Let us meet…

…in her room- the forsaken, darkest room I have ever been in my whole life.

At the place where our worlds collide, where we could finally understand each other after months of throwing punches. The bruises, bruises and scars I have got from those fights. It was endless and nobody raises the white flag yet until now. You will hear me say that it’s all fine.  This rendevous would be short-lived, I reassured you. Like a lighted match extinguishing itself after seconds of lighting it up.
    Let us meet wearing our work clothes. The dirt from the outside dimension still clings on the corners of our clavicles. Let us meet even if I could still smell myself bearing the rancid scent of antibiotics and isopropyl alcohol. Your breath smelled like blueberry fields from all the artificial smoke you were inhaling. You still smelled the same- you smelled like you. How I wish you were still the same to my eyes because you secretly died and the cemetery is my mind.

  You probably didn’t know I had a new tattoo on my inner arm. You didn’t know I lost tremendous amount of weight. Heck, I didn’t even  know you still wear the shirt I gave you before I left. We are once again strangers sharing the same bed for a short while. 

  I asked myself if I still loved you. In all honesty, all those butterflies died a long time ago. I don’t feel what I felt the first time we shared a room. Love? I don’t want to feel love anymore. I probably don’t deserve it, you are probably not worthy of my time anymore. 

 I don’t even care if you touched other woman. All I need is the temporary adrenaline. When all of this is over, I will go home and will forget I ever knew you again. 

  We’re the only ones who knew we meet. What scandal it would be if anybody knew we are meeting at Sofia’s place. She didn’t even know, nobody knows. Nobody will know.

You’re The Flag of China…

… when I thought you’re just the flag of Japan.

I should’ve noticed all the jeopardy that would come my way; I should have not let you in my life.

All these years, I have helped you. My piffle mind self-incinerated itself because of you but I managed to wake up and survive… barely.

I succumb to episodes and bouts of death, pitying myself and living with sadness every waking day. I couldn’t even lift my feet from my slumber; I often told you I was exhausted, you ignored it. I am deeply sorry if I didn’t make yourself heard or seen because all that was in front of me was darkness, like swimming in a dark, deep abyss of loneliness that all of my energy was focused on me, myself, and I.

I couldn’t blame you, I wouldn’t blame you if you left. But you shouldn’t blame me either if I begged and cried because I was saving what was good that was left. I endured all the harsh words, all the disgusting things you have told me to salvage everything- to save us. During the denouement, it was my last energy. I broke down and wanted to jump from the 3rd floor of the very building I was working because I had no hope, my lifeline left me broken and torn into pieces. My head couldn’t digest the fact that a flawed human could tolerate himself finding another lover in just a day of wanting space. You should have told me you wanted the galaxy instead of space because the gap between us now is astoundingly panoramic, nothing can reach the you to me… not even a space shuttle can do that.

I previously loved every piece of you- your hair, your lips, your voice. I could still remember the pieces of whites you have on your hair, like a firework in a dark, starless night. Your broad back which I loved the most when you hugged me. That hug was all that I needed when I was having a bad day. Now, all that you have left me is the stale bitterness of anger and revenge hanging inside my mouth that I wanted to spit out but I can’t. I wanted to remember all the good days but you made me mad like a rabig dog salivating for revenge.

I told you not to hold grudges against the world, I taught you how to forgive. Meanwhile, you taught me how to hold on to madness to survive.

You made me mad but that’s how love’s supposed to be. Maybe on the other side of the moon, in the alternate universe, there is you and me that works but I hope there’s no other you and me anymore. We are the glitch of the system, the by-product of trauma.

I still cry all the time, each night I go to slumber when I happen to think of you. Last time, it was because of sadness. Now, it’s because of uttermost anger that I couldn’t project.

“Que sera, sera”

Whatever will be, will be.

Evermind

I still write about trivial things, the peculiar ones especially. One thing’s for sure: I don’t write when I feel elated. I must be devastated as hell.

Evermind, evermind- my simbelmyn̈e.

Ever wondered why flowers grow on tombs? Do they grow there because of the abundance of vital things they need? Or do they grow there to feed on the memories of the dead?

Simbelmyn̈e, simbelmyn̈e.

All of the memories you left, I’m still watering them, letting them take over my room.

They crawl- the vines creep against the walls of my very room. Dehydrating and drinking the moisture from the concrete. My sorry self is very much aware that the walls of my room will soon crumble as the twines devour the entirety of the cement palisade but I am too pre- occupied, entertaining your ghost.

The snowy colored blossoms dangling from each vine die each time I try to disregard them but they bloom too fast that if it happens that they will imbibe even just a single tear from the orifice of my tear duct, they will flourish.

Alas! The reason you cannot die lies within me, under my very nose literally.

My heart, my mind is a simbelmyn̈e– feeding upon the dead, the rotten leftovers. Enjoying tombs, the skeletons of the past.

You cannot die, you will never die. As long as somebody preys upon your bequeathal, as long as someone is still tending the memories you have left behind.

