So I went back to office, back to the real world– back to my job.
Well, I can’t stay there with her forever, now can I ?

Although I do wish that I could.

I have this one particular co-worker.
He’s a little bit, eccentric, you could say– sensitive to his surroundings.
When I got back, after I met her, I went straight to the office from the airport.
And he was there, reading a book, and listening to a certain music.
I threw my jacket, put down my bag, and sat beside him.

“Well how was it ?”

“It was shit. A total shit.”

“You mean everything went better than expected and you want to go back.”

I nodded.
I did tell him some stories about her and about me going to meet her and such.
He actually told me that I need to ‘clear some things up’ while I’m at it.
Well, did I actually clear some things up with her?
I actually think I did.

“Tell me the story. Did you met her?”

“Although I’m not pretty sure what happened.”
“We had dinner, we watched a show together, we talked about a lot of things, as if we were trying to catch up after 1.5 years of not seeing each other.”
“And.. I did say that I love her, right in front of her face.”
“The answer was as expected, she said that she doesn’t want to think about getting in a relationship, not while she’s not yet settled nor stable.”
“And, you know, I actually felt so fine about it. No resentment, no anger. No.”
“What’s more, I also put some sense into her by saying that moving and loving someone are two different things, which, I know you’ll get the meaning.”
“You know, I even told her that you actually put her as a ball and chain for me.”
“But her place is not there. I think you know where.”

He smiled and nodded several times.

“There’s a reason why I put her as a ball and chain.”
“I have a theory, but it ends with a question and you have to answer it.”
“I actually am not really interested in the story of what were you actually doing with her during the time you meet her and all. I’m interested in something else.”
“Before I continue, tell me the story when you actually met her again.”

“Uh, okay?”
“I was reading a book, in an outdoor mall square and such, waiting for her.”
“I told her where I was, and what I was doing.”
“And of course she showed up.”

“What was it like?”
“I’ve been in your position once.”
“I know how it feels like to love someone, to have someone as your weakness, to be vulnerable to someone, to have someone as your undoing. Or to say it in a nerd way: to have someone as your goddamn kryptonite and be perfectly fine with it.”
“Let me tell you that it was decided in the way you look at someone after you haven’t seen them in years.”
“So, what happened after you saw her? Did you put your head down and smile just a little bit? Did you cry? Did you look at her and smile for no reason?”
“Because, when you actually put your head down, well, I think you don’t really love her. I think it’s a sign that the love is actually diminished, or even gone.”
“So? Are you done with her? Or is her place in you really is not at your feet as a ball and chain, but in your heart as you said to me before?”


I was sitting beside a certain fountain in an outdoor district square, reading Hemingway’s Farewell To Arms, and waiting for her.
I was lost in my own thoughts, with my hearts slightly racing, all did under the loud crowd noises and the strong smell of Chlorine.
Unable to concentrate with my book, I was trying to find something that I could do or say the first thing when I saw her later that day.
I took out my phone, and put Bach’s Cantata BWV 208 with almost full volume.
After few movements without any conclusion on what should I do, she showed up.
She waved her hand in front of my face between me and my books.

It took me second good look at her to convince myself that it was real.

The second time I looked at her, I froze in place, standing, looking at her.
That same voice, that same face, that same small body of hers.

I remember that I smiled like an idiot in front of her that day.

And, all she could muster out of her lips was:

“What is it? Come on, let’s go!”

If only she knew how beautiful she was that day.


“I think I’m screwed.”
“I did make a stupid smiling face in front of her while looking at her.”

He smiled, nodded again several times, and handed me a pen.

“It’s your time to write about it.”

I took the pen, back to my table, took one of my books, and started to write.


…. After looking at her, I’ve realized that, right now, it’s all about her …





Dear Love,

I can’t help but wonder if you actually feel lost right now.
Because, it’s as if you still don’t even fully understand on what you want to do.
Go on, gulp that self-pity; feel like a victim; whatever; but I believe you know that you still have to stand up for yourself and do whatever it is that you want.
Now, with you in your own state of ‘failure’ and being quite unsure about things, I, again, can’t help but thinking if you actually are feeling lost.

Well, if you do, I’m going to congratulate you anyway.

Because, you are supposed to feel lost right now.

