Tag Archives: feelings

Would it?

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I wrote this when I was ‘past the point of no return’ and started noticing that I still liked the things he liked even after we broke up. I know some of my friends hate certain things simply because these remind them so much of their exes. I saw myself not hating these things at all, no matter how much I wanted to, if only to forget him.

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Would it matter if I still love the things you made me love?

I still love the coffee down at the bakery where we used to share a cup. I still love the book you bought me at the thrift bookstore when I didn’t have enough money. I still love the film you made me watch because you said it was amazing. If I still love the things I associate with you, then does that make me still love you?

I found a place that serves better, and I mean way better, coffee than that bakeshop. I bought a book and have actually read it more than a couple of times. I watched a film that made me laugh, cry, and love my life even more when I got out of the cinema. But I still love the things you love, does that make me still love you?

Would it matter if I still love the things you made me love? Maybe. Maybe not.

I’m with good company, if ever you’re wondering. Nope? Oh, my bad.

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Well?
Peace out!

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from a fox

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I got inspired by ee cummings. How he didn’t capitalize on the i’s really fascinated me. SO here is my attempt at it.

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i once met a little prince

he had cute little eyes

and cute rosy cheeks

unlike his adorable appearance

he was mean and scary

he shouts at people with his mighty roar

and hurts people for no reason at all

but behind the shouts and roar

lies a warm and fuzzy heart

so i gave him hugs and kisses

to show him that he is loved

and so he loved me back

with hugs and kisses too

then he grew warm and gentle with the other people

and just like everything small

he grew up to be a bright young king

with a scepter and crown for ruling the land

so he had responsibilities to keep

and had no time to visit me

so i waited and waited and waited

hearing the clock go tick and tock

and that’s how i taught him patience

and that’s how i taught him how to love

and be loved by someone like me

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Peace out!

For The Next Seven Days

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For the next seven days, I’ll be posting my shelved written works, both flash fictions and poems, here in my blog. I’ve written them a couple of years ago when I wasn’t emotionally sober. Now that I’ve edited most of them, I’m feeling kind of confident in showing them to the public. Operative word is ‘feeling’. I’m not entirely sure. But, oh well.

Tell me what you think about them, will you?

Peace out!

Oh, Dear

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My favorite playwright reminds me of you. You practically introduced him to me. My favorite play reminds me of you. We practically played out the same story.

 

I’ve written an alternate story out of it. It’s not some sort of literature where you’d get to unlock the private events of my life. It’s my way of overwriting your mark in his work of art. 

 

My muse inspired me to write this. Up until now, he probably doesn’t know he’s my inspiration. Or, he’s that good acting oblivious.

 

I’ve possessed my muse before. It was you. Look where we are.  I’ve learned my lesson. I cannot possess him.

Secret

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Another attempt at flash fiction. I hope you guys enjoy.

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She tried her best to hold back her feelings. She just pushed it and pushed it in. It was positive.

 

She whipped her phone out from her pocket. 

 

“Kumusta?” (How are you?), he said.

“Ok ra.” (It’s ok.), she replied. She put the phone back in her pocket.

 

An old woman approached her and handed her a note. She read it and nodded. The old woman left.

 

She walked under the scorching heat. A few blocks away, she turned into a corner. In between two buildings, she entered a scant poorly-made cement road and entered there. Like the walls caving in on her, her heart was beating faster and faster. But she went on. 

 

The old woman was waiting for her. She opened the door and the girl walked in. It was a cozy fully furnished house. You wouldn’t believe the old woman lived there, what with her occupation and all. She offered the girl a seat. 

 

“Buhatun na nato, ‘Nang.” (Let’s just do it, ‘Nang), the girl said.

“Sige.”, said the old woman and pushed a syringe in a small vial and extracted a transparent solution.

“Para asa na?” (What’s that for?), asked the girl.

“Para wala kay mabatian.” (So you wouldn’t feel a thing.), said the old woman.

 

Years later, he is with someone else. 

 

She still hasn’t forgotten.