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December’s demise is near again, and I am being pulled back to these withering fields, to these forgotten pastures stretching into eternity, to the forests murmuring in the twilight of the afternoon— It is where I first felt the contours of your presence, as if your essence was seeping into the soil, into the wind, into the very heart of this place. There, under the door, is the envelope you have sealed, untouched— undisturbed. I could not open it because inside are pieces of our forlorned affection, leftovers of every kiss, every half-whispered promise, every gaze that seemed to dissolve the world around us. If I opened it, it would have been like staring at the fragility of what we built, delicate as the world exists only in the shadows of our memories— I built. My memories.

Upon the table lie your letters, gathering dust as they rest in silence, like relics of a time that perhaps never was. I imagine them carrying with the scent of our shared laughter, the echoes of afternoons spent beside the ocean of sunflowers, the whispers of the evenings where we danced as if time itself had surrendered to our footsteps. I would think them to be warm with your hand, warmth that once anchored me to something more real than the reality itself, and slips away at the slightest touch. And so I do not open them, for fear gnaws at me that by breaking their seal, I might lose the sacred mirage that still binds you to me, that makes you feel almost real.

Yet, what I have buried, the truth from which I have fled, begins to evoke—relentless in its pursuit. It is like I have awoken from the depth of sleep, knowing that what we have shared never belonged to this world, a panthom. A mere agony of a life I was too late to own.

For you have left long before I ever arrived— long before I could have known you.

You are but an echo from a distant past, a shadow etched in time, and yet somehow, you lingered here, as though summoned by my yearning, becoming all that I had ever imagined, a love forged from the depths of my mind's longing— that for a faint moment, in that place, I am once honored for I feel like I own the world, as if the mere thought of you has granted me remnants over time itself, but it is momentary, vanishing as quickly as it came. That is why I return, why I tread these familiar paths, where you are still here, still real—if only in the fleeting sanctuary through the fallacies of our memory— my memory.

It is like that the last month of the year is the annual remembrance of our last dance, for December’s end is approaching once more and every page, note, and letter still is untouched, unread lest they should dissolve the thin. Fine peace I am discovering here in this love; only, it was after all only a figment, something spun from solitude itself— I could not admit, even to myself, that as much as I convince this longing soul that I did not— I did, I have read them all. I have known the truth they hold— the truth that you were but an illusion, an impossible love.

As December wanes, the shadows, too, begins to fade, like the last light slipping behind these familiar hills, and yet, here you still are, sealed inside these unmailed letters, an indelible part of me, woven into the vestiges I will hold, lived or distant from reality— I shall entirely hold them unfold, despite the facades of its entirety.

Inspired by Fyodor Dostoevksy’s White Nights—

and that one unspeakable book that shattered my soul into its million pieces.

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"Hillside", Viggo Mortensen

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I want to be able to call you. I want to be able to knock on your door. I want to be able to keep your key and to give you mine. I want to be seen with you in public. I want there to be no gossip. I want to make supper with you. I want to go shopping with you. I want to know that nothing can come between us except each other.

Jeanette Winterson, from The PowerBook

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hot summer nights, mid july

It is different, the midst of this is far from the one that lingers like a cascade of fading memories, it is far from last year’s warmth of the night that once has been shared, it is different because it is raining as if the heavens sulked and its bliss vanished. It vanished like your essence which once became unremarkable to the casual eye, yet to me, you were like a flower that blossomed in the heart of the midst of July—a time of warmth and fleeting beauty.

The memory of your presence remains, a gentle reminder of a fondess once cherished, now a tender ache in the heart, the longing only envelops me like a plant thirsting for nourishment in the midst of summer's relentless heat. Each thought is a tear kissed by the sun, a sigh whispered into the wind. You were like a wandering tree that unexpectedly provided shade in the blazing morning, a respite in the serene noon, solace in the overcast afternoon, and comfort in the somber night.

In your presence, the ordinary moments gained extraordinary hues. You weren't unique, nor exceptional by worldly standards, but to me, you were like a leaf that settled gently on my shoulder, a branch intertwined with mine—a vine whose fragrance I deeply inhaled. Those moments, like stars kissed by longing, remain etched in my mind, revisited in quiet reminiscence. In the realm where uniqueness fades, where exceptions blur into the fabric of shared experience, you were the called-out plant, the embraced flower, the cherished wandering tree, the wild leaf, the entwined vine, the beloved petal—each part of you resonating with a profound meaning that transcended mere uniqueness.