Love, you are not supposed to feel like you have everything figured out.
You’re not supposed to be the magical CEO of a huge company, or maybe even be the next swimming Olympic champion because you said you’re so good at swimming.
Alright, you may have your say by saying that you’re not yet ‘stable’ nor settled.

But, Love, you have to know: right now, you are NOT supposed to be at the peak of your career yet, or even the peak of your life.

It’s only almost one year since you first drank alcohol, not to mention that it’s not even a year since you graduated from university and got your degree.
You have only spent – what, 23? – years around the sun, that’s all.
If I were you, I would maybe rather be lost any day than to have a set schedule, a ten-year plan, or to be confined in a cubicle in a certain office with nowhere to go and with no new places to see that limits my growth.
Yes, I would rather be lost any day, than to be stuck in a career that I hate.

In fact, being lost is a privilege.

Because it gives you endless opportunities to find what you are looking for.
It gives you endless sights to see and, arguably, endless jobs to take.
And most importantly, it gives you the ultimate freedom to discover yourself.
Embrace it, and welcome that new found state of mind of being lost: the feeling of being uncomfortable, the uneasiness, the fear, and the doubts.
Love, no one ever gets anywhere– no one ever gets to where they want to be, before getting lost, and turned around at the first place.
So go on, call yourself a failure, weep over it, indulge yourself in self-pity.
Make yourself a victim of the things that you shouldn’t be a victim to.
But let me tell you that it won’t bring you anything.
Like I said, do whatever it is that you want to do, be it writing books, professional writer, make YouTube videos along with your own channel, go on.

Now you know exactly why I asked you this one goddamn question:

What do you want to do ?

Love, you still have too many years ahead to find where you are supposed to be going, and you still have too many years ahead to figure out what you want to do.
So, maybe stay lost for a while longer, embrace the feeling, embrace what it feels like to walk and unsteady path towards what you truly desire.
And know that one day, you will look back at this journey, and you will remember that you were once being 23 and so confused about things.
You will remember being 23 and completely terrified.

But most importantly, you will remember how being lost finally brought you to the place you really wanted to be, that it finally brought you to yourself.








This will be a quick one: I finally met her.
Now, let me tell you how it feels like to meet someone you so dearly love that you haven’t met in almost 1.5 years, in just one word:


I currently am having difficulties in explaining how she looked like.
All I know, it felt so dreamy– it felt so fucking surreal.
I was having a difficult time to accept that she was standing in front of me, with that same small body, with those same eyes, and with that same smile of hers.
It was as if time was moving so slowly that it allows me to examine her closely.

Long story short, we had dinner, and we went to some kind of park.
There, we talked about a lot of things; and there, was actually the first time we talked about things between us directly to each other since more than a year ago.
And I, actually talked about my feelings to her.

I asked her if she knows that I’m still in love with her, and she said yes.
Then I asked her if she still doesn’t want to be in a relationship whatsoever.
She said yes to that one, too, saying that she doesn’t want to think about those kind of things when she’s not yet fully ‘stable’ and ‘settled’ about her life.
She once again told me that I should not wait for her and all.
I said that I’m not waiting for her, and she said okay.
But she said I should move on.

“Move On”.

I pondered about those words a lot after what happened to me and her.
What is it exactly? And what does it have anything to do with love?

Let me tell you how cruel it was for me.
I wanted to talk about what happened to me with her; I wanted her to tell me face to face what went wrong; about what exactly happened between me and her.
I wanted closure– I wanted my pain to be acknowledged by her.
To make it worse, I wasn’t able to get any confrontational closure from her.
I wasn’t able to get her into fully acknowledge my hurting.
And what happened was, I fully locked myself in limbo.

Okay, I know it’s natural to lament and all.
But now, I also understand it’s so easy to become morbidly self-indulgent.
And it’s just so easy to stew myself in the predicament.
But, like having the blinkers on my eyes, I exclusively excluded everything else.
I even excluded the fact that other people hurt– that my pain is but one in many.

She hurts, too.

I understand that she might be having a difficult time as well.
Yes, I demanded an answer; yes, I demanded an explanation.
But she wasn’t ready to give one, and didn’t,
I was desperate, and I was obsessed, and that made her withdraw entirely.
Yes, granted, she could have handled it in so many alternative ways than those silent disengagement she gave me, but blaming her is not the fucking point.
And that’s what happened to me: I stopped feeling bad for myself.
I was able to see the effects of my actions on her side and consider her perspective, and also fully empathizing with her difficulties.

