Thursday, July 22, 2010

From my 'dear stranger'

I wrote with so much passion then. It's heartbreaking to read back and realize that I've lost the fire, that despite that I write with less grammatical errors now, I also write with less ardor. Sometimes I think I need heartbreak. Or love. Whichever that can push me to write with feelings.

Here’s to honesty I’d willingly give you, in far-fetched wishes of acceptance and love, wishes that you will never grant of reality. I’m tired. I get it, I’m just not it. And if I wait another year I’ll only get stoned for martyrdom, but before that, the pain of loving you will kill me first. And the rest of the world will stand and watch me fall, over and over again. If you promise me an eternity, I promise to die before you get tired of me. But what you can only promise me are walks you’re too tired to take. Of conversations that’ll only push me away. Of forever’s worth of 60 second memories you will never be able to give. Broken promises are promises nonetheless, and they are the only thing I get a hold of. And this is what you do to me. You make me wait all night for your arrival. You make me sing songs I wish I wrote. You make me lie in the ground with you while you’re drunk with heartbreak liquor, and me with tears. You make me listen to your stories, even when all I want is for you to listen to me. When shall I tell you? perhaps never. Because this is what you do to me. You make me fall so hard, the fall gets too tiring that I want nothing else but to finally hit the ground, but I keep on falling. I’m singing you goodbye, and from the muffled voices could you pick apart what im saying? I’m telling you I miss you and if I could bring back highschool, I would.

Here’s to goodbye and the lie that I will finally let you go.
-November 21, 2007

I said the reason why I made a new blog is because I want to detach myself from my melodramatic, overemotional, cry-your-heart-out entries. But truth is the reason I can't delete my old blog is because of this. I just can't let go of my old self, the naive, honest me and the feelings that 'me' had. A far cry from the callous person I've now become.

(And hooray, this blog now has an 'emo' tag. First and hopefully not the only)


  1. well that's art.:)

    there's always that "emo" person inside of us(writers). It pushes us to literally transform our hearts into words.

  2. And to use our tears as ink. Haha

  3. Hahaha. I'm the same. I delete my old blog. Then revive it again. :-)