I cannot help but become overwhelmed by this feeling of blah my life has becoming. It’s running around in the same circle, the way it was back in Marbel. Sometimes I think this big city moves in the same way, always the same circle, the same route, the same scenery. Over and over again. Ack, shit’s depressing. I need a burger.
Anonymous said: at what you do you are very good. my journal is crap compared to yours. whoever owns your special attention is very very very lucky. i hope that person knows how amazingly lucky she is.
I hope that person knows how amazingly lucky he is.
“I started making plans, thinking we would get that far.” —Daniel Handler
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.
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.
"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
Replacing my heart with another liver so i can drink more and care less.
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.
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—
I really fucking love you.
There are no in betweens.
I don’t know what grey is.
My love is black and white.