Back to reality now.
When I saw her after all this time, strangely, I didn’t feel angry at her anymore.
I saw that she was still that charming individual that I still love so dearly, with same beautiful kindness, and beautiful heart that she have inside her heart.

And you know, without knowing it, I had long forgiven her and myself for what happened to her– I accepted those moments, and I acknowledged them.
I become brave, I become strong in loving her and forgiving.
I remember that everybody hurts.
And right now I know for a fact that I am stronger, wiser, and more compassionate.

That, is when I know that I have moved on.

Yet, she kept telling me that I am still waiting for her and haven’t moved on.
While in fact, loving someone and moving on are two different things.
I could say that I’ve forgiven her for her decisions.
I could say that I’ve accepted the things that happened.
I could even say that I respect her decisions for wanting to be stable or even settle down and still want to build up her career and all.

But that does not mean that I cannot love her.

See, I could accept all of those and still loving her so much and all.

I stopped letting anything but love wash over me and take control over me.
Right now, I will let everything happen naturally.
No, I can’t force anything, and I believe she understands that correctly.


Dear Love,

What my co-worker said was wrong.
You’re not a shackle with ball and chain tied to my feet.

Your place is not over there, not at all.
I don’t see you as someone that’s holding me back to do things.
Because, well, you aren’t.

I’m walking, and I keep walking with my own pace in doing things.
I still read my books, I still write things.
I’m still working with the same intensity and passion as before.
And ultimately, I still am working myself to be a better man day by day.
You see how I am doing right now– you see how I’ve become.

You’re not a shackle, and not a ball and chain.
And I don’t see you being tied to one of my feet.
Love, know that your place is in my heart.

Where you grow, extending your roots deep inside my soul.







Dear Love,

There are a lot of things that I can’t promise you.

I can’t promise you that I will start to like bittergourd. Seriously, it’s so bitter, I can’t even imagine why would you like to put any dishes based on it in your mouth, not to mention chew it happily and smiling. I don’t understand, and I don’t think I ever will understand why it’s good.

I can’t promise to always be kind, especially when I’m upset. As you may know, I rarely get upset, but when I do, it’s something else. My anger and my head could get the best of me. Although I’m not that explosive and all, but believe me that I do understand that I might be at my worst when I’m upset about something.

And maybe most honestly, I can’t promise you things will be easy.

We are going to have moments when everything is piling up and it feels like too much. We’re going to have moments like that one you have right now– where everything is just so gloom and there doesn’t seem like an easy and instant way out of the situation you are in right now. And if that’s solved, it doesn’t stop there: we’re going to have to work and work, and when we’re so exhausted from all that work, we’re going to have to work more. I never expected life to be a cake walk.

So sure, there are a lot of things that I can’t promise you. Maybe this will sounds like a laundry list of things that I can’t give to you– maybe this will sounds like the most unromantic set of vows ever, I know.

But I can promise you this: I will never abandon you when things get dark.

When things get uncertain and frightening, I will be there to hold your hand. Okay, I might probably be scared, too. And know that I can’t promise calm guidance or an instant fix. But I will be there for you. I will be there.

For all the times you’ve been the strong one, I will do the same. You can lean on me when things are tough and you’re questioning your own strength, or even self-worth. And even if, let’s say, we both fall to the ground, I’ll be there helping you brush the dirt from your knees.

Love, life is not something we both can ever promise. I know that even though I made several promises to you. Life is always changing and evolving, and even you and I are going to be different people 10 or 20 years down the road.

But the promise I can make, and, more importantly, the one I can keep is that I’ll be there for you. And, when the darkness comes – as cheesy and as stupid as this might sounds – I will find a flashlight for you.

Love, know that I’ll be the light when you’re afraid it will never come.






I hate this feeling.

So, tell me, what would you lot feel about this:
What if someone is rubbing something– something related to your feelings straight and directly into your face without maybe understand what you are feeling?
It was simple, really, what she did was a stupid thing.
I said it was stupid because I’m not supposed to be pissed off about it.
But I can’t helped it, I was partly pissed.

I was about to go to work.
We were texting each other, and it was early in the morning.
I was about to take a shower when suddenly she sent me a photo.
And it was… My e-ticket; my boarding pass.

