oohae

[oohae]

i longed to be by your everlasting gaze, but turns out i was never part of your perspective even once.

truly, i loved writing poems about how your hands shake while fulfilling duties as a god to your creations. the edges would be filled with callouses— rough, worked palms showing your passion to write their paths. your lips would form a smile whenever brilliancy hits your mind, and when i read them by your side i see rainbows coming from your pen with feathers as design. you never sweat nor feel tired, all you ever think of is how to give life to people whose lives were saved by your promising mind.

hopefully, one day you'll remember my name when you write another story. hopefully, you notice my longing for another adventure given by your grace. hopefully, i feel your warmth through these pages once again.

come visit me again, my poet.

[oohae]

tasteless ink;

000.3

falling in love is like falling down the rabbit hole where time could speed up and not, where you’ll see unexplainable things, and once you’ve reached the bottom of it, you’ll realize love had hit you so hard your eyes went blind and your ears can’t hear anything others are saying. falling in love is also like choosing between 3 doors, if you open the wrong one your heart will be iced by fire and you can’t run. but then i guess, what’s love without the courage to take a risk and have some heartaches?

i still remember how every word that came out of your mouth became art, how the sunlight fondles your finger-combed hair turning everything to heaven’s ether. having glances of you from here and there always felt like my heart was being tickled. and from there i knew, that somehow i need to be ready once again for my heart to be broken.

being with you was like being able to catch something that flew from 3000 miles afar, it’s nearly impossible. yet there we were, waiting for the sunrise together. we love all kinds of luminosity that the sky emits. but the sunset has became an exception, we’d only chase until the sun’s pastel hues and never when evening’s falling. i asked why? honey, i’m a moon child, did you not like the curtains of the night-sky? you answered with your every breath creating snowflake mists saying how i was your one and only moon in all the unraveling universe. yet, you never mentioned that behind my back you’ve been 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 other ten thousand stars. that’s why we never went out when it’s night as you know that i might see the broken lines between your lips that i once foolishly believed. i thought you were the sun and i was the moon that creates dazzling lights because we met in the sky. but you were just the black drapes of the universe that collects celestial bodies as a hobby and i don’t intend to be one of those.

yes, i fell fast down the rabbit hole so damn much in the slow moments of my fake vision of time and didn’t realize that love had already hit me hard. yes, i twisted the wrong knob among the three doors where every bit of myself was pierced by sugarcoated needles of lies. i fall in love with everything that is art, and you were one. i just didn’t know it was all a facade.

//wished i had known that it was just a phantom of december breeze that hazed my window.

[oohae]

tasteless ink;

000.2

i don’t think my love language has any connection with words or articulation. like how others could speak it fluently through poetries and proses of affirmations or even through giving playlists of songs. i’m sorry, i’m not like any of those. i’d rather dance you in our living room or at our little garden at any time of the day even if during the rain. you wonder to what song? no, it’ll be to classical pieces composed by Debussy or maybe Tchaikovsky. yes, the music held no words yet you’ll feel deep through your bones all the sensation of every emotion. just a silent dialogue being passed between and through our eyes, through each smiles, while i twirl you around, softly holding your hand as we dance in the looming day or night. and if there’s no available vinyl record player, don’t worry your laughter is already music to my ears.

whenever i’m talking and you’re the subject, it’s as if i’m forgetting how it is to articulate. my lips may not be able to spit out lavish statements, but i’ll make sure it’ll bring you to your desiring heavens. but don’t get me wrong, i do love using my inks when it’s you i’m writing about but it always felt like i’m running out of words. because believe me, there are no existing collective letters or phrases enough to show and describe how i see you— how i feel about you. my eyes drown to your imperfect complexities found in the simpleness of your beauty. if i could just let my body be borrowed by the world, darling they would understand and know.

everyone has their own love language and mine is through giving my undivided time and self to you. professing and imprinting in every inch of your skin how you are only mine alone and i am yours just as more. i just love being in the moment with you with whatever it is we’re doing as if everything around us is tuning out— as if suddenly there’s a fuming fiery bubble encircling us in every parameter, having the two of us in the center, making nothing else more to matter. just you and i, alone in this little world of our own where the engraved unforgettable and undeniable moments float up to where it is the unknown.

