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It took a summer to feel it ripped under my skin, why do summers don't feel like it?—I starved of warmth and hated how days swung quickly on my window. I said "nights like this”, I look for places where I could sell my soul or strangers to kiss and comeback weightless from this locus of regret. They say grief is a form of love, and summers start to look like it. I still carry on luggages. I said "nights like this; full of you”and collapse in a poetry and spend my entire years trying to not want you.
I start to go barefoot on sharps, and self-soothe on March—dissipate along the air, shrink my bones til I recognize why summers don't feel like it. Maybe I just don't like how endings come on so suddenly, and the sickening feeling of familarity of it. The traces of hurt, the creeks we named. Darling, I remember it was march.
—ruchie
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You came in my life
And I was never the same
Maybe this is everything that we are
Just passing by—never to stay
Maybe we came in each other's life
to be each other's greatest lesson.
Darling, I have been loving you
and perhaps this love is ours,
ours to feel
and was never ours to keep.
—Ruchie
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You told me that garlic
burns faster than onions
and it's funny because our love
was the one that burned first.
It's 1am now and
I'm sitting behind the seawalls
with three cans of beer
just like what we used to do
every after suicide missions.
I have been drinking a lot now,
part of it is hoping it would soothe the ache
that deprives me of sleep
yet none of it worked.
And now, I've been receiving
a lot of death threats,
some telling me
that I wasn't good enough,
mostly were from you—
telling me I deserved all the worst things
that's happening to me.
And that's so hard to swallow,
knowing that it came from someone
who used to love me.
It’s funny.
I can't digest what's happening to my life
I can't believe how
your words exploited someone
I wished i didn't met.
I thought leaving and starting again
would be as easy as
walking out at the door
yet I keep getting stuck by the memories
that I don't want to remember anymore
it's like my lips want yours
like my lungs want the air.
I don't know why I've got
so much hope linked to someone
who'll never call me home
and someone who'll never love me
the way the sun dies
just to let the moon
breath in the sky.
—Ruchie
Photo via pinterest
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How could you not save me from places drenched in blue when I was the only one who saved you from you.
—r.
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There are nights were I seek for places with no traces of you. Other nights I dodge crying in places you used to brought me to. And tonight, I will dive into the ocean hoping that it'll lead me back to you.
“Tell me you want me too.”
—r.
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Everything is so sweet
Like a pool of honey
In a honey comb
Like your sweet tongue twirled
With my burning tongue
My mouth have always
Crave the taste of
Our first kiss
Like a madman
Craving for a steamy night
Under the palm trees
Of Hawaii
Gazing up the moonlight sky
Showering you with
Light kisses and misty breath
Rubbing our soul
As if the sea will run dry
Our love making
Like a half curled
Ponytail of a ravished
Lolita doll
Bombarded my whole being
Reaching my deepest secrets
Out of your slender fingers
Coated with my essence
Our elbow bumping to our body
Like a convergent poem
That inquires
The crescent moon
To bring you back to me
To crash your body into me
—
"The sweet words that you said slowly fades but the feeling of your touch marked my soul."
—Ruchie
Photo: From the three rivers deep
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I find myself returning to the same old spot where we surreptitiously met in our youth, where we spilled beer and exchanged stupid stories as glancing at the starry sky. Most of the time, I would stare at the immense sea of stars, expecting that you might return with seasonal brews and riding your father's car, which you surreptitiously borrow at night. Now I gaze longingly at you from the same vantage point. At the same moment. The same expression. Only that you appeared mature and no longer wore the same tough jeans. You now have your own vehicle. And there were no more cans of beer on your hands for us. Instead, it's now wrapped in her hands. I turn my back once more and calmly study the constellations overhead, praying that you no longer recognize me. I hoped you'd forgotten about our favorite place where we initially entwined our hands.
"I guess that's all what the time apart have done you well." I smiled.