1.5 years ago, I was about to meet her and all.
She was the one that actually bought the ticket for me to go her place.
And I didn’t actually know that she still actually keep the e-ticket, but she did– she did and she did send it to me when we were texting about things.
Yes, it brought me to a flashback, and no, I won’t describe it.

It took me almost 10 minutes to actually remember every single thing that happened between me and her that week when I was actually with her the whole time.

I remember every details, like, every single thing, it’s almost creepy.
From the clothes that she was wearing on the day we met at the airport, until those faces she made when we were having our late lunch hours before I went back home.
If the last time I said that the feeling actually made me miss her, it’s the same.
Only, this time, it’s just WAY much more than that.

Honestly, it feels like she’s rubbing it on my face.

It’s almost as if like she doesn’t even care about it– as if she’s just being so fine about it, up to the point she doesn’t care about it any longer that she’s making fun of what happened between me and her– those memories.
I’m not being overly sensitive, but, that did kind of make me sad.
Ugh, I don’t even want to talk about it, really.
It was as if she lit a fire inside of me all over again when she did that.
What’s more, she went away for vacation (?) and wasn’t able to text me at all.
I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it, but that was like adding fuel to a fire.

Okay, I believe she understands how I feel about her– I believe she does.
And I know she’s not stupid, at least hopefully not.

But, I kind of wish that she would at least respond to what I’m feeling– to what she’s awaken more and more ever since she pried into my heart.


Dear Love,

That was honestly kind of cruel.
No, not literally and not exactly or even definitely cruel.
But you did lit a fire inside of me, and it burns bright right now.

I’ve been writing, and I’ve been writing a lot ever since you did that a week ago.
And all I could write is just how much I miss the hell out of you and all.

Honestly, that’s why I rarely post anything these days.
It seems as if all my writings are so cliche, I don’t even dare to post them all.
Call it whatever you want, writer’s block or anything, but that’s the truth.
Yet, right now, I can’t help myself to write something about it.
I might not post it, I might not talk about it, but my book’s filled with it.

And I guess, right now, I’ll back to write things in my book and all.

Because the best heart to write with, is the one that’s burning with love’s desire.
This heart– my heart; burning; with love; for you.





I don’t know what happened.
Suddenly, she and I talked a lot– like, a lot.
Well, we don’t exactly talk about things between us.

It’s more like.. We are trying to catch up after what happened to us a year ago.

It all started with a job vacancy.
She’s struggling to find a job that meets her needs.
It’s not like she’s being picky, it’s more like she wants a decent job.
And I could understand her, I mean, I myself was looking for a good job, too.
So, yeah, it all started with her looking for a job– job vacancy.
She asked me to help her, and I immediately said yes.

Okay, look, I’m happy, I really am.
I mean, it’s been months since she and I talked about a lot of things like this.
And back then, I guess she and I was so busy with our own things, we didn’t even get the chance to talk about random things, and not to mention, I was pestering her with things that I want from her.
I guess she was totally pissed.
But right now, I’m happy, at least I get to talk to her daily once again.

I’m honestly okay with her not wanting to hear anything about love.
I could understand her, and I stopped talking about anything related to love to her.
I do love her, and I do want to spend my time with her, but I can’t force anything.
Not while she’s fed up to love like this– while all she could think right now is how hard it is for her to find a job and play a certain game all day long.

But it’s funny.

Sometimes, when I’m talking to her, she would say something about us.
She would intentionally take a very, very small piece of our memory, and present it to me in a very subtle way; well, sometimes it’s not even that subtle:

“Yeah, so tomorrow I’m going to that fish restaurant place.”

“The restaurant that serves.. That big of a fish?”

“Yeah, that one.”
“That particular place.”
“.. Us looking at each other, eh.”

I spaced out for few seconds after that last sentence.
She actually hit my rewind button very hard, back to around 1.5 years ago.
I closed my eyes for a moment, and in that short of a time, I saw everything.


She and I were in that very same restaurant that she mentioned.
We were even eating the very same dish that I mentioned to her.
We were talking, eating, you know, usual dinner shits that couples would do.
While we were talking, I would occasionally look around sometimes, and told her about the place and the people that ate over there in that place.
Suddenly, I saw someone at the table to our left (for her it’s right).
Those two people were Chinese and Belgian man, eating almost the same dish.
And, oh, I knew their nationality from their talks.

