and people will start to appreciate the balanced temperature of the season.

daffodils are the sign of spring and spring literally embodies new beginnings.

in the first half of eighteenth century in this vast vicinity of the ottoman empire, they had this wild obsession with tulips and with the victorian era growing interest in botany, it enabled them to use flowers as their means of covert communication.

they were so into floriography that this certain popular annual phrase continued risen, "Forget Me Not."

i haven't told you about what signifies daffodil, right?

rebirth and unrequited love.

somehow you reminded me of a daffodil. you are both somewhat signify the two things that i have yet to consider.

like daffodils, you reminded me of a chance to live vibrantly. these flowers marks the ending of winter, and you had begun to melt this gigantic ice wall that i had created the moment you had set foot in that attic with me.

it was like you were encouraging me to be happy and not just stay apathetic.

to live and not just survive.

as though you had salvaged my soul in the darkest corner of purgatory and brought it back in someone completely new, with a cleansed soul and a blessed heart. a new someone who had undergone and triumphed against the flamboyant flames of pain and in the sickening talons of frost and fiery coldness.

you had made me feel that scars could be beautiful too, regardless of the lines and marks it bore.

and that beauty wasn't something to gain on the outside but a special thing that should be realized and understood on the inside.

you had made me feel as if i was a new person with the same old flame of love.

imagine wearing your clothes that had not been washed yet but somehow, it made you feel like it had gotten itself a magic.

for the sole feeling of wearing it wasn’t because it’s soiled and dirty, but because it had provided you the euphoric feeling you haven’t able to put your finger on.

it might not be perfect to be with but it was home.

but i guess, this was all one-sided.

perhaps you had done it to me, but do i have that impact to you as well?

if you had made me believe in myself, did i do something for you to hold on?

maybe, like daffodils, the moment that autumn begins to unravel, we will both wait for our turn to live. maybe, after the long months of freeze, we will get to see the potential outcome of our what ifs.

maybe in another life, when we begin to live again, we will see that unrequited love does not always end with sadness, but rather ends with a chance.

well, this is the end of my story; thank you for sticking with me and listening.

in another life, please do not forget me.

[softlygrazed]

here comes the sun (03/10/20)

the sliver of warmth curbed the cold tendrils seeping into skins and flesh gloating around the remnants of familiarity. it took a good while before they noticed it. it’s a strange feeling—like the sound of the wind in the first day of spring. enticing, intriguing, and seductive. everyone was confused. they didn’t recognize what it was, or if it was a force or a blessing from the deity, perhaps a little gift from the improbable fate, a ultimatum from the death god—whatever it was, they could not know for certain, and as crooked as the guesses they have perused, they made themselves believe it was always something more.

the snow vanished.

at first, all they saw was that amber shade of color reigning in the wide sky. they were in awe. everyone was happy—perhaps the happiest they can ever be.

until it rained.

the crippling ache of longing gnawed in their insides. begging, and asking, and demanding for that mellow shine. they wanted to bask their entirety in the wonders of it. their bodies giving in to the music of this new, and short-lived euphoria. they hoped and wished upon the gods, ridiculously offering all they are worth just to taste that breeze of freedom.

on the first light of the morning, it showed up again.

they had feast. a celebration. a season to enjoy and to feel, perhaps also to dally and think about--

about--

they look at each other, wincing. with that feeling of incredulous and almost cosmic curiosity lapping on the internals of their tattered chests, it almost felt pesky to think it all over. the more they think of it, the more it felt wrong, and the more they don’t, the more it took everything.

and so some had stopped thinking, and they gave and gave and gave—generously and limitless. they cackled when it became humanely warm, and when it became a passion of fiery and smoldering heat, they ignited more. but they never wept. not once. though without it, they returned on being ashes—a dust of nothing but an evident residue of devouring friction.

others were afraid. they closed off, detached from the world. they said it was foolish, a farce in the circus. a fantasy that should be damned and banished. it was a plague that infected most of humanity, and it made everyone too stupid to bear with. they said it with emphasis, loneliness curling in the corner of their eyes. turned out, they were nothing, too. nothing but a hollow surviving being too afraid to dance under the sunlight.

love was a curse.

they all agreed to part ways. since the world had become a home, they decided to wander and find their own space. there were those who found joy in other great things. there were some who found warmth in the company of someone. some were drawn to discover the unknown. some loved the comfort of household and the magic of having a family.

