kissing fire
Rian. A matryoshka doll.
If I am not able to write because I’m afraid of being a bad writer, then I must be a bad writer. At least I’ll be writing. 
Loneliness dealt me the cards

One thing you have to know about me is that I am deeply unhappy. You can’t dip your hands inside me without corroding your skin. Once, I tried to sing for the moon but all I did was howl until it buried itself beneath its bed of night. I didn’t see the moon again.

I crack book spines and pluck flower petals and pretend there’s no blood on my hands. There’s desert in my bones thirsty for rainwater. Deserts are so lonely. It’s ironic they shine golden under the sun. I wish people aren’t so deaf. They couldn’t hear the screams in my laugh.

Sometimes, I wish my shadow would get up and hold my hand. But the darkness will just eat her up.

When I let my hands do the talking

Twelve months ago, I let someone make a home out of my heart without any guarantees if it’s permanent or not. He came, quiet like the moon, and slept between my ribs; counted them like rosary beads and carved poetry on them.

It was summer, the sun broke itself apart and spilled its guts all over the earth when we kissed and our lips were clumsy, tripping over each other like little kids trying to outrun the other. I have grown so accustomed to him that my lips only remember his taste, my hands only know his shape, my skin only register his warmth and this love, this love is making me dizzy I see colors in the air.

I never knew my heart could bear the weight of this, never knew it can be as deep as Mariana’s Trench in terms of feelings and it surprises me how this thing beating inside my chest has the sheer strength to stand all of this.

He is sleeping now, and I wish I can hold his hand, anchor him towards me and out of his dream. I realized love is walls holding up a house without asking why. He held me and I, him and together we housed ourselves inside this storm. So devastating yet so, so beautiful. 

six word story
“My lips can’t forget your taste.”

And I want to. Want to dedicate all these words to you. Want to dip my hands into innocent galaxies and let my fingertips kiss your skin. Want to trap moonshine in a jar and place it on your bedside table. Want to crawl over your window, tug at your hand and whisper, let’s have an adventure. Want to take the whole sky and place it into these sentences so they’d be more profound. Want to grow flowers out of my mouth when I say your name. Want to sleep between your ribs and write letters on your bones. Want to raise dead cities and rule over them. You’d be the king. I’d be the girl who wants to be so much more because when I am around you, I do. 

“Love is for people wanting to feel drunk without the bitterness of the alcohol and the coldness of the empty beer bottles.”

I love you. I’ve come to love the moments wherein all we do is lie down and sleep, your arms around me like soft rib cages. And if there is one thing I know to be true, it is this: I wouldn’t mind spending my entire life with you like that. 

There is a galaxy inside me filled with all the things I can never say and I wish I can grab a planet or a comet, shake it like a book until all the words fall out and arrange it into a delicate bouquet so I wouldn’t have to open my mouth and fear that the words that will exit through my clumsy lips are not as genuine as they really are. See, destroying a bridge using my hands are easier than expressing my feelings. I’ve never liked being a graffiti wall, never liked being taken apart piece by piece and shoved under a blinding spotlight for everyone to look at. Saying what you feel is like handing the person the knife to pry yourself open with: it’s messy and you’re almost always left bloody. I have always been scared of being vulnerable, it makes me feel weak and small but I’m taking these little steps. My chest, my throat, my mouth is burning with all the words I have buried there and I am learning how to let them out slowly, one by one. It will take time before I can master this, I am still scared of burning my lips but it will come, it will come, it will.


I’m worried about myself. It seems like I’ve lost my footing and in trying to stop myself from falling, I brought my whole world with me until it all came crashing down. Everything I try to hold either slips away or breaks into pieces that bite my skin until it cries. I am becoming a graveyard full of dead words and decaying dreams with no visitors to accompany me through the quiet night. I am becoming as unhinged as the sky bleeding rain when somebody’s sadness pierce through the firmament. I wish people would see how I’m cracking myself open unintentionally with no faculties to stop without me having to pull off their eyelids. But I guess it’s not their fault. I’ve got to stop being the chains pulling down my ankles, I need to be a buoy for myself anchoring me back to earth.

Things I have to remind myself everyday
  1. You shouldn’t settle for anything less than what you deserve; you have the galaxy inside you, you are the universe.
  2. Stop measuring pulchritude by the amount of likes you get on a Facebook display picture or the plethora (or the lack thereof) of compliments people hand to you.
  3. There is a certain resplendence in the way the sun peels off the night slowly with its gentle fingers when people are not looking so try to catch it in the act. 
  4. Don’t be afraid of letting someone fill out the spaces between your skin; tuck him between your ribs.
  5. A small thing can get you through the day, be it a stranger’s smile or a helping hand, you just have to look.
  6. There is poetry everywhere; in the way a capricious girl folds her hands in her lap when she’s nervous, in the way a flower blooms when the moon is watching, in the way we stand up when we trip over ourselves.
  7. Aspire to have the kind of friendship the sky and the clouds have.
  8. Shove your doubts, worries, insecurities and fears in the bottom drawer at the back of your mind and never ever visit that graveyard.
  9. Listen. To the whispering of the trees. To the laughter tinkling. To the words stacked quietly on a dark corner. To the beat of your heart saying you are, you are, you are.
  10. There is a bird inside your throat; let it sing.

I’ve been trying to get you out of my bloodstream but you seem to have made a home there. My veins know only your name and the spaces between my bones are longing for you to fill them. There is an ocean roaring inside my chest, locked between my ribs, and it calls for you and only for you. I remember thinking your smile brings the moon’s light to shame and I wonder why we even need stars to blanket the night when you’re already here enveloped in your effulgence.