When I was looking at those two people, I saw something strange.
The strange thing was how the Belgian man holding his chopsticks.
Apparently, he can’t use his chopsticks the right way, and he was using it as a fork, holding it in the left hand, while also holding spoon in his right hand.
I froze for few seconds, looking at the man trying to take a portion of the fish’s meat, and he was struggling because of the way he was using his chopsticks.
I looked back at her, and she was looking at the man, too.
She was making almost the same what-the-fuck face that I was making.

We then looked at each other and laughed.

People would say that it was a simple and very stupid usual moment.
But, in that moment, in that one stupid and simple moment, we felt something.
It was the time where we felt so connected with each other.
We didn’t need words, all we had to do was looking at each other, and, ZAP!
We instantly understood each other, just like that.

In that short moment, we knew that there’s a bond between us.
It was a beautiful moment– oh it really was.
I believe she’d agree with me.


I opened my eyes, and saw her chat to me once again.
It has been around 1.5 years, yet that moment is still as clear as a day.
Well, there clearly is nothing wrong with being so nostalgic.
Especially when I was reminiscing it with one person that I love so dearly.
I didn’t know what to say to her, so I proceeded to reply her with:

“.. Yeah, right, I guess so.”

Good thing that she’s not having amnesia and all.
Yet, what I was thinking was, what does she think about it now?
I mean, does she still cherish the moment?
Does she still feel how connected she and I to each other?
Does she still feel the love that we have between us?
The latter’s unlikely, I know, but still.

Okay, I miss her, and I miss her a lot.
I might not show it to anyone, and not even to her, but I do.

And I miss her even more after all those memories went back inside my head.


Dear Love,

I’ll keep this short and simple: I miss you.

I miss the way you laugh– God, you have such a beautiful laugh, a laugh that instantly makes me smile, just like the voice that comes out when you start to talk.
I miss the way you always made me laugh; for you’d do nearly anything just to see my face light up– even those crazy, stupid faces of yours that you showed to me.
I miss the way we fit together seamlessly without even trying.

For when I’m getting close to you, when we do things, when we talk about things, I am suddenly awakened, for you constantly, genuinely, steal my breath away.
I’m going to say this again, even though I’ve said it again and again: I love you.
Love, loving you has liberated me of loathing and pettiness and I find myself free, for the very first time in my life, to be completely and spectacularly present.
Call me crazy, but there is something strangely familiar about the two of us.
The scope and depth of our connection suggests that it was forged long before you and I were ever here– and all of our strengths and flaws compliment one another easily and gently without resistance or even friction.

Love, I miss you and I miss all the way you do things.
And I think, I’ll always want to do everything on this wretched Earth with you.

But more than the way I miss how you do anything, I just miss you.

I miss you– I do.








I need to slow the fuck down.

It was a hectic week, in which I was putting all my attention and energy to.
I’m not going to vent about my work, it’s already as bad as it is.
Bad as in, I’m quite overwhelmed with my work to the point where it’s kind of stressful and not really fun and all.
It’s a pressure, because right now I currently am doing something that I have never done before in my entire life, and I’m working hard to get better.
Diamonds are made under pressure, they said.


Yesterday I went upstairs.
At weekdays, the floor is filled with marketing people.
Marketing coordinators, marketing managers and their associates, whatever.
I went to this one co-worker of mine.
And, well, we talked.
Actually, I don’t understand with some people in my office.
It’s as if they could see right through someone.
Remember the last time I went to grab drinks and two of my co-workers said something about my personality and all?
Well, this one was saying almost the same thing as them.

“There are a lot of rumours about you, you know.”
“Rumours that you’re easily getting close to people. Rumours that said, you are messing around and talk to girls and all and just getting chummy with them.”
“Some of them even call you Don Juan for no reason, right?”

“I guess they are just being jealous that I talked to a lot of people.”
“I’m not looking for anything, really. I just like to talk to a lot of people and build co-worker relationship with them. You know, pretty normal stuff.”
“I just don’t give a shit on what they might think and all.”

“I know, but let me tell you the twist about it.”
“They are actually care about you a lot, you know.”

“I don’t think that bullshit is true.”

“It is true. They are actually paying a lot of attention on you, you know.”
“They said that, even though you do that, even though you are talking to a lot of people, somehow that does not show who you are, somehow there’s something more.”
“You’re not that shallow. I know. Look at your books. Look at how you talk.”
“Some people that I’m close to in the office said that there’s this invisible barrier that you put in front of people so they will not get close to you and all.”
“Do you even have a best friend and stuffs?”