and there were those who wanted to feel it again but were terrified. they were the same people who gave a little too everything but lost themselves. the very same persons who risked but lost—not because they gave, but because they could not. and regretted giving part of themselves despite demanding everything.

they wanted the right person--but never the right person they would want themselves to be. they thought it would be easier to find someone who can bear them, but it wasn’t. this daylight does not work like that. it wasn’t a static line. it wasn’t about giving and taking, it’s a journey, a long one, a travel that required patience and understanding. there wasn’t any short cut. any express lane. it’s a legend, a story, a flock of words meant to be read and understood and lived by.

here comes the sun, they say, and they open it with wide arms and wide grin, and they welcome it, hands circling around its warmth.

[softlygrazed]

7:37 pm (09/04/20; unedited)

i was thinking of doing something but digressed the idea of ever starting doing something again. i have tried to summon all my will to do something, to become someone who knows what she wants, but i cannot, maybe it was because i have always been hypercritical of myself, that while i was creating something, my own flaw of criticising my works have limped me to ever create what i want. and though there are tons of solution out there waiting to be read, my optimism is stuck in an impasse with my skepticism. to be honest, i don't really know where to start.

things will begin to be different next year, just like how things began to be different this year. it sucks, actually, to live in a place where change is constant yet it is feared. and it also sucks that while the earth is capable of adjusting, the world cannot.

you cannot just ask a random person why he is the way he is and proceed on saying he should change to fit in. i am convinced that the term should not be 'deviation from the norm' as everyone is different, despite being part of a complex whole. humans aren't really just as people pleasing as they want to be, or as empathetic as they aspire to be—to me, they are animals with society-trained brains that are either slightly used or slightly overused, and i belong to both categories depends on the time—maybe, the same way with everyone.

i still don't know what to do or how to deal with the short span of my attention, and my random thinking. i cannot think of one thing without thinking of another thing, and another and another and another and then i will stop and think of something again. and then it continues. over and over. and it never ceases even for a day.

capturing them all is pure torture and impossible—it can't be done.

for months i learned that i cannot easily digest two things: food and news. i vomit my bile out, i also vomit my consciousness out. both significantly painful and both torment me to no end.

if i come back a month later, maybe, i will write a little bit better than i can now.

[softlygrazed]

ember and snow (7/15/20; unedited)

i wondered sometimes, as to how words suddenly fit in slowly in sentences, how they found each other's existence proper—perfectly tailed into the knots and pattern it had woven into—with magnanimity and cadence, with vibrance and tones, in accordance of fashion and of seasons, of comformity, and of unorthodox, of beauty and of bereavement. i wondered sometimes, as to how words perfectly aligned with each other as one would ever look in the constellations in the sky, with orion beaming with stars, with the blackened space splattered like the dark ink in an empty canvass. i had wondered why things came in pair in harmony, without restraint and travesty, without impudence and uncertainty, without feeling like things weren't supposed to feel good because it wouldn't last. i had wondered sometimes as to how out of all the things that came in with much comfort it didn't include us, as if we were two people the fate had tried to tied together but failed—miserably, and so we suffered in silence—in which we had been accustomed to, soaked by the full glass of white noise flooding our senses with words i don't know, maybe it wasn't just meant to be, maybe it was just it.

i knew how it felt once; how warmth felt like.

it felt like this tiny rush of blood in your palms, swirling like the summersaults in winter—ironic yet it felt good, addictive, and so we became obsessed of completing the seemingly empty hearts, finding solace in our own warmth, attracted to each other as a moth is ever drawn to a flame, we never knew the consequence of our fleeting admiration, of this sickening but heart fluttering addiction of flirting, of this smile-catching jokes and cackles only us had learnt how to translate. i had loved how you hold me in your arms, or how you make my palms fit in yours, as though we were one of those that came perfectly together.

i guess endings are only reserved to those who had a good start—a genuine and truthtful beginning. i had learned as to how words came with perfect existence, its usage finding the simpering melody of consolation. i guess words only make sense if we want it to be, if we take it and mold it as we liked, letters baring itself to be bound—into exactly how we want it to be, even when it does not mean anything to begin with.

i took your words wrongly, or perhaps not, perhaps you lied, perhaps you made yourself believed you were attracted to my blazing ice when you loved daylight—that golden, iridescence of light, and you knew i could not be that person, could not be as bright and as warm as the summer, for i was ice that you tried to hold so cold it burned you, and so molten it scarred you.