In the quiet of the memories, there was once a question of solace knowing that it is not impossible for the time together to be part of the past, the desired of love that once shared continues to bloom in the garden of the heart, a timeless reminder of a season once cherished, an eternal fondess that will stay young and beautiful, even if time passes.

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"Soul Connection"

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"Soul Connection"

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I constantly remind myself that i shall remember I have experienced love—not only because I learned about it; I did not experience it the instant I opened my eyes and grasped its essence. It's never like a blink of an eye that I have immediately known of. I have come across and understood love through all the experiences, time, and the different souls I have encountered throughout my life’s phases. Never have I known it just by waking up from a deep sleep and suddenly realizing that I had slept through and immediately got the idea of it– No. I know I taught myself, that I failed at it, that I've learned it, and that I accept it—by which I meant that I allowed myself to accept the fact that I have never truly never known love simply because I do; I have only known it because others have taught me, failed me, accepted me, and given me a small portion of their souls, their esses, their lives.

Perhaps it is also defines why to love and to be loved is to be changed and bring regards change. Being loved means accepting a thousand different versions of the people around you, including the ones you do not want to, to love is to accept the million separate versions of yourself that exist, including the aspects of yourself that you disdain, the parts that you are not fond of, or the facets that go against how you perceive the said emotion. After all, love is the ability to accept something even in the face of opposition from others, even people are against it, even if they are at odds with it.

To love is to embrace that you are an abstract novel of a mosaic composed of endless souls, a mosaic of different ways of fondness and misery, desire and resentment, a mosaic of various individuals who have s to what are the timeless ways you want to be fond of something and to feel fond of it in return— To be loved is to allow yourself to fail because you are certain that it will provide you the enlightenment of acceptance, to learn from every piece of it and have it engraved inside you, and to give credence to the fact that you are indeed a different version not only of different people that you once loved and who once loved you— but also of the people that have been loved by them and the people that have loved them too. Know that there will always be beauty in reflecting on and looking back on the things that favored you in laying the foundation of the love you presently know and believe in. There is beauty in knowing that you are capable of giving love, mostly because you are also capable of accepting it.

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You’ve left a void in me that no one could ever replace, and I think I will remember you longer than I have known you. You are the love that makes me want to go home immediately and pause the spontaneous get-together with my friends. You are the love that I never thought I could have, the love that made me think that life is worth living again. You are the love I never thought I was capable of.

The moment I saw you, that was the same exact moment I saw the same six-year-old me who was amazed with the little puppy named “Pampu” he once had. When I saw you, that’s the exact moment I told myself, “Little me would have jumped and screamed his heart out of happiness” because finally, he already have another love in the form of a snowball-like angel, in the form of silly licks on his face, in the form of goofy woofs, growls, and even the most melodic yelp his ears could hear. When I saw you, I saw a little boy smiling at me, telling me I should love you more than he loved his little angel years and decade ago.

So I did. I loved you so much that even I was surprised, not knowing that I am capable of love like that. I loved you more than my favorite things to do—I loved you more than music, I loved you more than a writing piece, I loved you more than the arts, I loved you more than love itself—not knowing that I did not love you more than those because you, yourself, are all of those.

Little did I know that the unexpected way I got you was the same unforeseen way I'd lose you... Love, you will be forever engraved herein. Never could I have imagined that I would never touch your soft, silky fur—that I will never get to cuddle you, that I would never get my face licked with your silly tongue and your goofy kisses. Never could I have imagined that that day was the very last day I'd have all of that from you. Only if I knew, I would have hugged you tighter, kissed you longer, and told you I love you, silly snowball.

I never thought I'd have the same heartbreak I had when I was six. I never thought I'd long for you more than I long for myself. I will always long for you for as long as I live; I will forever miss you for as long as I breathe; and I will always love you for as long as I remember my own name.

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“Evil never goes unpunished, Monsieur. But the punishment is sometimes secret.”

— Agatha Christie

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“Two things to remember in life: Take care of your thoughts when you are alone, and take care of your words when you are with people.”

— Zig Ziglar

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“I tempt you. I blush. There are things unbearable.”

— Anne Carson, excerpt of Stanzas, Sexes, Seductions 

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how often should we experience a thing before we could consider it as our favourite?

am i allowed to say that receiving a stem of flower is my favourite thing even though i never had one?