I shook my head.

“Why so? I mean, I have never found a person that doesn’t have best friend.”

“Well, you do now. I mean, I have people that I am close to, that is true. But I do not regard them as one, just because.. I don’t think that they are.”
“But how.. Did those people pay attention to me? So they do look beyond what they see. So they do understand that what people see from another people is not always the reflection on what’s really inside that people.”

“Because they could look at people, you know.”
“Like I said, most people could perceive from what you read, from your books, from how you talk to people. And not just from what you really do to most people.”
“The thing is, why are you afraid to get close to people? What’s stopping you?”
“Don’t tell me that you are afraid of commitment and all.”

I didn’t answer her and just gave her a slight smile.
It was way past working time, and it was Friday.
But she made me thinking about what she said to me– whether it’s true or not.
And, well, honestly, I would say that it was true.
Maybe I do secretly let people get close only to some extent.

And if you ask me why I do that, well, it’s because of what happened to me.
I’m not going to explain anything here.
No, I don’t think I need to explain anything on why I do that to people.

I’ll let you lot wonder about it.

Although, if some of you have read my previous posts, I think by now you should understand why I subconsciously put that barrier in front of me.


Dear Love,

You know what I think right about you that might true or might not be true?
I don’t know if this is just a mirror or reflection of who I am at this moment.
But, I would say it, because that’s just what I see about you right now:

You are afraid of love, afraid of feelings, and afraid of your own heart.

Yes, that’s what I perceive you are right now– it’s just that simple.
You are simply afraid– you are simply scared of the possibility of being hurt.
But maybe, more than that, you are scared of the possibility that you can’t trust me, or even more bigger thing than that: that you cannot trust yourself.
Your feelings, your instincts, your wants, or even your own heart.

Maybe you’ve given it to the wrong people time and time again and she’s tired of searching for the staples, and the thread to stitch your heart back together when those imbeciles done ripping your heart to shreds.
Maybe you’ve watched as it broke over and over again when you didn’t even give your heart the chance to be seen, to be known, or even to say what it needed to say.
Maybe, maybe it’s permanently scarred and dented with the prints of those people who held it only to inevitably drop it carelessly and thoughtlessly.

And so, you are afraid of it.
You are afraid of what it means to give your heart away, to let it be heard, and to have to protect it so vigilantly after what happened.
I don’t know if you are simply afraid of what you or other people will do to your heart, or maybe you are even afraid of your own heart because you’ve never totally sure that you could believe your own heart when it whispers “Trust me.”

Love, I don’t mean that you are dead inside, or even allergic to feelings, I’m just saying that maybe you are afraid of what will happen when you let me see your heart. Or maybe, especially even more to the possibility of what will happen when you let yourself see it– when you remind yourself that your heart is there and deserves to come out.

You’re not the girl anyone could’ve pictured in their head– not even me.
I know that there’s no such thing as you magically open up to me or wake up one morning and feel like you are healed and better and can trust your gut to me.
Moreover, to trust your soul and all your heart to me.
Yes, you are complicated, and you are cautious.
And I’ve known that it’s likely, to certain extent, you will always be like that.

But the thing about you is that it means it is unbelievably special when you decides to let your heart be shown– and I fully understand that about you.
And I know that no matter how long it takes, or just how much your hands will shake as you hold your heart and show it to me while silently saying: “I hope this is the right thing for you now.” I know that, eventually, you will anyway.

Love, it is okay to be afraid.
But you have to know that it is also okay to take the leap.

Maybe I am writing this while looking at the mirror.
Maybe after what my co-worker said to me, all the words that I’ve wrote to you just now, are merely just a reflection of what I really am at this moment.
Maybe, and maybe not– who knows? (Well, technically, each of us does.)

Or maybe, the truth is, deep inside, we do need each other badly, but we are too busy holding our heads up high and caging our hearts– thus shutting them down.

Maybe we understand what we want to do with each other– that is everything.
Maybe we want a burning passion from each other, but also a best friend.
Maybe, maybe we want someone that will stick around through the good times and the bad times, and all the passion and all that comes along with it.

Yes, we meant to love with our whole hearts.
Because deeply, we know that each of us could handle each other’s heart gently.

