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[cozynamkopi]

memlane

so i just got my old ipad fixed yesterday. it has been almost a year since i last opened it. theres just so many memories to cherish here, from jhs up to 3rd year college. funny how much ive changed then. looking back, i'd always end up scrolling through the 9000 photos i had with my friends all throughout the night just because i missed them so much. pandemic sucks. i also got to see few photos i had with guys i dated before, even the semi-noodles i sent to this motherfucker. but i had to pretend he no longer has the power over my emotions. i saw many screenshots of few conversations i had with mc. i loved him so much, it's just sad that he was only able to see it as "i badly need someone right now" kind of love. mej complicated kasi i really wanted to explain to him everything but ayaw nya pakinggan kasi he thought im still immature and very unsure of my own feelings. stupid. gotta delete these photos and screenshots.

idk, i just had a lot of sentimental thoughts when i opened this ipad with my new friends. not really new friends but im just glad how they adopted me in their circle. i was so sure i would be alone for the my senior year, but here they are. i love them. i also learned na wag ibig deal ang lahat ng bagay. im good. they respect me. i dont get offended on their jokes. theyre funny and helpful.

so ayun, i would prolly delete photos of my old friends and replace it with new memories i will have with the people im with now.

nam, im glad we stayed. theres just so many things to look forward to in the future.

[cozynamkopi]

sometimes a poem is just a poem and sometimes a poem is actually a confession and sometimes a poem is a person and sometimes a poem is a cardinal. sometimes art is just art and sometimes art is actually therapy and sometimes it’s a pipe and sometimes it’s also not a pipe. 

sometimes the text is “got home safe!” and sometimes the text is actually saying i already miss the way your hair feels in my hands and sometimes the text is a warning and sometimes the text is thank you for caring. sometimes you are on the phone with your friend and you’re talking about curious monkeys but you’re also both admitting how lonely you are but you’re also both talking about how love can be a bicycle and sometimes it is not a conversation it’s an intervention and sometimes it’s not a conversation it’s a poem and sometimes it’s not a conversation it’s an art piece and sometimes it’s just a conversation but more often it’s holding hands without touching

& sometimes you are in an argument about the dishes but none of the things you are mad about are about dishes, they’re about the stuff around the dishes and the hands and the soap and how he smelled on sunday of another girl. sometimes the dishes aren’t even dishes they’re blankets and sometimes they’re burnt food and sometimes they’re your favorite book. sometimes the song isn’t a song sometimes the song is a manipulation and sometimes the song is just bad and sometimes the song is stuck in my head from you singing it in bed and sometimes it is “i listened to this so i could learn what you like” and sometimes it is “i showed you this because i want to also show you my palm lines and my heart and the inside of my head.” 

sometimes you are dancing alone but you are not dancing alone because you are picturing seeing her in a green velvet dress across the room from you, and sometimes you are dancing with ghosts, and sometimes you are dancing with your mother’s voice. sometimes it is not a dance it is a walk and sometimes it is not a walk it is lying in bed and sometimes it is not lying in bed, it is not-dying, which is often good enough for survival purposes. 

& sometimes you say  oh, take a cookie with you when you go and you mean that i should take a cookie and sometimes you mean - take me with you, also. sometimes it is just burning something and sometimes it is burning something and sometimes it is burning a lot of other things first. sometimes it is just a shirt and sometimes it’s what you wore when you kissed her and sometimes it’s what you wore when you didn’t kiss her and sometimes it’s what you wore to the movies when you saw your last in-theatres movie without knowing it would be your last in-theatres movie. 

& sometimes the poem is just a poem and sometimes the poem is my earring in your hand and sometimes the poem is your smell and sometimes the poem is calligraphy and sometimes the poem is good lord you are addicting and sometimes the poem is a poem and sometimes the poem is unfiltered yearning and sometimes the poem is an anvil and sometimes the poem is - can i write a home, can you crawl in, can we be like little ferns, all curled up in bed. sometimes the poem is a poem and sometimes the poem is a dance and sometimes the poem is saying - no, i will skip showering, if you need me there, i’m coming.

[cozynamkopi]

sometimes the sound of the earth is so loud!!!!!!!!! sometimes i sit on the grass and feel like crying!!!!!! i feel like the grass is so close to me we are almost the same!!!!!! and then the wind blows over me and i could just live in this forever!!!!!!!!!

[cozynamkopi]

the moon asks a question by dirgewithoutmusic

illustrated by purutsukid

[cozynamkopi]

[cozynamkopi]

it's just sad that we dont have a lot of photos i could stare at when i miss you a lot... i hope you wont delete the photos we had in your camera, and your phone as well. :(( i kinda regret not aaking for it when we were still together aaaaa i love you... im sorry if i didnt make u feel loved, im sorry i ignored all my feelings for u on cold nights of December

[cozynamkopi]

i wish you're busy doing the things you love that you wont have to think about loneliness again.

i have (3D) art ideas i wanted to share to you but u told me let's just keep it this way, for the better. i hate it, but i have to accept it.

[cozynamkopi]

i miss you so much i wish u would message me right now and tell me again how warm i am as a person i love you and im sorry :((

[cozynamkopi]

Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

[cozynamkopi]

do you ever just crave domesticity? to coming home to a partner, meld into them like you do your bed after a long day, soak your mind in the serenity of theirs like a warm bath to soothe the knots in your body, wrap yourself in their warmth and just fucking sigh from pure comfort

[cozynamkopi]

“Romantic obsession is my first language. I live in a world of fantasies, infatuations and love poems. Sometimes I wonder if the yearning I’ve felt for others was more of a yearning for yearning itself. I’ve pined insatiably and repeatedly: for strangers, new lovers, unrequited flames. While the subjects changed, that feeling always remained. Perhaps, then, I have not been so infatuated with the people themselves, but with the act of longing.”

— Melissa Broder, from “Life without Longing,” The New York Times (9 February 2019) 

[cozynamkopi]

i want to be someone else’s safety. even nonromantically. i want to be “hey can i tell you something?” i want to be - i tried something new and i’m a little scared but i wanted to show you. i want to be “i knew i could trust you”. i want to be okay to hold the hand of, always ready to listen, always trying. even if i don’t get it perfect, you know? i just want to be a place other people can relax and be themselves and not worry for a fraction of an instant. 

[cozynamkopi]

dear distance,

it must be nice to have someone who also loves having morning coffee with you while sharing a good laugh, complimenting and appreciating each other. little did they know, even just sharing the same space with them makes you feel the warmth you've been longing since you no longer remember. ah, just the thought of being there for someone makes me smile, it's like you found safety in someone as they also feel the same with you.

[cozynamkopi]

“Don't you see? It's just not possible for one person to watch over another person forever and ever. I mean, suppose we got married. You'd have to work during the day. Who's going to watch over me while you're away? Or if you go on a business trip, who's going to watch over me then? Can I be glued to you every minute of our lives? What kind of equality would there be in that? What kind of relationship would that be? Sooner or later you'd get sick of me. You'd wonder what you were doing with your life, why you were spending all your time babysitting this woman. I couldn't stand that. It wouldn't solve any of my problems.”

Excerpt From: Murakami, Haruki. “Norwegian Wood.” Vintage, 1987-01-02T06:00:00+00:00. iBooks.

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