miladyflos

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I miss them so much ;;_;;

✨ Rey and Ben Solo, 2020’s top ranked ship on Tumblr ✨

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reblog and make a wish! this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)

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Oscar by Chris McAndrew, 2014 [x] (high res)

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First Funerals.

I.

It was my first funeral, I never went to one before.

It was my first funeral, but it wasn’t the first time I got news of someone’s death. 

I remembered the first time.

“It’s John’s dad...” Bill said through the phone, he lived next door. John was Bill’s best friend, but neither both of them were my best friends. It would have been awkward if I had gone.

The second call was late in the evening, after school���s ended. A year after John moved out of the town.

“Terra’s older sister. You coming?”

“No.” I was her source of entertainment during our elementary days.

The third news was sent by text.

Mrs. Howard’s husband, it said. She had resigned from my junior high long before I entered the school itself.

I received the fourth news in the middle of the night or maybe morning, we weren’t so sure. What I could be sure was how red my mother’s eyes were; tears streaming down her cheek.

“Your dad... they tried... but he didn’t make it.”

It was my first funeral. I hated every part of it.

II.

It was her first funeral. They wanted her to say something for the deceased. An old woman squeezed her hands, nodding her head as if to reassure her.

It was her first funeral and she was no one. Still, she walked to the podium, dozens of eyes watching her hopefully, sadly.

She went after a lot of people. People who is actually connected to him, knew him. A mother, a brother, and an uncle.

She took a deep breath. 

“It was my fault.”

III.

It was his first funeral, but also his last.

6th June, 2016.

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me, who gets up at roughly midday everyday: the days are so short!!! what the fuck!!! how do i have time to do anything!!!!!!

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Colors

I’m one among many.

I got to meet a lot of amazing people through my job. From a celebrity to a parliament member. But he was a peculiar one. Often, I got to learn something from those people I interviewed. But with him, I got to love something. I got to love him.

He was a novelist, a mystery novelist. His hair was dark brown, a bit curly, and had a pale skin. He wore a grey sweater and jeans and completed his look with a long brown coat when we first met. 

He was nowhere near black and white when in fact his pen name stood for black and white.

We greeted, talked, and smiled like what normal people would do on the first meet. But it didn’t feel like ‘the first’. It was rather different, especially his smile. It was like a smile that I’ve been longing for, a smile that I would fall for, even after seeing it billion times.

“So why it has to be black and white?” He didn’t ask me to explain ‘it’, fully aware I was referring to his pen name. He took his time to think about his answer. “I wanted a pen name that describes me the best, or at the very least describes my life the best.” He smiled, to himself, probably because he satisfied with his answer.

Ridiculous, I thought.

He was nowhere near black and white and all I could see was him radiating colors with his smile.

We ended the interview at 3 in the evening. He thanked me for the nice interview and the coffee and gave me a ticket to a bookstore event. “A lot of novelists will be there,” he said but that was not important. All I could ever thought was the chance to meet him again.

So I went, obviously. He was already on stage when I arrived, along with other novelists. He wore a pink shirt. It wasn’t bright enough to be exactly pink. Maybe I could name it if I had known other shades of pink. But what important was he unexpectedly match with the color pink.

And still nowhere near black and white.

I called his name because I wanted him to know I was there. He heard someone called him, he heard me. He turned around and right when he spotted me, he smiled. Warmly. Pleasantly. Bursting with colors. I smiled back. He made sure I noticed how he locked his gaze at me until he turned his head back to the emcee talking.

The event was joyful with him waving his splendid hands here and there every time the fans called him (and looking at my direction to make sure I was still there). For someone who described his life with black and white, he was emitting so much colors that day. Everyone fell in love with him that day.

I went straight home after the event ended. I thought that was the last time I could ever see him in person. Nevertheless, I was happy.

I was wrong. I received a text. A sorry. And a sentence with a question mark. I said yes.

At first, we only met at café on Sundays. Talking about hobbies, each other preferences, and “how’s life this week?” He would persist on answering with “Still black and white.” But there was one time, he changed his pattern and answered with, “Good. Life’s good, especially on Sunday.”

And the very next day when I was busy with my editorial team, Lauren from the front desk called and told me I had a visitor. It was him and his “I wanted to make my Monday good too. So how about lunch?” excuse.