[oohae]

tasteless ink;

000.1

i thought i already escaped. but after i opened those damn doors i just found myself inside again. the moon and planets started going backwards with the floor moving along. back on track to resurface every lost rooted pain and heartaches. i hate it. i don’t want it. for nth time, it brought me again to all the locked memories. the stains of the pasts i’ve been running away from. the ones i’ve tried to swept to the basement, away from the public, just to be able to say i’m okay in every single day. now i’m lying on the bathroom floor, crying to myself silently as my mind and body is being filled with overflowing repressed thoughts and emotions. i’d stay here for as long ‘cause no one knows, no one will knock at door. im a big chunk of joy, that’s what they thought. but no. god, im fucking dying inside. all my life, i don’t know why people kept breaking my heart. i must have been so stupid for still trying to understand all the wrongs they did, for still believing all the fucking lie of justifications. i can feel and hear the water enveloping my body here on the floor coming from the open faucet i forgot to turn off. i never did anything wrong. why should i always be put on a tight spot of painful roles? im just trying to live this sick life and here i am giving the pluto retrogade’s first cry.

[oohae]

Sunday, 12 April 2002 (GMT+9)

Tokyo, Japan

私たちはそれを知る前にさえ恐ろしい事故にぶつかりました。

A vacation, a car, and a trip to japan— that’s all it took for us to meet. Just how funny as I look back to our first encounter, thinking maybe it was just a coincidence: how those petals of cherry blossoms swirled under the wind’s voice, softly flying around the road, then you bumped my car with yours. Yet as they say, there’s no such things as accidents.

We tagged along different lanes, starting from the easiest ones, next to silliest, then the hardest. We’d race towards the unknown finish lines, speeding up so much we forgot to take a breath for a while. Our hearts were very much filled with the ignition of such ideals and our heads focused on the acceleration of surreal visions.

we had fun, I admit. yet I also admit, we’re both reckless drivers as we both let ourselves get lost in our own selfish heads, we never thought about slowing down and stepping on brakes nor rolling down the windows for a moment to feel the rolling breeze of air. we forgot and dismissed how it is to be in the moment of each other.

we always have thought that the roads we took would always be connected, no matter which way we go and pick. yet turns out we were only at an intersection on a traffic. our cars already crashed on the road even before finally hitting the brakes. we’ve been fooled by our deceitful eyes and reckless minds, unable to see the blinking red traffic lights.

//they say we must have met the right people at the wrong time. but it isn’t. for if it’s the right person for us to really be with, time won’t be a subject of matter because right people would always come at the right moment.

(i just i realize how it’s sunday on my piece and today’s monday hahaha well this has been on my notes for ages. decided to post it just ‘cause fuck life.

— eng trans:

We ran into a horrific accident even before we knew it. )

[oohae]

𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯.

++𝗜 𝘄𝗼𝗸𝗲 𝘂𝗽 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗴𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗳 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗻𝗱— 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘁𝗼 𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗼𝗻 𝘀𝗼𝗶𝗹 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝗸𝗶𝗲𝘀, 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗲𝘃𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱.

𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲. the sun’s brushing on my skin— it isn’t hot nor cold, it was comforting. i had my eyes closed as i’m laying on the meadow’s short walking stalks of green and yellow. soft prickly tips of the grass tickling my skin; forgetting the time’s imaginable values that are passing as it almost felt i was floating on subtle waves of quiet hushing sea— alone and at peace. it was just me, in the fleeting moment of tranquilness, bearing the hollowness in my chest.

𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘥𝘰 𝘪 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘯? 𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘨𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳.

whenever i’m here, it always felt surreal, as if i’ve come to another living parallel of earth. as i breathe, i heard the echoing music of singing birds coming from numerous directions of different trees. i breathe once more and i felt the wind passing through me— running past my clothes, my hair, whirling back to the other end.

𝘪 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘺𝘦𝘵 𝘪𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴.

𝘢𝘮 𝘪 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴?

i always close my eyes as i lay here. i let it rest from seeing the abominable structures and words of this world. funny, as soon as i let it shut, my ears tunes out the busy and heavy sounds. the moist of the field and wind would just start slithering up, shivering my body, smelling a familiar solace. you see, everything that i sensed was subtle— it uttered unspoken words and emotions. and almost no one would not notice that all subtleness in this world is life’s little weaving poetry and prose.

𝘪 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵’𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨.

𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴.

𝗮𝗴𝗮𝗶𝗻. I woke up to the gushed feeling of falling from the heavens against the wind— not to land on soil but on clouds of skies, being devoured. My eyes opened to my metallic hands trying to hold on to the air of shattering meadow, moist of grass, birdsongs— everything. I woke up back on earth I’m living that’s shouldering no life, to the voidness of black smoke where nature has gone and died.

𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝟺𝟻𝟼𝟶𝟷 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝: ...

𝚁𝚘𝚋𝚘𝚝 𝙰𝟹𝟸𝟶𝟷 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍.

𝚂𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚞𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

(wews. first time writing again after so many months of being busy with acads. this is not yet edited. grammatical errors ahead. it actually felt nice writing something again. my mind’s pretty much scattered today, that’s why the ending of this piece is quite offbeat.)

[oohae]

𝙃𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙣’𝙨 𝙈𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙚𝙛

A vestal woman,

Soaked in clouds of white,

Enchanted and lured,

Unknown of being fooled,

To live at the velvet skies,

Stringed with poisoned stars,

Sailing above a secret ocean,

With waves of deceit and lies.

Her body was then half-dripped in a river stream of death,

Wings have divided into black and white,

She uttered towards the heavens,

With wrathful opaque eyes,

“𝘨𝘰𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺

𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘭𝘴

𝘯𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨

𝘱𝘰𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧

𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.”

(i just made this a long ago, decided i’d post it)

[oohae]

Ｎｏｗ　ｐｌａｙｉｎｇ　ｏｎ　ｒｅｐｅａｔ．．．　

𝗦𝘁𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗼 𝘆𝗼𝘂

𝟎𝟎:𝟎𝟎 |─────────| -𝟑:𝟑𝟔

|◁ II ▷

∞ ↺

𝟎:𝟒𝟏

𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬,

𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐈'𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬

𝐈'𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐈'𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

losing you had me fucked up. it had broken me in different ways of more than a thousand skies crashing. every detail and memory of you were like knives stabbing me all around— from when we first met and our every other firsts, then till the last day I saw you, last day I heard your voice, and the last time I felt the warmth of your hand going over mine.

you letting go of my hand as you turn away your back on that very day marked the start of time of me being unable to move to any spot. it’s all coming back to me and you’re the only one who’s not.

𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦

𝟐:𝟏𝟎

𝐋𝐞𝐭 '𝐞𝐦 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐫,

'𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥

𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐡, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

back then, we didn’t even bother celebrating any anniversaries ‘cause we thought “hey we’d be together for a lifetime, why bother counting the years?”.

𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

sealing promises on each other’s skin, using tongues as pens inscribed with muffled words and poetries. and as our eyes have locked, it sparked the creation of an official contract. right now, i’m greatly baffled asking what had happened? how could vows be easily torn apart and broken?

𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦.

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘣𝘺𝘦,

𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘪 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘰𝘯𝘦?

among all the thousand doubts, i came to understand, you’re the only one I figured I am sure of. the one I only dream of, the one thing I wouldn’t exchange for anything else. so tell me, how could I ever forget you? you are my everything that was taken away. i thought maybe over time, hearts would be mended and healed— yet it didn’t.

𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘸𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦?

𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘨𝘰,

𝘪’𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴,

𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥.

𝟑:𝟐𝟓

‘𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

𝐈'𝐦 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮

(this is quite lengthy. lowercase letters are intended.)

[oohae]

++𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲// 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲. 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞— 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧���� 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥.

we started off with a pit white blank canvas, not even knowing what to paint nor what medium should we use. as our eyes lock, slipping out little laughs, we knew we just had to have fun. we’d throw random warm and cool colors on every date of ours; accidentally tumbling on tin cans scattered on the floor creating bold splashes and tones, feeding each other’s desires with our every brush strokes.

𝘢𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘵, 𝘸𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘷𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦. 𝘢𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘰𝘭𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘯𝘰𝘵? 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘸𝘦’𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵?

we then swiveled ourselves into something even bigger. from the small canvases we’ve been trying, we turned around to the abandoned walls of rough cement with a strong asphalt smell on the far end street. it became the wall of our vandals where the mixture of art and love had sprung thus becoming a witness to each mishap we’ve had— to each error we’re trying to cover with ice-white paints, ‘cause we said: “it’s fine to try again, let’s once more pick up the pencils and brushes.”

i know the middle process has been hard, not knowing if we’re truly committed from the start. we were young back then, who played with art principles floating above the thin line of love. who could have known we’d now be owning a museum filled with tons of masterpieces with unmeasurable values. we have grown, with our hands enclasp holding wooden pens and palettes, helping direct each one’s curves and lines to where it is right— adding in every shade and texture our very own touch where skins and souls have fused; with each other we become whole.

