the pen ran out of ink

Strange

If this blog is the only medium of my writings, one would think that I haven’t written anything on the month of September. But I have. A lot, mostly drafts.

It’s that time again, when my mind is so drained that finishing a poem is just too much, when my feelings are so complicated that I don’t even bother to try and understand, and when the future is so bleak that you don’t know what you really want.

But I think, well it’s a common knowledge really, that the value of writing is not how great your pieces are or how well they are received, it’s when you are able to pour your heart out and really express what you want. Forcing yourself to write would do you no good, it just comes out naturally. Like love, perhaps.

So when my pen ran out of ink, I let it be. For once in a while, it needs to rest and stop bleeding just as my heart. 

Daily Post’s Value

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my moon

Strange

And it just dawned on me that we’re halfway through the year.

I wonder if I’m anywhere near my dreams, if I can reach my goals, and if my feelings are valid and real.

Some days are full of doubts, some are blooming with colors, and the others sound just the same—the monotonous life that we lead to survive. 

This night looks similar to the nights before, when a simple fact or idea that entered my mind will make me look at my life, the past, particularly. And then comes a rational female voice which reminds me that what I have right now is more important than dwelling with what’s gone, with the past. It will also whisper something sweet, that there’s something to look forward to in the future.

And right when I’m about to sleep, the stars will put me in awe, especially the one that’s closest to the moon. It kind of tells me to hold on to my life dearer, or even as much as it holds on to the sky, just to see the moon. 

And maybe that’s why I wake up each day, to get closer to my moon.

Girl in the Future

Bitter

The girl is bored. She wants to fly, run away, escape, and be free from all the limitations preventing her to live her life the way she wants to.

A life full of sins and wrongdoings.

She pictures herself stealing some rope down her best friend’s hardware store and tying the man, who sexually assaulted her, naked on a tree with the constrictor knot she just learned doing. That would be the bravest (and stupidest) thing she’s ever done and the most fulfilling revenge she could think of.

A life centered to herself.

She won’t just listen anymore. Gone are the times when she will put her responsibilities first than what she truly wants to do. The guilt building inside her will be forgotten. Her pleasure is more important than the honor she brings to her family.

A life outside this four walled room.

She fancies signing an apartment lease in another country where she can be anything she desires to be. Don’t get her wrong, she loves her room so much as it is the only thing she considers home; but sometimes you have to leave home, and find another one.

The dull sound of the bell that signifies dinner’s ready rang three times, pulling her back to the present. Today’s traveling to the future is a good one, thought the bored seventeen year old girl.

What a life!

Writing 101’s Task: A story in a single image & Recreate a single day.

Amnesia

Poetry

Illustrations-Diego-Fernandez-5

There’s a problem with my eyes.
When the left one is close,
I could barely see the memories
we had.

There’s a problem with my eyes.
When the left one is open,
I could clearly see the future
we lost.

There’s a problem with my eyes.

But there’s also a problem with yours.

It doesn’t matter when your eyes
are open or close, for either way
you wouldn’t recognize the lady
you loved.

This is in response to the Daily Post’s writing prompt Don’t You Forget About Me. [Photo]

A Beautiful Thought

Sweet

best-days-havent-happened

I’ve read this quote about three weeks ago and it remained in my mind. And I don’t think I would ever forget it.

When I’m sad, I tend to overthink. And you couldn’t do anything much about it because even after distracting yourself on keeping busy, you’ll end up thinking again before sleeping or once you wake up (more so if you resorted to drinking so as to easily sleep). But after seeing those words creating a beautiful sentence, I found myself pondering over that when I’m gloomy instead of the pessimism overthinking could bring.

I think it’s a powerful sentence. Or maybe I just found it at the time I needed most. But there’s so much idea and sense and feeling and meaning into it that when you read it over and over, you’ll feel great. That’s why I’ve pinned this quote to my brain. Because it’s just so beautiful, believe me. And I don’t know who said this, I’ve tried searching but couldn’t locate the original, but whoever you are, thank you. Really, this is beautiful. Thank you.

As I was starting this post, I’m thinking of writing that there’s nothing much to say and I should just leave you with the quote alone because I’m sure that it would get to you somehow. But look at where we’re at. We’re both nearing the end. Actually, this is the end. But then I wanna let you know that I really love this quote. I love it, it’s beautiful.

This is in response to the blog event Writer Quote’s Wednesday. [Photo]

Have I mentioned how beautiful this quote is? And that I really love it?

Treasured

Sweet

scrapbook

Thirty years from now, someone will discover the scrapbook I’ve made containing my deepest secrets, wildest thoughts, and honest opinions. And the preface will gonna be this:

If you hate reading, please give this to a friend. And I thank you for that. Or you could try skimming first before doing so.

If you like reading, please move forward. And I love you for that. Then give this to a friend and write your own.

Everything changes, but they say history repeats itself. And I think because of that, a person or two would find my scrapbook relatable. For even though I wrote that 30 years ago, same things happen still—when it comes to love, family, friends, marriage, sin, career, gender, faith, and a lot more we could think of.

redhead-girl-and-a-boy

I’d like them to know that they are not alone. I’d like them to feel that they are normal. I’d like them to see that they have a friend in me. And I’d like them to experience life on their own.

My time capsule would not just include the scrapbook. It will also hold three more special things that come with my favorite colors. A keychain of a mermaid with a maroon tail, an oversized mustard sweater, and a cute gray coffee mug. Why? Just because.

This in response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt Time Capsule.
[Photo1] [Photo2]

P.S.
Everything was just make-believe. And I don’t know if I’ll ever consider making this real. After all, I haven’t got a hold of those three special things yet.

Future

Poetry

As much as I would like to share
My dreams of the future with you
This young woman is still unaware
On how the future of my dreams will do
Instead let us just go back to the past
Where I learned something for the present
A simple remark that was said too fast
Made my mind think up until this moment

It is about the things we possess
People or stuff, material or not
And the inkling that we have less
Anyway here it is before I forgot
You own what others like and you like what others own.
What if you just own what you like and like what you own?