Love, know that we cannot remove each other’s scars.
I can’t even rewrite all the past you have that haunts you until this very day.
But all I know, is that, we could hold each other, slowly, and gently.

Know that I will hold you tight and tell you that everything is going to be okay.






My heart won’t slow down.
It keeps beating itself out, thumping on its war drums.

I am afraid.

I am afraid of how my memory works.

8 months ago, when I first move to this town, her face was all that I could remember every single time I went home from work.
In a flash, she came to my mind, and I would instantly remember her features.
Her nose, her lips, her eyes, her hair, her neck, her voice, everything.
But now, it’s as if my memory starts to fail me.
Because like I said, it did took me a flash, but it gets worse.
Now, it takes me seconds just to remember how her smile looks like.

It’s like my memory has grown increasingly distant, that I have this problem of building up her face, body, and all, inside my memory– as if I’ve turned into a lousy, outdated Graphics Processing Unit that slows down few hundred milliseconds every single day just to render the image of her inside my head.

Realizing this, I felt an instant pang of dread.

What if, one day, I’ve forgotten the most important thing in my soul?

What if, because we won’t have the chance to – or she just doesn’t want to – talk, see, or even embrace each other again, she fades from my head one day?

What if somewhere inside me there is a dark limbo where all the truly important memories are heaped into worthless junks and slowly turning into mud ?

More than a year ago, when she and I were constantly talking to each other, she did fill my heart and mind, and of course she’s far more vivid in my memory than now.
She loved to write about me and about us, and I, often tried that too.
But the words never did come out, I could never made it happen.
Because she was too sharp and too clear, like trying to fit hundreds of thousands or even millions of words into one, small, 2 x 1 metres whiteboard.

Maybe ever since our last talk over Skype, it started to happen in my memory.

And maybe that’s why I am able to write about her ever since.

I clutch these fading, imperfect memories with desperately intensity inside my heart and soul, like a mother trying to protect her child by clutching them tight near her breast, protecting them from anyone that is trying to kill them.
I know that eventually, I will die, we all will someday, and moments before that, might be the last time I could remember her, no matter how long or how fast my memory could bring her to the surface of my heart and mind.

But, please, not now– not while I live– not while my heart still ache for her warmth– not while the fire still burns wildly within my body and soul.

Yes, I am afraid– and I could if I would, write those words thousands and thousands of times: I am afraid– I am afraid of how my memory works.

The fear filled me, and have taken me completely with unbearable sorrow right now.
And all I want at this moment, is just to hug her, and feel her bare skin with my own hands, while slowly caressing her hair and gently kiss her forehead.
I want her image to once again fill me and blend with me like a ghost possessing a body– with all its perfect imperfections– and drenched in her grace.

I just want her, and her only.

Not the ideas, not the thoughts, and not the superficial shits people put on the internet, social medias, or whatever it is that people usually do.






Trust issues sucks.

They are the absolute worst, because you can never be truly happy. Maybe you can be happy for a few minutes, and then all the anxiety takes over you, and you start to get worried and think about all the bad things that could possibly happen. What’s worse, you can’t open up to people without worrying about the laughing at you behind your back or worrying about whether they like you as much as you actually like them.

You’re constantly worried and thinking of the worst case scenarios, and it sucks, because it’s not your fault, and it’s not even your fault.

It’s the fault of the person who fucked you up.

Not only did you shut out the pain, you shut out everything– the good, the bad, just everything– until there was nothing inside your heart.

I am sorry– completely and terribly, that you ache and that you bleed, and that you crumble so much, that it felt as if you were going to disintegrate into a million, hopeless pieces. For all the tide that blossomed in your eyes when you want nothing more than a calm, blue sea. For all the times I can’t do anything for you– for I know that you are all, and you, are everything.

I just want to say that not everything is made up of war or bloodshed, sometimes all you need is just a quiet fight, a dim softness within you, that flickers even on your darkest days, and reminds you that there are people around you that love you for you are– that will tell you that you are strong and growing– that you are filled with hope.

That you, are filled with love.

Because, we, both of us with love, could have stood up to the storm, standing strong, like those hardened corals by the sea, with me loving you so safely, so securely, that you will never have to worry about feeling like inside a cage with the roof caving in, or surrounded with prison bars.

Yes, it’s an offering, a surrender to you– all of you.

Do have my heart, and all my color.