Simbelmyn̈e, simbelmyn̈e, evermind.

Ame (Rain)

I love the rain… but not too much.

When it rains, it pours… it pours.

Drought could kill. Too much rain could kill. It will be never enough.

Like the the rainfall, I will never be enough. No matter how much I do, how much I give to you. I will never be enough.

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photo stills : Rain bird(비네) (Feat. Tablo & Colde)

Oblivion

I could build a whole museum full of pictures of you when I didn’t even have a single photo of me saved in your phone gallery.

I could build a library full of poetry pieces about you when you barely even talk to me about your feelings.

Oblivion. Did your foggy brain forget me too? The unappreciated, the undervalued?

My name scribbled upon the insides of your fourth finger faded. Did you fade along with it too?

My therapist told me that my amygdala- the tiny vessel in my brain which holds the miniscule butterflies responsible for my feelings, needed to be watered because mine is so arrid, the desert will be jealous. But how can I revive it if you kept on starving me for the love I needed?

Oblivion. Did you forget all I did for you?

Oblivion. Did you forget I have feelings, too?

Oblivion. Forget the old me. Forget me. Forget.

Eating Ramen with You.

The thing is, I always wanted to eat and thread myself inside the bowl of a magical ramen and wallow with my long term growing sadness that has been outgrowing my intellect since I was 17 years old. I always wanted to eat at a ramen shop on a cold, post drizzle Monday afternoon viewing the people passing by, judging them one by one by their weird outfits. The first time I ate with someone at my favorite ramen shop, I almost fainted because of happiness. Deep inside my cranium, I always imagine eating with someone I found so dearly smiling from ear to ear, talking about nonsense and whatnot. I’d be so glad if I am eating spicy chicken ramen with extra cuts of cabbage on the side if I am seeing the love of my life enjoying my recommended food for him. It could be heaven if he tells me “I love you” in the middle of slurping noddles like an endless cassette tape reel; like an endless thread of yarn he cannot cut using his teeth. It didn’t matter if he accidentally snorts in the middle of doing it. I just wanted a good talk in the middle of eating an extremely good ramen with him.
But the thing is, January 27, 2012 would be the last time I would be eating  in my favorite ramen place with him. I always liked their braised pork, their spicy chicken ramen. But, today is just different. Damn, that was the most awful ramen I ever tasted in my whole 22 years of existence. The taste of spices tingled the back of my throat, spewing nasty tears out of my eyes as I swallowed a huge lump of karaage.
         The thing is, I wanted to cry on my knees when you told me you’re leaving while waiting for your usual order of ramen. You stared down the bowl like you’re daydreaming as you said you don’t love me anymore. I was supposed to be happy because I am with my favorite person, in my favorite place, eating my favorite food. Dear, I wanted to run away from that awful place… wanted to disappear, wanting to die.
Things don’t resonate like before when I passed by that cursed ramen shop. It’s been a year and I haven’t stepped inside of it and I never wanted to again.
Eating ramen with you is something I wanted to do… before you left my fragile heart; before you left me melting like an egg yolk in a bowl of hot soup.

I remember the time that we first kissed…

… under the starless city skies of New York; drank two bottles of Sapporo and probably smoked one or too many packs of Marlboro. It was a year ago but your umbrageous face behind the smoke was hovering in the spaces of my memories too vividly. We ended up in an empty parking lot talking about trivial things that was currently happening to our lives that time. The breeze was freezing but our lonely hearts kept us warm; our burning cigarette sticks kept us fuzzy. But as the smoke dissipate, you slowly evaporated in my life, too. I wonder where you went.

Five hundred sixty days later, I am still here; longing to see your vague silhouette again; longing to see you again. I heard you moved out of your murky apartment. I also heard you went to another country. All honesty, I don’t have any idea where you in the world you are right now. 
You were the moon, I am the sun. The moment I rise up, you disappear. We will never, ever, meet again.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve been mistaken you for someone else…”

‘Lo and behold the time that I first met you. You were the vast moonless sky, thirsty for some moonlight. I met you at the corner of the pavement between forgotten streets where strangers meet and lovers leave. You were blowing gray smoke wearing charcoal band shirt and jeans. You were striking, quite familiar actually. In the deepest parts of my amygdala, a feeling of nostalgia kept on running inside my skull; Like a previous love that was never mine. When we were slowly approaching each other, our eyes met; Our souls melted together. My blabbermouth accidentally uttered: “I’m sorry. Have we met before?” Hopeful that I could get a positive response. 

“I’m sorry but I don’t remember  you.” You quickly responded.

“Oh.” I gulped. ” I’m sorry. I must’ve mistaken you for someone else.”

That encounter created a spark and started a fire between two lost souls seeking for comfort in the middle of nowhere. Soon, the fire started spreading everywhere, warming my cold, steel heart. That fire was uncontrollable, burning anything at stake. Although it was good at the start, it was slowly turning into a fiery chasm, devouring me and my sane being. It was not long until the fire was extinguished; Ending everything in fragile ashes. 