(lowercase is intended.)

[oohae]

//.

I saw love and pain,

In every smile and eyes that twinkle,

Unsure of whether the love we’ll have is worth the gain,

If after all the time spent on heaven—

What if we’ll eventually fall into hell.

I felt love and pain,

Simultaneously,

As we’ve gone through thick and thin.

Afraid of our pillars to crash down—

Together with all the joyous memories of ours,

As cracks were already visible crawling on it around.

Then there I saw in each other’s gaze,

Every bit of hope and faith,

Making every second harder to cling and trust,

On the relationship that’s layering up with rust.

Frightened,

On how this would end.

Not wanting for it to finish

With the words, “I loved and been loved”,

But hoping it’d be, “We did it”—

That we have passed,

and have overcome,

Every thrown rock that life gave us,

and that love was never gone.

(I decided I’ll just post the random pieces I’ve made before that had piled up on my notes. even though not all of ‘em are that good, just to pass the time till before I get busy again)

[oohae]

𝘾𝙤𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙚𝙙 𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚-𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙐𝙨

After all the eons over different lighting years,

Almost none could have foreseen,

That we’d still have found each other,

Even across these billion stars lying with black holes,

Dotted in every space of cosmos.

You were the most luminous among the rest,

Your orbs drown me on celestial urges,

Every touch disperses sparks and light,

Together we became astronomical,

Interstellar gas and dust were sprinkled and scattered,

On every place, we have kissed,

Whispering prophecies untold on each one’s ears.

We’d ride on the icy comets,

Dodging every asteroid we came across,

We’d run on the primordial void,

Where only we know,

Caressing every skin of yours,

As if we’re the only living matter in this world.

Yet the universe deemed to refuse,

For it let our stars to part from each other,

Never could we understand at that moment,

The physical laws the galaxies held,

And never have I felt for the time to be ephemeral,

Forcing us to the fate we’ve been known and forgotten,

Us being star-crossed lovers,

Standing on tangent lines,

Across all time-streams and realities,

Embedded with echoes of our pain and parting—

Of our union,

Becoming a memory of catastrophic beauty.

(since I don’t have any classes today, I tried writing something. I actually really enjoyed this piece so I hope you’ll do as well.)

[oohae]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙬𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙𝙣’𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩? 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩 + 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚-𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙥𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 + 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩-𝙖𝙘𝙝𝙚.

Even before, I couldn’t have any courage to write you. Whenever I’d try, I feel like I would never be able to move from the first draft. And does this even have a due?

“ 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚏 ‘𝟾𝟹, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝. 𝙼𝚢 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚏𝚕𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚝. 𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚠, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚣𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚖𝚎𝚛. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚐𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑. 𝙸𝚝𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚢 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚕. 𝚂𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚢 𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚛. “

It’s hard to put down on a paper with a typewriter all these thoughts and emotions when words aren’t enough to define something— someone with such divine. For all I know, when my sight fell onto yours, I knew I’ve been thrown to be lost in a swirling black hole. No thoughts of mine could seem to knit together nor any movements seem to function right. Like how the anxiousness in every pound of my heart easily scatters on air— should have I waved hello? or just nod and smile? Funny it is, but there’s something in you that I don’t know if others could tell. And for me, you’ve always remained unfathomed. That a slight sight I get from you would make my time freeze. Or just coincidentally being with you in a room full of people would make the seconds longer than I would ever know.

// 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘳𝘥. 𝘪𝘵 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘶𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘦’𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘦’𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘭𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦.

[oohae]

𝙍𝙚𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣.

Every art wasn't done perfectly,

Each one's goal wasn't to look pretty,

All aren’t created the same way nor the same thing,

Yet, one would always let you feel something,

As if its tale is silently unraveling, unfolding.