—Ruchie
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Today, all I want to do is to remember every bit of our shared misadventures. I can still remember when we acted like wild astronauts trying to explore the whole universe, you were the captain and I was your right hand as we rode your scooter wayback February 2, 1978. I can still remember the smile on your face as you double the speed of your scooter that caused me too much adrenaline. You told me that sometimes we don't need to always follow the rules. Sometimes, we need to violate the rules to put a little life into life. We always talked about devils and how cute our cats are. I can still remember when you told me to accept things, like humans are fond of lying and I cannot stop that— I cannot blame them for being a liar.
"Why should we talk about pointless things? Isn't it more pointless if we keep on repeating stories that doesn't even make sense?"
I was caught off guard. Maybe that's the reason why we stop exploring? Maybe because we were busy talking about how pointless our lives were. We were busy sharing our carnal desires and how we loved lying and playing our feelings. We were busy hiding what we feel, what we wanted to say and what we should've done when we were still exploring our universe.
—Ruchie "We were fascinated of what we want to do in our lives and we end up without saying proper goodbyes and kisses. We end up without even trying to lit the candles we bought last new year's eve."
Photo: Niké Luminae
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He once told me about his love for lyrics. How the words spoke to him like poetry.
I would often wonder about his playlist and the ghost who live there. The faces he saw and the voices he heard. The soundtrack to a thousand tragic endings, real or imagined.
The first time I saw him, I noticed how haunted his eyes were. And I was drawn to him, in the way a melody draws a crowd to the dance floor. Pulled by invisible strings.
—Lang Leav //An excerpt from Soundtracks//
Someday, I'll just remember our midnight conversations about your favorite playlist, tv series and books. I will cherish every song that I've listened and imagined. I will remember how your eyes pulled each string of my sanity on the crowded dance floor. Now, I am one of your favorite authors who writes about cliché tragic endings with the soundtrack of our favorite playlist. Our ending.
"I still find pieces of you in the back of my mind."
"Oh, you are not the only one."
—Ruchie "I will remember every details but I will leave it there. Safe, untouched and vulnerable—just like a pressed dried flowers in my book. Lifeless yet vibrant."
Photo: Sivankarim
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I hope someday or in our next lifetime, someone will mend our broken soul. Where we can listen again to our playlist, re-read our favorite books and wear a beautiful smile with a sweet tear lingered on it. Because I've learned, that some things in our life aren't really made for us. I've learned that accepting our faults and misadventures will mold us. We will know if we'll hang on to something or just let go of the things that might break us. There are things that might go wrong and can't be fix but remember that every moment of our life is worth saving. Some may go unacknowledged but that doesn't mean we'll stop writing our story. The demons in our past will play a big role in our story. And I will write every chapter with a kiss on it.
—Ruchie "How do you mend a broken soul?"
Photo: Giovanni Esposito
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The sun hides beneath the clouds
as if trying to put every light
into a deep slumber—
as if giving off the last
drop of hope.
Maybe when the stars
begin to collide
and start to put pressure
on the gas and chemicals
into it, maybe that's the time
when I will let things go
and never anticipate that the coming days
would bring light to my soul.
Maybe when the stars will fall
that's the time when I'll get
to realize that these things
aren't made for me—
that you are not made for me.
Maybe when the blackhole
vacuums a broken heart
then that's the time
where loving you
should've been
forbidden.
Maybe its was just
a great conspiracy.
—Ruchie "I should've known when I was still sticking up with right decisions. I should've known when I wasn't drowning in the depths of hell."
Photo: Irem Aysu
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Someday, I will just laugh at the stories that we made. All the prose that I once wrote whenever I need to spill my unsaid words, I'll keep them. Maybe by doing this, I'll be able to touch your world without anticipating something in return. Maybe when the sun will rise from the west and will set to the east, I'll be able to touch your world. The wind will bend their knees until the clouds will run dry. Grasping the last ray of sunlight hoping that someday, I can move just one step further to your world.
"Hey, what's up?" My heart froze as I look at his burning eyes.