One year later, I saw you again at the same pavement; In the same month; during the same time. I could no longer call you my love. Maybe I was right at first- you will be forever the love that was, is, and never will be mine. 

Our eyes met but our soul were repelling from each other. Your gray smoke escaped from your mouth, along with your sighs. I smiled sheepishly. Your quick response was “Hey.” Your eyes were blank, not the eyes that I knew before. 

“You look familiar, have I met you before?” I said wrinkling my forehead. That was intentionally said with a little bit of sarcasm. 

With a soft smirk, I added. “I’m sorry. I must’ve been mistaken you for someone else.”

Through the haziness of the room…

… saturated with lavender scented smoke suspended through the thin air, I looked into your eyes and wondered why everyday I wake up beside you everything is slowly turning into a 1960’s movie.
Monochrome.
Black and white.
Your presence leaves a tar and cotton colored residue in between the spaces of my freshly washed comforter each time you leave my bed. I peacefully followed your trails with my eyes as you head to the bathroom carrying your two month old toothbrush you bought from a random convenient store on your way home. The sound of the water splashing against the tiled walls made my heart and soul sulk, reminding me about the fact that you’re leaving me again.
Coming back after a week.
No assurance that you will.
My body summons the past-night-shenanigans tremors, forbidding me to move an inch from the bed that I am laying in. You went out of the bathroom like a soaked fluffy toy bearing a sly face that you always do whenever you leave. You gracefully tiptoe like the ballet man that you are across the room to open the closet and change into your go-to clothes.
Spray your Jo Malone Orange Blossom perfume.
Sit upon the mini sofa.
Wait for your bleached blonde hair to dry.
“Please don’t leave. Can you stay for a couple more days?”
“Darling, I can’t. I will come back to you, I promise.” You look down and pat a clean towel against your feet.
I understand, I completely do. My heart crumples as you look at me with scrunched nose, trying to hold back the tears you have been depositing in the back of your sclera for a long, long time.
Wanting to stay.
Wanting to stop the ticking of my old desktop clock.
After minutes, alas. You stood up, slowly shoved the blue tinted curtain aside to open my windows. You always told me to open them every morning to let my room breath. Yes, you better do because your scent circulates around the room and I can’t bare it. It feels like I will still breath your being even though your physical self is not around anymore. You meticulously check your bag one last time, pretending to arrange your already neat bag just to buy another minute.
“I guess I’ll go. I’m late for my flight.”
“Yeah.”
You begin approaching me to kiss my forehead, my cheek, my lips. You kiss me one last time as the taxi cab that was supposed to get you to the airport honk repeatedly. Frustratingly, you let go of a subtle “tch” between your breaths.
“Please wait for me. I will come back.”
“Yeah…”

I won’t Forgive You, My Love.

Min Yoongi’s Diary
August 23, 1999
3:46 am

I could slowly feel my lungs wheeze as I inhale the last cigarette stick that has been pressed flat inside my old leather wallet. This would be my last stash since I have been promising myself to stop consuming the cancer since last month; since the last time you walked out of my apartment bearing those sullen, tumescent eyes. I would have blocked you from the door, dropped on my knees upon the cold, granite lined floor, and begged for the last time but I purposely didn’t. Maybe you’re asking why didn’t my foolish self do that but we both knew the answer from that habitual question: we’ve had enough; I’ve had enough.
It was not purely my fault. In fact, we both have shortcomings and inadequacies from this bullshit relationship. I’m fucking angry because I lost a good companion and I have been laying awake every night thinking about you. I couldn’t even write songs properly like I used to because everytime I hold the pen, I would always, always write about you and your dreadful memories. I’m disgusted- no. That was a total understatement from all that I feel right now. I am dumbfounded about the fact that you started seeing someone a week after you stepped out of the fortress that you and I shared for months. How could you do that to my nicotine stained heart and soul, darling? You swore to all the gods you knew that there wasn’t anyone. You sly fox, you fooled me.
Setting aside all the bad things between us, I am beyond thankful for all the good memoirs we both created. I came across the old VHS recordings you kept in my lone studio and I never sobbed so hard ever in my life. As I pressed the playback button, it was as if my life was rewinding before my eyes. You recorded everything- from the backstage shenanigans, our simple park dates, the awards I got from my job, even my literature blocked days where I often blabber about anything that my petty brain thought about. I remember you telling me that I should keep this video diary because I will probably thank you in the future… seems that you’re right after all.
Darling, I missed everything about you but I knew I cannot rewind all of those bittersweet memories literally again. These endless, tangible stacks of VHS tapes will sure obliterate overtime and I will just lie awake in my bed praying to the universe that my feelings for you will do the same. The burning sensation and the nasty taste of alcohol couldn’t and will never cure my love hangover from you.
I’m sorry but I won’t forgive you, my love. Maybe if my tarred stained soul will turn to ivory, I will forgive you… but we both know that will never happen.