You, staring right at the mirror,

Is just similar to a painting being looked by its painter,

Having sight of which is immensely beauteous,

Eventually after gazing for so long,

You start noting every flaw,

Focusing on each unsatisfying feature,

Causing to see a canvas that you’d chose to give up for another,

That even how much of a masterpiece you are, you’d still pick the latter.

Remember that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts,

Even a blemish would still be a detail,

That makes up and completes an art,

Unfortunately, we just often remarkably fail,

In the bold state of acceptance.

Perhaps, it’s all about our own viewpoint,

If we all would just see through the eyes of museums’ visitors,

Their eyes don’t pinpoint whatever imperfection a fine art may hold,

Their gaze just simply appreciate,

With its entire attention on its beauty,

By then, I guess you’ll finally see,

What the mirror’s been truly reflecting.

[oohae]

𝟐 𝐀𝐌

It’s been two hours past midnight,

With now only few city lights,

And it��s still the thoughts of you,

That’s been lingering on my mind.

Many have told,

That the human minds at times like this,

Is creeping up with sincerity—

Simultaneous with whom the heart is beating.

But I guess,

It’s just a coincidence,

For the clock to tick and tock,

Pointing at 2 am,

Because no matter where the clock’s hand falls,

Whether when the sun’s setting or the sun’s rising,

Or when it’s afternoon and the rain’s falling,

It’s always has been you on my mind,

To whom I reserve my only smile,

As every touch of your fingertips were still on my skin,

And the hot air of your breath,

That brushes on my neck whenever we cuddle,

All is still here.

You see,

Whatever time, day, or month,

It is you— the every beat of my heart,

And today just happens to be two hours past midnight.

[oohae]

It's such a waste how I keep falling in love with you even when you're not around. Even when you've left. Even when you have no plans of coming back. Ghosts of your face remain lounging on my couch, presence still warm every moment I'd gloss my vision over the photobooth. I'm still in love with you, or maybe the memories of you, which I find difficult to let go of. I'm not even hoping anymore for a miracle; it's just that your warmth was the kindest I've met. I resonated with your old soul without worries of judgment. If there were any, it was all in good fun and growth. It was comfortable to be allowed in the space where you drown in both depression and serenity, where you marked as yours while you shed off the pretenses you've put up in your own war of rage and calm. I remember many things you've shown me even when my memory is mused to be a disappointment. I don't know how the wrinkles memorized every inch of you without cheat codes, but I definitely was not programmed to be hung up on passing texts and visuals. Maybe you're simply extraordinary; maybe you're one of a kind. But that would be false because I've seen some traces of you in others, but none has the same finesse as you do. I just... I just hope I had more time, that you had gambled a bit more so we could meet outside the boundaries of dreams and nightmares we'd share with one another every 2am. Maybe we could be under the same shade instead of bright stars that were lightyears dead and away from where we're standing. Bask in the enthusiasm and curiosity about the world and channel all that energy to the bodies we so desperately needed to be warm up. Snuggle under the satin sheets and record a history that could either make or break our hearts. It's been a year and few months since we've been locked in a situation that's beyond our control, but I know we could have controlled what could have been if we just admitted how high the stakes were instead of blindly following trailblazers of romance and flings. I miss you, and I'm not ashamed to admit it again and again. Because I found solace in your company when I've been deprived of it for years and then some. So I guess if we're not meant to be lovers, then I hope we can remain as friends. And if not friends, then being strangers to one another would suffice, so long as we remain acknowledging our existence with acceptance and truth. That we're just two lonely souls desperate for a little love, hoping nothing but the best of outcomes even if we don't meet again.

( a five-minute write-up about reminiscing on a love affair that burned its mark inside ribcages. a type of looking-back to memories and "what if"'s and "could have been" but instead became a feeling of content or whatnot in a shared past. life is unfair, but it doesn't have to hurt sometimes. )

[oohae]

