I’d leave my corpse in your hands and my name on your skin,
so you’ll never forget that I’d live there
I’ll house you in a graveyard and
bury you like roots and coffins,
for you to feel how it’s like to be left alone
With frost and rain, I want to efface your memory
and I’ll teach you my name
it will be the only words your lips will kiss,
the only tale you’ll tell
I hope you fall like rain,
forced in its downfall,
lonely and shapeless
with nowhere to go,
nothing to do,
Because when you leave, you used the windows and
leave winter to sleep in my bed
and now sunlight is a stranger touching my skin
my body is a map of your lost expeditions
but I’m the only one presumed lost and
you, the only surviving member
Now I dream, cloth with the memory of your face
enduring what remains of my withering self
It’s eight o’clock in this chilly evening. Even with the windows closed, my room feels like a frozen hell. The red flickers dancing in the fireplace seems to be offering respite from the winter storm but failed. The wind outside was howling like you do when you’re angry except that you’re not howling. Only gnashing your teeth. (See, even the wind reminds me of you.) When I woke up today at six in the morning, I was certain that I’ll spend the rest of the day in this solid bed with a cup of strong coffee, a warm blanket, and a Twain-book in hand but then I remembered that today your mail may arrive. So my certainty was ruined because of you. With my small feet, I scurried to the mail box in my blue nightwear and the risk I took was not wasted. (Did I just heard you smirk?)
I read and re-read your letter. The first time, reading your idiomatic message. The second time, agreeing with your opinions and at the same time disagreeing with them. And the third time, adoring every words and finding you in them.
And I see, you wanted to know why I am so punctilious when it comes to my affection. And why I chose you, out of all the sly foxes out there. Well, I can always resist my feelings but I am absolute that it will do you no good. Am I right? Well, let me tell you a story and I hope you find answers to your inquisitions.
In this seemingly vast universe, there was this woman who created her own world. For centuries, astronomers and philosophers wondered how her solar system and its planets came to be. They have seen the end result of the planet formation. They have looked at the general image she represented. They perceived the iceberg afloat her waters which is only 10% of the whole of its size. Even with the knowledge gained about her solar system, they were left to wonder, are there other planetary systems out there, and did they form like hers?
For years, they have studied the mysteries of her world, but they have only gone as far as reason would take them. But what they didn’t know is that sometimes reason cannot even explain itself. And there are things which even reason cannot comprehend.
But there was this average occupant. Not an astronomer, or a philosopher. Just an unexceptional inhabitant. This occupant did not only look at the end result, but at the process of formation itself. Instead of accepting the common image, he studied the particular details that made her world. Even though he knew that he cannot possibly determine the depth of the iceberg, he goes beyond the 10% of what is observable and explore what’s underneath the surface. He wondered and still is wondering about her world but he was sure of one thing–That no other planetary systems out there form like hers.
He has studied the mysteries of her world by going beyond reason. There were times when he scratched his head, crossed his eyebrows, and gnashed his teeth because he was unable to fathom her world. The woman once asked him why he never gave up and he gave her the answer she never knew she’d hear. Because for him, she is the mystery he would never be able to fully understand, but will love to live with.
That’s the story. Did I answer your question? I hope I do. Did you notice that I never answered your last letter about man and woman’s equality? I’m feeling generous today to not argue with you about that matter. But in my next letter, I will. Be patient, my dear. Now, I’ll leave my pen in this wooden table because darling, my hands are numb from the cold. I just wanna lie in bed and hear your sweet lullabies through your fancy words. Goodnight my uninvited occupant.
Ten seconds. I’ve been staring at her for ten seconds.
“I might melt if you keep gazing.”
Ashley said while trying so hard not to meet me in the eye. She held an old dusty book between her fragile hands. ‘One Rainbow at the Duration’ was written on the book cover.
“You won’t,” I said. “If that’s possible, you should have melted a long time ago.”
She raised the book up to her face. Just like a country setting up defense to hide its most priceless possession.
Thirty inches, I estimated, is the space between us. Thirty inches? That’s too big for a measure. The library is too quiet for my perky thoughts. This wonky table between us is not helping either.
“What’s the book about?” I asked.
“I never knew you’re interested in books.” She teased.
I’m only interested in the books you read, I wanted to say.
I crossed my hands and leaned at the table. Her freckles are more noticeable, her milk chocolate eyes more striking, her hair’s scent more detected. Perfect. I leaned a little closer.
“Tell me about it.” I urged.
“It tells of a bittersweet romance between an American soldier and a Flipina during America’s unending fight for democratic principles. It’s war between countries. And love.” She explained.