And we became lunch buddies on Monday. Diner buddies on Tuesday. He would drove me to office on Wednesday. But he only got time to pick me up from office on Thursday. Breakfast buddies on Friday. Movie buddies on Saturday. Coffee buddies on Sunday.

And never I felt so excited about my week being so packed with certain someone.

But we never became a ‘thing’. We never became more than close friends even after all those weeks. Even after he would secretly send flowers to my desk along with a card full of his writing. Even when he hugged me after drove me home. Or even after he kissed me when he drove me home the next week and made me saw rainbows so clear on his eyes. We never became more. I wanted more.

I told him I wanted more. In a way that he won’t misunderstood. He softly said ‘no’ while still hugging me. “You know why I chose mystery?” I shook my head in his embrace,

“Because I’m not good at romance,” You are my romance.

When he let go of his hug, I knew we could never become more.

And I started to know more when I decided to visit his home. When I bought him lunch I made and he said it was delicious. When he made me a warm tea after that and started a conversation with “You know...”

He never started a conversation.

“The past two years have been wonderful for me... thanks to you,” he looked up at me, I still could see rainbow in those beautiful pair of eyes.

“But I think I’m tired now. It wasn’t your fault. I thought we could still go on. But, no, I’m afraid it will hurt you. I’m afraid I will hurt you.”

I was wrong. The rainbow wasn’t what his eyes looked like. It was my reflection, I was a rainbow when I’m with him. So foolishly and so deeply in love with him. With his smile that radiates so much colors.

I tried to hold back my tears, he held my hands. Expressing his sorry. But it wasn’t his fault either. I knew we could never become more. 

He told me one more time that the last two years was indeed wonderful and ‘it got some color’. But it wasn’t enough, he still lack of colors. He was like what he said, black and white, and he need colors but maybe he had enough of my color. 

Maybe I was red and this time he need blue. I alone was not enough.

I didn’t stay long. I left after I let go of his warm hands. 

It was only after I stepped out of his house I realized how my world seemed dim without him in it. I realized that he was all the colors I ever needed.

But to him, I was only one among many colors that would fill his black and white world.

inspired by this while listening to this

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Page following Contents in The Infinite Conversation by Maurice Blanchot

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Another you

I never liked winter. I only ever liked ‘you’ in my winter.

I honestly would prefer seeing leaves falling from the tree rather than getting showered by tiny snowflakes. I only ever liked the way you happily twirling around as the first snow poured down on you. 

‘Over the Rainbow’ was not my favorite song, it was yours. I just happen to know the notes and sing it well. And I just happen to like seeing you humming through the song in front of your laptop and all those works’ sheets while sipping my hot chocolate little by little. You would take a glance at me and smiled, I knew you wanted to join me so bad but then your boss called.

I only ever liked that kind of ‘us’ in my winter.

I remember the reason you chose that apartment because it was closer to my studio, so you can check on me every time I didn’t come home. And one day, I noticed the star stickers you put on your window was no longer there when I was on my way to work. I knew you had left somewhere else. Somewhere better and further from me.

The first time I heard about you was from the handsome barista who used to hit on you. I remember he said your hair is long and wavy and I laughed, I told him you would never keep your hair long. But then I saw you on your way to a restaurant we used to go. The barista didn’t lie and you look pretty with long hair. You even wore pink even though I remember you saying you were never a fan of pink. You looked different. And I laughed again, this time at myself, at how I thought I knew you. 

But I never really did.

And then I keep seeing you more often, walking few meters in front of me, still going to the same restaurant. You dropped your wallet one time and turned around to pick it up. I was right behind you. But you didn’t notice. Probably because I had changed my hair back to black, or maybe you were too busy to notice, like always.

You didn’t notice me again the second time, at the coffee shop. I was far at the corner and you were talking with the barista, laughing and smiling. You seemed fine. But you probably had noticed the ring in his fourth finger when you looked down, because I saw you stopped laughing and smiled awkwardly before you left. The metal of my ring felt much colder than the winter itself that day.

I never liked winter. I never wanted the winter that remind me of what we used to be.

I never wanted the winter that remind me, I only ever wanted you.

+ photo credit: Carolene @ flickr

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Another year

Winter used to be my favorite season of the year. My winter used to be warm. That was when I still got to taste your hot chocolate. When I still got to hear you singing 'Over the Rainbow' with my keyboard in the corner of my apartment. When I still got to feel your warm hugs. When I still had you.

