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[soleevan]

To love is a beautiful thing. And, my, you have grown so much now that you finally understand love, have loved, and have learned to love new things as well as new people. Above all, I think it is beautiful that you still choose to love despite having your heart shattered along the way whenever you do not get to be loved the same way you do. But you carefully put your heart’s pieces together, allowing it to heal with the seasons so you’d have something whole you could offer to someone who would love you just the way you wanted.

You’re a lover. You knew you were made to love. God you have so much love in your heart that it overflows I know you could fill out so many pages expressing your devotion to people you hold dear in your heart until your pen runs out of ink. I’m sure you’d talk for hours if you were asked to name all of the things or people you adore, and you’d do it until your voice becomes dry and hoarse—until you’re unable to speak even a single coherent word. But how long would it take you to mention you?

You would give love to any besides yourself.

[soleevan]

Pragma

— Enduring Love. 🍊

There is something very romantic and ardent about peeling an orange for someone and having someone peel an orange for you. I mean, I could have done it myself; peeled mine and removed the pith—but to be insisted that you do it for me is just vastly different. The energy and time that you would devote to it and how you are willing to do the simplest acts that I can simply do for myself is soul-stirring.

I love you. I would peel off every orange’s rind and remove its stringy, spongy white stuff before I feed it to you. I would rinse every fruit you will ever crave—slice, remove its seeds and peel its every covering for you, too.

 And I know you can, but let me do it for you.

(And I would not give you just a slice or the half, but the entirety of the fruit.)

[soleevan]

Marami akong bagay na ayaw sa mundo. Kabilang sa napakahabang listahan ko ay ang dilim, makikipot na daan, at mga taong may kakayahang bahiran ng dumi ang persepsyon ng isang tao sa kaniyang sarili. Nakakapangamba, na sa isang salita, maging sa simpleng kilos gaya ng pagtaas ng isang kilay at ‘di kaaya-ayang tingin, ay napupunan nito ang iyong isip ng libo-libong duda. Paanong sa ilang segundo, nawala nang parang bula ang kompiyansang nabuo mo sa mahabang panahon? Paanong hindi na kasing tingkad ng iyong pag-ngiti kahapon, maging kislap sa iyong tingin ay naglaho ngayon sa harap ng iyong repleksyon? Minsan madalas, mas madali pa sa iyo tumanggap ng kutya’t kabulaanan kaysa katotohanan. Parang kahit ilang libo man ang matanggap mong papuri sa libo-libong tao, mas tatatak pa rin sa iyo ang mga salitang nakakapagpalubog ng iyong puso.

“Ang ganda mo.”

“Parang hindi naman.”

Kung gagawaran mo ako ng pribilehiyo na hawakan ka’t mapalapit pa nang husto sa iyo, luluhod ako sa harap mo’t yuyuko para halikan ang iyong talampakan, pataas sa mga parte ng iyong katawan na iyong kinamumuhian. Imamapa ko ang pook ng mga dahilan ng iyong bawat paghikbi sa kinagabihan, pag-iwas mo ng tingin sa kamera’t maging paglaho ng iyong ngiti kapag natatapat ka sa panganinuhan.

Kung p’wede lang, kusa sanang mapunta sa akin lahat ng dahilan sa likod ng pagsimangot mo—lahat ng dahilan kung bakit mababa ang tingin mo sa iyong sarili, at ibabalik ko ito sa iyo sa anyo ng pag-ibig. Bibinyagan kita ng aking mga halik, ang bawat yapos ko’y magsisilbing pang-alis ng hindi magandang pakiramdam na nakaukit sa iyong isip. Sana alam mong sa mga mata ko’y mukha mo’y perpektong nililok—ikaw ang personipikasyon ng salitang perpekto. At kung totoo man ang Diyos, walang duda na ikaw ang kaniyang paboritong likha rito sa mundo.

Tangina, ang ganda mo.

Hindi ako magsasawang iguhit at ipinta ka sa tela ng aking kuwadro, maging sa aking mga kwaderno. Ikaw ang inspirasyon sa aking isusulat na libro, maging paksa sa tula’t mga prosa na isasatitik ko. Ikaw ang nag-iisang musa sa aking museyo.

Marami akong bagay na hindi gusto, at isang kagustuhan naman sa buhay ko. Kung bibigyan ako ng pagkakataon na humiling sa dyini, tatlong beses kong nanaisin na mahalin mo ang iyong sarili gaya ng pagmamahal ko sa iyo, tangi.

Sulat para kay Yaretzi, galing kay Sullivan.

[soleevan]

My bed becomes a casket.

I lay flat on it with no will to get myself up to start my morning. And it’s not like I want to do anything for the day other than rot in my bed. I make no effort to lift my back off the mattress.

Sometimes, comfort is not some company but a pillow and a soft bed with a warm duvet, and I let myself be engulfed by it today. Now I stare at the ceiling; a strange mixture of contentment and dread washes over me.

Do I deserve this break?

I know I don’t. I still have a lot on my plate.

But let me be dead for today.

For come what may, I will resurrect by dawn.

[soleevan]

I need to be sensed to feel that I exist.

I want eyes on me, but I always have the pathetic urge to bow my head down when someone gazes in my direction.

I long to be heard, but my words always seem to get stuck in the hollow of my throat, forming such a lump that it cannot get its way out for me to utter even a single word.

I crave to be touched, but I flinch like I feel flame when someone gets too close to my skin.

It is that constant longing to be recognized. Sometimes, I feel more like a ghost than a ghost itself—walking through hallways and streets; wandering, and observing distinctive details that most people don’t pay no mind.

I need to be sensed to feel that I am alive, but I’d rather be gone than be in the limelight.

Every day, I fight a battle against my own self.