War and Love. Ironic. I nod in understanding.
“So how does it end?”
“I’m not even close to the ending. I’m in the middle, you see. But the beginning’s a nice ride.” She smiled.
She continued reading the book. She looked so drowned and absorbed like she’s living 200 years before today engaged in the bloody peak during World War II.
“Why do you read books like that?” I asked.
She eyed me as if asking.
“I mean, why don’t you read books like everybody reads like John Gree–”
“I’m not everybody, Elis.”
There, she does it again. Firing bullets in my heart that heal rather than destroy. Ash and her smart mouth, I surrender to it. Elis, a greek warrior in Trojan war, will despise me knowing I, a bearer of his great name, accepted defeat.
“Yes. You’re not.”
I looked at her in astonishment.
She raised the book to hide her face again but I caught a glimpse of the dimple peering in her left cheek. The country has a hole in its defense.
“Don’t hide your smile.” I uttered.
She put down the book, crossed her hands and lean at the table.
“How sure are you that I smiled?” She grins.
I know I should be ready for endless questions. That grin should annoy me but it does the opposite. I’m up for this war.
“Because I saw it.”
“How did you see it?
“Because I have eyes.”
“Yeah, I feel them.”
How do you feel them?”
“I have senses.”
“Why do you have senses?”
“Because I am human.”
“How are you a human?”
“Don’t you believe I’m human?” I asked back.
“Not unless you prove to me you are.” She teased.
I smirked. I lean much more closer. One inch, I estimated, is the space between our faces. Five seconds. She was shocked. I, too. She was red. Thank God, I’m not capable of that.
She pulled back and looked around her.
She whispered to me ” Why did you do that? Now, people are staring.”
“You said prove to you and I just did.” I defended.
She sighed. “So teasing me and leaning closer makes you human?”
“No,” I began. “But when I leaned closer, I felt it. The cells in my body that randomly collides with each other. My breaths racing with each other to come out. And whatever this thing is throbbing in my left chest behind the ribcage, It’s throbbing in an extremely odd way. I feel alive. And that makes me human.”
220.127.116.11.19. She’s been staring at me for twenty seconds successfully breaking human rules by hindering involuntary blinking.
“I might melt if you keep staring.” I said.
She laughed in a breathy, gleeful way. And the unending fight is now ended. The country’s defense was destroyed. Its most treasured possession revealed.
“That’s impossible. I wonder why you haven’t melted a long time ago.”
Perhaps I will never know
How you cradle me in your arms when I was little
Perhaps I won’t always remember
How your eyebrows crossed when I sometimes rebel
Perhaps I will not understand
Why you get into serious fights with a girl who just teases me
Perhaps I can never comprehend why
When I wanted to swim farther, you quickly reached for me.
But likewise, you’ll never know
That I constantly asked God to guide when you’re afar
Yes, you won’t always see
That I appreciate your settling for bread crumbs to buy me a nutella jar
Also, you’ll never hear
My loud mind singing you songs of adoration
And truly, you’ll never think
But I do sleep late at night waiting for you to come home from your Saturday devotion.
And Mom, I’m not good with words when they were spoken.
That’s why I settle for the best I can do — that’s why this one’s written.
I know you’ll try hard even if you’re lost in translation to understand my language
Every out-of-the-blue thing you do for me, for us, is a beautiful outrage.
This mushy, goofy things, some might call it lame.
But I’ll forever be proud I wrote this
For you I’ll take the blame.
And when my words fail me when I grow old,
Remember that you are my ‘Space Shuttle’ ride.
You’re crazy, insane, terrifying and bold.
And I’m awfully mad because I gladly tried.
At times, you asked me why I’m quiet, tight-lipped.
Well, I’m not quiet.
My mind is roaring and booming thoughts of you and I’m terrified that my lips might betray me and it might tell you how much I adore you.
Like when I look into your brown eyes, I see the North Star.
It makes me believe that whenever I looked into your eyes, I could find my way out of the tangled woods and back to safety.
Like when your cold face etched a smile, my insides are bursting, erupting and colliding over and over and It makes me wonder why I’m still breathing and why I’m still alive.
And when your warm hands caress my cheeks, I’m scared you might scorched because my face is burning like hell and I never thought I’d love hell that much.
And when your gorgeous eyes, your beaming lips, and your soft hands do their things at the same time,
I felt like I’m a million times more beautiful than Helen of Troy.
And Greece’s golden age is just a petty history.
For you are the greatest history never told.
I just hope you never, ever asked me if I love you.
Because I might I say I do and regret it later for It’s an understatement of how I felt for you.