English, Life, Poetry, Thoughts, Uncategorized

To the man I love, my soulmate

I like to think that we are reincarnations of our past selves. That hundreds of years ago, we promised that we would find each other again. That we would fall in love all over again, like it was the first time we fell for someone.

I like to think that this separation of ours is only temporary because in our next lives, the universe will conspire to bring us together, that we would meet again under better circumstances. That even though we have no recollection of our past, it would still feel like we have known each other before, loved each other before, that each time, when we held hands, when we are in each other’s arms, it would feel like we were born for that moment, for the sole purpose to be together.

There will be quiet nights when we would look at the stars and you would wrap your arms around me as I sit in your lap. I would hug you back and caress your shoulder, the back of your neck, run my fingers through your hair. You would undress me like you were unwrapping a gift and kiss every part of me, even the ones I hate the most. And I would hate them a little less because you said you loved them. We’d lie in bed and I would hug you closer and while I sleep, you would kiss my forehead, my eyes, the bridge of my nose, my lips, and you would whisper, “I love you so much.” We’d cuddle and share our deepest thoughts, dreams and plans for the future.

In that life I would still drive you crazy and I’d still be breaking my walls to love you back. But in that life, we won’t have to run after time, or make do with the stolen moments we had. We can spend as much time together as we want, hold hands where we are. We’d never care about the people around us because they won’t matter. In both this life, and that one, I will still fall, deeply, madly, in love with you. I will still feel consumed by your love. My breath will quiver whenever you kiss me, my body will still tremble at your proximity and my heart will still beat as fast whenever you touch me.

But right now, in this life, I will hold your hand and tell you about the things I liked the most. I would leave random notes on your table and hope that you would love them. I will tell you about this song that I’ve been listening to lately and smile when you would sing it the next time we are together. I’d wait for your phone call every single day, and I would savor the sound of your voice. I would think about you when I eat my favorite food or whenever I would buy my favorite ice cream. On nights when I couldn’t sleep and every part of me is asking, “Where is he and why isn’t he here?” I would hug your jacket closer and try to see you in my dreams. We will talk about how our days went, how we missed each other even when we’re still together and how perfect it would have been if we could just stay in that moment. There will be times when I would think, “In another life, we would have been perfect for each other,” and when I look at you, I would know you were thinking the same.

English, Journaling, Life, Poetry, Thoughts

What is Love?

What do you know of love, they asked. I know nothing. I know not of words that could describe my thoughts, of songs that could express my emotions or of colors that could paint the pictures in my mind.

But I know of you. I have memorized the outline for your form the way I memorized the embroidered flowers on my sheets. I can close my eyes and see the silhouette of your body. I know all your curves, the nook in your arm or the gaps between your fingers.

I remember the touch of your skin. I have run my fingers on your palm, tracing the lines in your hand, mapping your past, your present and your future.

Your voice resounds in my ears, echoing like a hundred wind chimes, sweet and pleasant. I have memorized your eyes, it’s depths like shadows in the night. I have looked into it a thousand times and each time, I found myself falling.

I see you in my memory as if I’m looking at photographs. I watch you over and over in my mind as if I was watching a film at the cinema.

I know nothing of love but I know of you.

English, Journaling, Poetry, Thoughts


His memory lingers in my mind,
like bruises I hide
but can’t unfeel.
I touch one and the pain stings –
this is where he used to touch me,
this is where he used to kiss me.

I feel his fingers tug my hair,
his breath on my skin,
his heart pounding and beating,
nervous like mine,
his lips on my lips,
his skin on my skin.

I remember his voice,
his books,
the scent of the coffee he makes
and how our legs
tangled beneath the sheets.

Memories are photographs
scattered on the floor.
I see a smile,
I see a wink,
I see a flower,
I see an old teddy bear.

My eyes close and I feel the pain,
it’s tingling all over my body.
Love is beautiful but it hurts,
like a rose filled with thorns.