As the big hand of the clock move a little bit over ten, the smaller hand at eleven, she begins to wish. You see, she’s a hopeful girl of hopeless wishes. She wishes for him to love her back. Every 11:11 am, even pm.
What are you whispering over there?
Hush. Keep quiet.
Is that your 11:11 mantra again?
It’s already 11:12. Stop it.
Yeah. And you creep me out every time you do that. It’s insane how everyone’s treating 11:11 like it’s the most sacred time in the world. How about prayers? Don’t you pray before you sleep? What do you wish for? Do you really think it will be granted? Who grants all your wishes? Where did the 11:11 thing even come from? It’s stupid.
Woah. You ask a lot of questions for an idiot like you, eh? But I won’t let you know what I’m wishing for. My wish is only mine and to the one who will command it. I’m wishing for it because I’m hoping that it will be granted soon, bitch. And I don’t give a fuck about where it came from. All I know is I believe. And if you think I don’t believe in God because I keep on wishing at 11:11, well, I do. I pray before I sleep and after I wake up. But I don’t feel satisfied or contented, and that’s the reason why I still wish at 11:11 am/pm.
It still is stupid.
(It is stupid. It–fucking–is stupid. Believing in fairy tales, 11:11 wishes is stupid. Just like waiting for you after all these years even though I know that you’re not coming back. Even though I know that you have already forgotten about me. But I won’t look for you–I can’t. If you’d like to think that I have already died or never existed, I would, too. You are stupid and so am I. And I hate you. I hate believing in you. I hate believing in these wishes. But there’s a gut somewhere deep in my being, tugging to keep me on believing that something miraculous will happen someday (either you appear out of the blue and talk to me like nothing happened or that these wishes will all come true). Now, I still don’t know why I’m wishing for ludicrous things exactly at 11:11 a.m./p.m just like why I can’t seem to find the reason why I’m still hoping that you’d come back. One thing is I know for sure, hoping and wishing is not the same thing.)
In the beginning,
you sat in your chair
facing the piano,
you sang to my ear.
Notes wash in
as you play the keys.
slowly, the melody starts
along with the beating of my heart.
Lyrics come in
and you sing happily
I fell in love
with your sweet nothing.
and the highest one
as we reach the clouds
of infinite bliss.
Violin sound follows–
the lowest, chilling kind
how did we get to this?
I say as a tear sheds my eyes.
and not the happiest kind;
you finished what you started
and released the keys.
i wrote this for our English exam two months ago. we were assigned by our teacher to write an acrostic poem for the ones we love or something relevant to love. this poem was the best i could do at that time. i was not satisfied with it but i proceeded on passing it anyway. and surprisingly, i got a perfect score for it so i decided to post it here.
deep down in the dumps,
i’ve made my own blue home
of salty waterfall.
at the top i go,
plummeting to the cold ground
below, i found joy.
did you see your initials at the beginning of every line? my foolish heart told me to give this to you but my disdainful and pertinacious brain thought that doing what my heart wanted me to would be stupid and worthless. Continue reading “the stupid act of falling in love”
Being a part of something religious and special is a very good thing that has happened to me. To be able to play the guitar every Sunday with you became one of my routines.
And now that we’ve reached the month of December, I admit, it’s hard.
To see you now on my right side plucking the guitar strings as if it was all you ever did in your entire life makes me sad. And when you look at my way, says something then hesitates, it’s baffling. Don’t you know that I have only four months left to hear those unspoken words of yours?
Maybe, you do.
But whenever I stare at and laugh with you, do you even–just for a moment–care about the thoughts that haunt me every time?
You don’t because you know nothing about these thoughts.
Now, I’m going to let you know that every Sunday, I have to make a memory. At least, just one. Just one to have something that can represent the ghost of you. Just one to keep me happy for a week. Just one to cheer me up once I’ve learned to taste the bitterness of your absence.
Now I know the feeling of being so close to someone who I know will leave me someday.
This was written last December. I was rereading my drafts and just thinking to myself, wow.
I need to go home now. I don’t know where to go.
I’d like to be my
Shadow for a night, slender
And flawed but not seen.