It only took my brain a two-hour dinner date to release ten million endorphins. Two hours because you were slumped at work and get slumped, again, the next day. We went home and I was still very happy I didn’t mind that I almost got hit by a tricycle along Gensan drive. I could have died. A tricycle could have killed me. What a sad way to end a life. But I didn’t care. I had too much happy hormones to bother.

20/7/2014 . 6 notes . Reblog

We drove past the empty streets on the outskirts of Marbel. It was 10 at night, and fireworks from the party downtown lit up the sky. I wish I could bring you with me back in Davao so I’d have more nights like this.

20/7/2014 . 5 notes . Reblog

"You can rely too much, my love, on the unspoken things. And the wry smile. I have that smile myself, and I’ve learned the silence, too, over the years. Along with your expressions, like No notion and Of necessity. What happens, though, when it is all unsaid, is that you wake up one morning, no, it’s more like late one afternoon, and it’s not just unsaid, it’s gone. That’s all. Just gone. I remember this word, that look, that small inflection, after all this time. I used to hold them, trust them, read them like a rune. Like a sign that there was a house, a billet, a civilization where we were. I look back and I think I was just there all alone. Collecting wisps and signs.” —Pitch Dark by Renata Adler

"You can rely too much, my love, on the unspoken things. And the wry smile. I have that smile myself, and I’ve learned the silence, too, over the years. Along with your expressions, like No notion and Of necessity. What happens, though, when it is all unsaid, is that you wake up one morning, no, it’s more like late one afternoon, and it’s not just unsaid, it’s gone. That’s all. Just gone. I remember this word, that look, that small inflection, after all this time. I used to hold them, trust them, read them like a rune. Like a sign that there was a house, a billet, a civilization where we were. I look back and I think I was just there all alone. Collecting wisps and signs.” Pitch Dark by Renata Adler

20/7/2014 . 22 notes . Reblog

Replacing my heart with another liver so i can drink more and care less.

19/7/2014 . 15 notes . Reblog
17/7/2014 . 76,538 notes . Reblog
You were nothing more than another face when I first met you. Three months later and yours is the only face I could ever find in a crowded place.

You were nothing more than another face when I first met you. Three months later and yours is the only face I could ever find in a crowded place.

15/7/2014 . 20 notes . Reblog

Perhaps craziest of all, I still feel a flicker of hope. I walked home that night thinking about the reason you stood up on me. There’s probably nothing I can do now to change your mind. We’re probably not our best selves yet anyway, but the bottom line is that I still like you and want to be with you. You’d probably think I hate you for doing what you did, but no, I was only angry at you and confused by you and depressed by you. But never did hate come into it. What I feel about you can’t be distinguished with a spur-of-the-moment decision. For what it’s worth, I still want you and have all these conversations with you and be random with you and be ridiculous with you—

12/7/2014 . 9 notes . Reblog

"I write because I don’t think we’re done." —Dustin Lance Black

12/7/2014 . 12 notes . Reblog
When I love you,
I really fucking love you.
There are no in betweens.
I don’t know what grey is.
My love is black and white.
8/7/2014 . 102,481 notes . Reblog
4/7/2014 . 36 notes . Reblog
15,691 plays

27/6/2014 . 2,453 notes . Reblog

June 27, 2012 I read the journal I used to keep before, it’s the black one that has your picture scotch taped on the back cover if you remember. It was on the shelf, sandwiched between Zadie Smith and Etgar Keret, authors you probably know now after hanging out in my room everyday after school last year. When I pulled it out of the shelf, an index card came flying out. You must have slipped it inside while I was away for Davao; I remember you sending me a message that you’d drop by the house to return the books you borrowed  and I said sure I’ll tell Ma (she still thinks we’re together, by the way). It was folded in the middle, with my name written in bold letters on the other side. I never bothered opening it though, like most of the letters you gave me last summer, after we broke up. The thing is, M, I knew what you’d say. You are that predictable; the way I knew you’d be a goner, and this you had proven to be true after our fourteenth month together. I just wish I weren’t that stupid not to pull away; wish that I weren’t so scared of being left alone because I had become so attached to you.

But you see, M, as I was leafing through the journal, and reading more of my life when I was with you, I pause after reading a page and think that hey, it wasn’t all that bad. I’m glad you and I happened. Even if half of it were lies.

I put the index card back inside the journal where it belongs. Maybe someday I’d pull the journal out of the shelf again, the card slipping out, and I’d finally read it.

27/6/2014 . 10 notes . Reblog

Anonymous said: Missed you. A lot.

?

23/6/2014 . 2 notes . Reblog

Anonymous said: There'll come a day that that one seemingly real fantasy will become somewhat a fantastic reality. There'll be a face, a touch on what was just a voice, a longing. Maybe, but who knows.

Hi. Someone stood me up on a date today. Hahaha! :(

21/6/2014 . 4 notes . Reblog
25/4/2014 . 1,730 notes . Reblog
Follow @mmstrbrightside