Now, winter is just cold. It is way too cold sometimes I'm not even sure if I can make it through. My apartment also looked less lively with only one person staying so I moved somewhere else. Somewhere closer to my office and further from you.

I sold, not threw, the keyboard you used to play to the British guy who lived one floor under my current apartment. He had a dog named Pixie, its fur were kind of reddish brown. Reminding me of your hair. But yours was a little bit prettier. I wonder if you change it back to black because you said you looked ridiculous with reddish brown. It made me realize I never had the chance to say that you looked fine in both color and probably will look fine in any color (except purple.)

Sometimes, I purposely set a meeting with a client at the restaurant near the old apartment so I can take a look at it on my way to the meeting place. I think the place is still vacant. There was one time I stopped on my track and stood where you used to stand when you waited for me. I looked at the direction you used to look when you called me and I'd stood by the window and you would be waving your hand with smile on your face. You were beaming and I believe you still do now.

The handsome barista of the coffee shop we used to go asked me about you, wondered why i always came and left alone. I started coming back to this place since two weeks ago. I told him we broke up and I'm single now so it's okay if he makes a move on me (he laughed but I didn't fail to notice the ring on his fourth finger). Reminding me on how you much you hated it every time he asked for my number, now he didn't need it anymore.

Now, winter is just cold. It is way too cold there were times I'm not even sure if I can make it through. But every little thing that reminds me of you sometimes bring back the warmness I used to feel during winter.

Now, winter is just another way for me to tell myself that I've passed another year without you yet I still miss you the same.

+part 2  | photo credit: 0xem @ instagram

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Thomas.

Thomas was perfect.

Thomas was good looking, nice, and smart; he was exactly what you would call perfection. He won so many awards as an actor despite his young age. He was very hard-working. He was the role model of many. Everybody wanted a piece of him. You wanted a piece of him.

When you looked at him, something drew you in. Maybe it was his brown-colored eyes or the way his lips curved to a smile upon seeing you waving to him. He smiled so happily you almost thought that was not the first time you met him. You almost thought maybe in the previous life you guys were really close. He could make people felt like that. He made you felt like that.

His voice was warm it almost like you were being wrapped in a blanket upon hearing him. His voice was so warm you didn’t even pay attention to what he was saying. You just liked how every syllable sounded like a melody when he said it. He could make people thought they were in the middle of musical. You thought it was the first musical that you actually enjoyed.

He was beaming through the whole conversation you guys had that evening. He laughed at the lame jokes you made. You liked how he smell when he hugged you before he bid his goodbye. You wondered what perfume could smell this nice but maybe it was Thomas himself. The smell captivated you in it was as if you were being protected. You wanted to protect him because he was too beautiful to get hurt.

And you bid him goodbye too. He walked out of the room and you saw his back. And the day came to an end for you, a pleasant ending. And you wondered when was the last time you ended a day with a good mood? When was the last time you ended a day with you falling for someone? Never. You have always ended a day with a long-deep sigh, a tired one. But Thomas changed it. In a short amount of time, he succeeded at making you felt what everybody felt. Joy, comfort, and love. 

And you wondered if such person could really exist?

But Thomas was a liar. He was a beautiful liar.

Nobody knew this was coming. No one noticed.

Or perhaps you did notice…

Maybe people saw it wrong. Maybe you saw it wrong, too. 

Maybe you had the wrong interpretations.

His eyes might draw you in but it was because you noticed the sadness in them. His lips might captivate you but it was because you saw a slight frown before it turned into a smile. His voice might sound warm but you did notice how few times it sounded cold. He might smelled nice but maybe it was because he used more perfume than he used to. Even for the last time, he wanted to be remembered with the flower scent. You knew it was weird when you told your co-workers that Thomas hugged you but they said Thomas never hugs after an interview. You knew when you saw the newspaper the next morning. You realized he hugged you not because he was Thomas and he was nice. It held a bigger meaning. He hugged you because you were the last people he saw that day before the sun set down.

Before the day came to and end for him. Before the curtain close for him.

Thomas was a tragedy.

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You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing, and dance, and write poems, and suffer, and understand, for all that is life.

Jiddu Krishamurti

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Strobe Edge (ストロボ・エッジ) - 2015

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We all have bullets beneath our skin we pray our lovers won’t flinch at when they find.

Andrea Gibson, from “Piano” in The Madness Vase (via cleamour)

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Underground. July 2014