"I just feel like going to our old place, does it even matter?" I smiled as I ask him. He looked down but immediately recovered to my question. "It's been a long time, how are you? Got your new job?" He asked. I giggled and breath the last air of spring. "Hmm, got my new job—oh by the way Lucifer's big now. He often lay above my tummy just like the old times." I proudly said.
"Oh, still cuddly since the first time that we adopted that cat. You used to hold him tight and bring him wherever you go." He said.
"Yeah. I tried my best to stop myself from pinching his cute cheeks!" I said, feeling giddy.
"He was my baby—"
"Our baby."
Our eyes met and I felt the world momentarily stopped. Swiftly, films of yesterday flashes through my eyes. I tightened my grip on my shirt. I saw a flicker passed through his eyes. I gasped.
We jumped and got startled from the ringtone of his phone. It was still our favorite song.
"Yes? Okay—I gotta go, my wife's in labor." I smiled. Right.
—Ruchie "I'm just bitter to all of the happenings in my life. He's over me now. I hope not."
Art: Ukesh
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It's been a year. I can still remember the old woman who touched my hand and talked to me about how lonely she was. Her husband died at the age of fifty-eight and her children already have their own families. No one tried to contact her, even her friends who attended her husband's burial. As she talked to me, she told me about how much she loved her husband. How they send cheap love letters. How they tried so sneaked out of their houses every 3am and lay on the seaside under the stars.
"Sometimes I read old stories, like the story of the mermaid and the prince. The prince didn't know that the mermaid loves him so he married another woman. The mermaid became a seafoam and the prince regretted that he married that woman." She whispered as she stroked his hair.
"I'll revise the ending. The mermaid and the prince, they live happy together." He smiled.
"But the mermaid died and---"
"The prince killed himself and meet her there."
I smiled as I remembered the old woman's conversation with her husband when they were still dating. I picked a handful of my hair to tame them from flying due to the strong wind. I don't want that. If he will be the prince and I would be the mermaid, maybe I will never let myself meet him in person. Maybe I'll just love him with all that I am. I would stay away, just enough to see his smile. I fill my lungs with air, just enough to breath in.
Sometimes I look at the ocean and write prose with metaphors enough to describe how my soul was going through. Oftentimes I just walk under the constellations and pluck out the stars only to see the bright moon. Then I remembered my beloved. He passed way because he regretted that he married me. He killed himself to meet her there.
—Ruchie "I'll just stay here, looking at the vast sky as if you were also staring at me. I want that."
Photo: Giphy
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Sometimes, I find myself going back to the same old spot where we secretly met in our younger days, where we spilled beer and silly stories gazing at the moonlight sky. More often than not, I would gaze at the vast sea of stars hoping that maybe you would come again with cheap beers and your father's car you secretly borrow at night. Now, I find myself staring at you while standing on that same spot. Same time. Same face. Only that, you looked mature and doesn't wear the same rugged jeans anymore. You have your own car now. And there's no more cans of beer in your hands for the both of us. But instead, it is now wrapped with her hands. Once again, I turn my back and silently watch the constellations above as I prayed that you no longer knows me. I prayed that you forgot our favorite spot where we first intertwined our hands.
"I guess that's all what the time apart have done you well." I smiled.
Words and photo: Ruchie
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You are the prose
That I wrote about
The song that I always sing
The sunset that I loved to watch
The dream in my 3 am's
The squished box of cupcakes
The donuts that I loved to buy
The caffeine of my cappuccino
The pen that I always use
Whenever I need to jot down
The precious words
That will describe you;
You are the hundred years old painting in the gallery
Too rare to have
Too much to have
You are the winter that sets fire into my soul
The autumn that blooms in my eyes
The spring that falls in every saddened moment
The summer that've always been mysterious
And you are the movie
That I always talked about
Where love can't have
Too much to have
Too valuable to touch
"Our love was made for movie screens." She uttered.
Words and photo: Ruchie
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And I have been loving you with everything that I am, it includes the bottom of the sea, the rare blue moon, the monsters below your bed and the demons inside of me that is ruling every fiber of my being that shouts your name.
—Ruchie
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