Maybe in the poems,

I could possibly make myself stay — when there isn’t a place to go anymore. Maybe in the poems, I could show you how butterflies dance when they weren’t supposed to every time I see you. Maybe in the poems, I could tell you more about how sad songs turn you into a lullaby baby…

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When will I see the sparkle in your eyes again?

All this time, I thought I was writing for you, when I’ve been writing for myself all along. All this time, I thought we’d meet again in our favorite church, exchanging our gazes and look-aways when we both see each other’s stares. Perhaps, I was just wishing for you to smile at me under the…

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Forgetting has never been an easy task.

I can’t even count the times I lied to myself that I have moved on from the fact that you were the subject of my poems for years. Though it hurts thinking that I have spent those leisure moments of mine thinking about metaphors that fit you perfectly, still I can’t elude the feeling of…

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One day,

a time will come where you feel like you wanted to have a break at some point. It will come, perhaps, with the memories you longed ages ago — and it will feel real than the moment you wished for it. It will feel painful but it won’t cause a heartbreak. It will feel destructive…

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I would gladly accept…

…when I see you with someone that was never named like me. I won’t write about you anymore, and that’s a pinky swear. But, please, don’t you ever visit me again in my dreams because you no longer exist in my memory. You are a past life, a once-upon-a-time but never again, and a ticket…

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Five years of being cursed.

I really don’t know why I was never the exact epitome of your ideals. I was never your ideal. Perhaps, I was never been anyone’s, and that’s just fine. Sometimes, I would poke myself in secret, thinking that it would stop this wicked connection I feel every time we meet. Was it even a connection…

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I am not just made for promises.

I am not a bounty human who absorbs everything the universe could give. It could be darkness, a sparkle or a crescent feeling I never had before. You see, I am yet the ordinary, an invincible lover you’d meet. I don’t care about butterflies circling on other people’s stomachs, tears falling down because of a…

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But dear, at least, we met.

We don’t meet people by coincidence. We don’t meet them at a party, in a library or in a museum of rocks. We don’t meet them in hallways carrying books as if helping them when those fall from their hands is a deja vu. We don’t meet them by accident that we tend to believe…

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