Tag Archives: sad

40 Love Letters

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I saw this when I was scouring through youtube for def poetry and spoken word performances. Beautiful material. Beautiful story.

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Once, Twice, and Thrice

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I finished this one quite recently. Well, I sort of got into it because of the poetry reading event held in our school. It was a way for poetry and literature in general to be democratized (in a very good way, I might add).

Inspiration? Hahaha! I think it’s pretty clear how this poem got started. As to who this muse is, I’d rather not say. He/She/It might not even know about this.

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I like you

Even before we met,

Even before we were introduced.

Cliche #1 – You are the man of my dreams

the epitome of an idea that sprung to life.

Cliche #2 – You stuck out like a sore thumb

in a sea of faceless strangers.

Once, You saw me sitting alone

You kept me company.

Until, we each had to go

for some reason.

I do not remember anymore.

Twice, we sat alone together

Same time

Same place

Unplanned

Unannounced

Sipping our teas and started

Talking – a series of reveries and revelries that got us

bearing our souls which were torn by

the same glass cannons

we have fostered home.

A light breeze ignited my slowly ebbing heart

and just for a nanosecond

I thought maybe – just maybe

the idea of you and I

Us

is in the realm of possibility.

We both wear our hearts on our sleeves.

Although, I hide mine

better than you do – or so I think.

Remember we talked about destiny?

How our decisions and circumstances have led us to this:

Now

Now, I definitely know there is a Higher Power

for how can I not believe in Him

and witness this miracle

of the eventuality of us

But

Oblivious

Oh, that you are.

Fun Fact: did you know

we’ve already been introduced thrice?

Cliche #3 – Three time’s a charm!

It’s alright.

I’ve already come to terms with the brutal truth that

You will never fancy me.

 

Handkerchief

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I wrote this when I was cleaning my room and I found le ex’s hanky. dun dun dun dun….

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Handkerchief. That handkerchief. That red tribal-printed handkerchief was all he left her; was all she kept. She threw everything away; those gifts, those letters, those poems, those promises, except for that handkerchief.

To tell you honestly, he didn’t give her the handkerchief. She stole it form him. Or maybe he knew she took it. He just didn’t bother getting it back from her.

That’s what he did. He stole her. He robbed her of her innocence and she gladly gave it away. Was it still stealing?

Memory. At some point, a stimulus will cross her path and activate those neurons in her brain to tap the black box of forbidden and ill-forgotten dreams. Like a movie reel, the past plays before her like an unstoppable force of reckoning.

That handkerchief. That red tribal-printed handkerchief. She is burning it.
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Have I ever written anything not sad? I dunno. I suck at writing happy things. >_<

But what do you think?
Peace out!

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.

Milk Tea

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Here is my attempt at flash fiction. I hope you guys enjoy. 🙂

 

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I saw a couple in the tea house earlier; a young couple. Maybe senior college students. They sat in front of each other. The girl was shaking her large honeydew milk tea. The guy followed suit with his chocolate milk tea. The girl wasn’t in her element. The guy noticed that, too. So he tried to do smalltalk with her.

 

Well, it wasn’t working. The guy was asking the wrong kind of questions. The girl had the chance to answer either a yes or a no. And she did. Then, the girl made a great deep sigh.

 

“Where do you think are we going?”, she said.

“I thought you were planning on an out of town trip with your parents?”

“No, this, us.”

 

The guy had nothing to say. He was getting fidgety on his seat. He tried to make eye contact with the girl but all she could do was stare into the marble tiles. The guy tried to tell something. He was mustering the courage to say something. But he didn’t have enough guts to say it out loud. He left. No stomping or theatrical walkouts. He just left, graciously.

 

The girl was left staring at the blankness of the floor.

 

The girl is me.