This Much I Know Is True – Part I

Maybe this isn’t right,” she thought.  She shouldn’t even be talking about this. Or maybe she should. She doesn’t know. But who knows anything anyway?

She had known you for quite some time now. She noticed all the quirks going on with your life and maybe you don’t know hers. Take the chance?

She takes a deep breath and looks at you from a distance. She sees you smile, laugh, or even just stare into some other space she can’t really tell. She watches you. And maybe when you happen to turn your head, she’ll quickly avert her eyes away from you and then confuse you and delude you into the idea. But as she pretends to be looking at some random direction, she’ll let the sun caress her face with its warmth until she becomes fully aware that all this must just be infatuation. Most probably, a fleeting feeling. She starts convincing herself. She stands up, turns around, walks away and rubs her hands together – even realized that her rough hands aren’t even worth touched by someone like you – maybe she really should give up the feeling. She feels sad.

I am not worth any at all. Not even the slightest of your attention. I am just fooling myself and wasting my time.

As she continues walking away, contemplating on life and wishing that heaven is a real place, veracity hits her. Or was it guilt? She should must keep herself away from you. You are there, while she’s here. You live your life to the fullest, she lives hers one at a time. But is it really the reason?  Nah. Way too far from it. She belongs to someone else. Yes, someone already owns her. Own? Is that the right word? And then veracity was replaced by disappointment. She doesn’t want to be one’s possession. No, she doesn’t want to be like a thing owned by anyone. She feels sad.

She arrives home, in the pure haven of silence and comfort where she truly belongs. And yet – as she lies down into the pleasure of her sheets, she breaks down for veracity (or guilt?) has hit her again. The sun retires and she’s still here. No, this isn’t right. I must not be entertaining such feeling (or thoughts?). Were they really just in my mind? Or is it what my heart truly feels?  Whispering such churlish things over and over again to herself, numbing the pain of what cannot be. Stripping her mind from all the memories she had with you before, lessening the feeling of guilt and pain and confusion. Then she falls asleep.

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Do Not Ask Me To Remember

Do not ask me to remember.

Don’t try to make me understand.

Let me rest and know you’re with me.

Kiss my cheek and hold my hand.

I’m confused beyond your concept.

I am sad and sick and lost.

All I know is that I need you.

To be with me at all cost.

Do not lose your patience with me.

Do not scold or curse or cry.

I can’t help the way I’m acting.

Can’t be different though I try.

Just remember that I need you.

That the best of me is gone.

Please don’t fail to stand beside me.

Love me ‘til my life is done.

Author Unknown


http://caregiver.wsu.edu/care-of-the-caregiver/words-of-inspiration/do-not-ask-me-to-remember/

This Goes On and On…

That moment when you first held my hand. I didn’t know if you noticed the pleasure it brought to my heart, and how I simultaneously looked at your face and your hand holding mine. I was thinking that it’s just you, being helpful and naturally sweet. Or maybe it’s that alcohol we took which have given you the will to do it. But I was secretly hoping that you are aware of it. That you also wanted to know how it feels like holding my hand. Or that you intentionally  do it for me to know you’re there and for me to feel your presence.

Those conversations we had that you started. I didn’t know if you noticed why it took a while before I replied. It’s because I have to contain the excitement and eagerness I had in me. They made me feel as if I’m special, that you took the time to talk to me. But I immediately disregard that feeling. Because you may also have done the same to others. That I am no exception. Or maybe, you were just bored that time and it so happened that I was the one available to talk to.

Those similarities we have— the books we both like, the characters we both share, how we easily get what each other meant because somehow, we both have that same level of thinking. I didn’t know if I’m the only one to notice. I also have no idea if those things matter to you, because to me, they do.

Those times when you’d make jokes on me. I had this feeling that you’re doing it because you want me to notice you, because you want to have my attention. But I also think that it’s just you, having the innate talent of being a  jester.


I don’t know if it’s just me, being paranoid, overestimating things, giving meaning to every action you make or every situation that lead me to you. Or maybe I really do know, but I just don’t admit it to myself. Because maybe, just maybe, I’m right.


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