and yet i miss your hugs, and your smiles, and your words, and your subtle flirting, and how you secretly held my hand.

but i still wish you didn't.

as my heart has taken into a rest, the world has taken into the deep slumbers of darkness; mirroring the snow storms in my chest. physical touches are forbidden, and human interactions are secured. i wondered, out of all the good things that came perfectly into life, perhaps there were abhorrence it had to go to, nothing to be grateful for, what sort of choices are left? we only have to continue, and keep going, and moving, and hope it ends, and concludes without much chaos it has initially released.

i had wondered once, as to how perfection was possible, but i guess it wouldn't, not until it learned and suffered enough, not until it shattered, and come back better—whole, and happy.

[softlygrazed]

october four (11/16/19; unedited)

amongst all the local short stories i have read, dead stars by paz marquez benitez stands out.

there are certain events and chapters in our lives where we unknowingly like something to happen but do not have the ability to do so.

perhaps it's a curse to want so much but it just ends there. like a period in a long, sentimental sentence—stoic, dormant, fixed, and stuck. no matter how much time you wait for the words to continue, it will not, it's just it.

that is just it.

i am still young and i am in that page where i am seeking for a space. the world has a lot of vast terrains and i am finding where i belong. tough but astonishing. fiery but nurturing.

despite of my voyage in this lifetime, like a character from dead stars, i once was a julia salas to someone.

saddening if you read its entirety.

this story moves something in me. as though i am on the depths of a well and someone from above is shouting the words i hide away from. no matter how far i have gotten, the words reach me and now i am invalid to not hear it.

the prose and events read and heed my memories—as if i am not the one who holds the power over it. as if it is what controls me and i cannot control it. as if i am the one to peruse, and not the other way around.

as if it knows me, when i do not know myself.

perhaps like dead stars, his feelings start to fade away one by one in the darkened sky. perhaps it's meant to be like that. perhaps it should have been like that.

like dead stars, the warmth of these remnants left its fire as time passes by, and it's sad and it's the worse but at the same time, it's the truth.

dead stars signify dead feelings, and perhaps i am no better than that, but i am not regretful or pathetic or even poignant.

they said that dead stars was a metaphor to compare alfredo's feelings, but perhaps it's also to say that julia, the girl who was left behind, is as good as the dead stars that lurk in the sky.

beautiful but fleeting.

[softlygrazed]

pied off (april 2019; unedited)

i saw the glimpse of what used to be the length of my hair on the mirror at the upper right of our bed. i sighed and thought about the reasons as to why i had done it.

if my mother would ever heard the words for my sudden shift of preference when i begged her that night to cut it off, she'd probably guffawed over my unusual but inevitable demise. truth is, it wasn't because it was a burden, it was, i think, because my chest was going to burst and i felt like i needed to be the master of control deep within my own self.

and so i cut it.

because i could.

10th of December 2018.

i remembered how my brother knitted his eyebrows at my shoulder-length hair, how he'd say it was fine but also questioned my sexuality along with it. we were eating at the table when my father looked at me and said nothing, and my mother just shrugged it off for she knew it was my business to took care of.

now that i was staring on it, i cannot help but to feel foreign.

last year was not a great year for me.

i was listening to a song when i realized that perhaps, it's bound to happen. there were things i could not ever dare to intervene simply because they are necessary events that had to transpire, pain that had to be felt, longing and hunger to be endured with because life is a path everyone is accountable to walk in.

i was born without my consent but i think, it's fine. being free has always been a concept and not an actual tangible thing.

i had wept and wept and wept in the midst of darkness, i was never succesful to find the absolute weight of truth but i am growing apathetic towards it.

i will let go and take things slow. if i end up alone, the odds will always be in my favor because what matters is this.

now.

what matters is that i am healing and contented and dreaming.

i have asked myself several times to breathe, i have scraped my knees, i have made my lungs inhale and exhale unevenly, i have my heart lashed with things i did not even accept to come crawling in, but this is what i got, the greatest gift of all: the ability to feel and accept.

perhaps life is trying to teach me that being vulnerable does not make me less of a person that i am.

i am not a princess and i will not wait for the lad in the grand, white stallion.

summer has never been this hard to deal with, i am glad it's been cut.