She was every bit of suicide, in every existing sense of the word, that hurt in the most excruciating way. It wasn't expected to hurt this badly. Perhaps a sting every once in a while that would pass as another eye candy or two would brush past her slim figure. But it burned as the stem stretched, branching farther into her vessels and piercing through the flesh that yearned of the slightest bit of reciprocation. For years, she had thought that this immeasurable pain was just a figment of imagination. A desperate attempt to label an exaggerated act of self-sabotage. A lie adults would whisper to their children to scare them from committing a mistake. A product of placing hurt beside regret when you adore someone a little to much. But it weighed heavier than all of those combined. This suicide was selling her soul to the highest bidder only to be left ignored, calls unreturned, cheque blank, and with no explanation offered for declination. This was suicide by placing too much trust and expectation on another warm body, gambling high stakes and leaving the casino bare of cash and coins; a heist conducted by the most ignorant and dense of people. It was a mistake with no chance for reparations. Just desperate wails growing louder and louder by the minute, pleading a case that would time and time again be rejected. And it hurt in latitudes that constricted oxygen from entering her throat. It hurt so bad that her limbs ached from the betrayal of her own body still waiting to be cradled by unfazed arms even when it knew it would never happen. It hurt to realize that promises are just words shy of any bearing; a profession of comical intent, like numbers without any value. She struggled to laugh. Even Wall Street would never dare to be this crass and cruel despite their apathy towards the poor. Hell, the economy could crumble, but they would never fail to return to a love that was patiently waiting at home. Those men were all sorts of evil but they all turned to a woman whose warmth made their knees weak and faith strengthened. And she had wished it could be the same fate for her. Yet all those nights spent pondering if he would ever be able to learn how to love and be loved in return had all just accumulated into this. The feeling of every bit of suicide masked in another attempt to salvage what was never there at all, to hurl back a man who bowed to no one, to still spend what was remaining of her soul in servitude to a deity who would have never turned its warmer cheek to her direction. Love was a disease and she prayed hard that she could have known sooner. Because the real struggle in this suicide was realizing you could never turn back the way you once were. "It shouldn't hurt this badly," she thought, as the three out of the last five baby's breaths fell to her marble floor. Not when she never meant to fall in this deep. Not when she thought she could never trust a deceit she saw miles from where she was standing. Not when she promised her mother she would never make the same mistake of bearing her heart to a despicable man. And not when all she had ever wanted is to finally return a love she had held out from others, only to pour out to him and regret it, coughing out the last stem that slid from her lungs, tear-strained and still wishing he had been here to tell her he loved her even if he didn't mean it.

— this is the chapter where i finally decide to put myself back together and turn away from you. it has been months of treading back and forth, wishing each day would be better and favorable for us, but to no avail. maybe i'll harbor the hell i could never unleash on you. maybe i'll let it escape and just learn from it all again. i never thought i would ever come stumbling to unrequited's doorsteps, but i'm now closing the door and throwing in the towel. i've loved you far too much than i initially ought to. you're no longer welcome in places i've made my home. ah, god. it feels so good to come to terms with the self regarding this matter. who the fuck knew i'd have the strength to do so after months of literally crawling to spaces i don't belong? i feel like i can breathe again.

[oohae]

Sometimes I talk to myself about things. While the cold breeze of the August night passes by, whistling through the leaves that stood firmly between houses, I find myself relishing the feeling of being head over heels in love with someone that isn't me. Someone I can recognize as the other half of me, perhaps. I remember the words you engraved with red kisses on a note; a subtle critique of my narcissism and vulnerability against the will to patch myself up anew. You mentioned seeing the bruises on my knees and under my lower eyelids — how they bloomed into lilacs and blues, much like the shades of blown-out capillaries on the soft planes of your neck and shoulder blades, and down to your back and hips that put the "miss" in Mississippi. It's a perfect illusion on the human body when you envision a shipwreck of chemistry, feeding off on one another's energy whether with serenity or violence, moving back and forth until we reached your address, both a mess of heavily intoxicated souls pushed up against passion-tainted walls. I wasn't one to gamble, but I risked with you something I didn't own. Became a peasant to Penelope's throne the moment I found the fool's gold hidden between your milky thighs. Sighing on grimes, the quest to figure out what was unconsciously blurred in between led to the cemetery - a six-foot deep hole in the shape of our bodies, a rather cold greeting that paled in contrast to your skin. You failed to mention that, though, which is why I opted to ask you here instead. Is my secret safe with just you and me? Because sometimes I talk to myself about things. While the August night dawns into a September dusk, calmly sweeping through the tiny spaces between books after books in the wooden shelves, I find myself praying if you mind the lies we conceive of, building a world that would serve a sense of comfort for the likes of us. Raw with guilt and desire, hardly caught off guard as the need for pretenses just keeps getting stronger.