one can never be too used to being forgotten.
one can never be numb of the feeling, of being forgotten.
it hurts the most, when you cannot utter how painful it is.
no one has ever cared, anyways.
no stranger has ever loved another stranger.
this won't be an exception.
just another perfect day, waiting to be ruined.
we've been waiting, waiting too much.
that painstaking feeling you get when you know you cannot bear this wait anymore,
yet also knowing that you can do nothing,
but to wait.
will you understand?
have you ever, been forgotten?
have you ever, been pushed aside?
have you ever, been invisible?
delighted to the feeling of an ounce of care from someone else,
often skipping a heartbeat when someone showed love to you;
you pretended to be okay.
you pretend to be fine.
it's not okay, nor fine at all, for being seen through
and not looked at.
invisibility is not a gift.
especially when you can still, clearly see yourself,
and know that you are not invisible at all.
when you know you are real,
yet no one sees or hears you,
you pretend to be okay.
you pretended to be fine.
3/22/2011
1/30/2011
friends.
he lays his arm around the other boy's shoulder. a smile is spread across the boy's face, and his face is immediately flushed. not because he is in love, but because he knows he's been forgiven, and the blush indicates happiness. Tako, who is now looking away with pink-tinted cheeks, positions his other arm casually over his thigh. the train continues to wobble from side-to-side awkwardly, but not too heavily.
"you're not angry?" Song finally asks and breaks the silence. the boy, who is famous for being a wonderful all-rounded artist and his friendliness is being his usual self today--humble and polite. Takoyaki, on the other hand, is the complete opposite of Song. lazy, hard-headed, ill-tempered, but in the end, still the most forgiving among themselves. their hair are also so drastically different from normal beings--Song's being a soft pink which surprisingly, doesn't appear too girlie on him and Tako's pale white shoulder-length hair with a bright streak of orange on the left side of his face. no one really knew how these two became friends.
"well, we're friends, right?" Tako replies, still looking the other way and unwilling to let go of his hook from Song's shoulder. despite the eight-year age gap, they get along fine. Tako isn't usually submissive, yet somehow with Song, he lets the pink-haired boy take care of his wardrobe. it's also thanks to Song that Tako has a much more decent job than being a pretty-much-anything freelancer. the whirring of the wind outside of the train and the emptiness inside the coach makes the situation a lot more awkward.
"we are," Song replies blandly. come to think of it, it's even stranger that Tako and Song has been able to converse with each other for so long, when Tako is Japanese and Song is Korean. though Song does have the upper-hand, having learning more than 10 languages by the age of five. Tako was particularly relieved when Song didn't ask about his blood-red eyes. it was a curse, really. it made the people around him see him as a calamity, a bad omen as he grew up. eventually he left his hometown as his parents passed away. he still remembers how his name came about--his father was a genius at making takoyakis. until Tako arrived, at least. his father died shortly after his birth.
the train slows down almost dramatically. "next station, Shinjuku. next station, Shinjuku," the robotic voice announced. Song, returning to his usual self, immediately grins cheekily at Tako. "c'mon, don't be angry! Mayo and Nine are waiting for us at Shinjuku, cheer up, okay?" Tako, who is known for being a cold-blooded creature, smiles without putting in any effort. it's almost natural when he's with Song. 'Song' also seemed easier to be remembered rather than his Korean name, Hae Jun. Takoyaki removes his arm from Song's shoulder and stretches. the train stops right when he places his arms down again.
"yeah, let's go. time is running," Tako says as he stands up and walks out of the train, with Song following behind him like a child.
time is running. we'll be friends forever, even if forever means a day or two hundred years.
"you're not angry?" Song finally asks and breaks the silence. the boy, who is famous for being a wonderful all-rounded artist and his friendliness is being his usual self today--humble and polite. Takoyaki, on the other hand, is the complete opposite of Song. lazy, hard-headed, ill-tempered, but in the end, still the most forgiving among themselves. their hair are also so drastically different from normal beings--Song's being a soft pink which surprisingly, doesn't appear too girlie on him and Tako's pale white shoulder-length hair with a bright streak of orange on the left side of his face. no one really knew how these two became friends.
"well, we're friends, right?" Tako replies, still looking the other way and unwilling to let go of his hook from Song's shoulder. despite the eight-year age gap, they get along fine. Tako isn't usually submissive, yet somehow with Song, he lets the pink-haired boy take care of his wardrobe. it's also thanks to Song that Tako has a much more decent job than being a pretty-much-anything freelancer. the whirring of the wind outside of the train and the emptiness inside the coach makes the situation a lot more awkward.
"we are," Song replies blandly. come to think of it, it's even stranger that Tako and Song has been able to converse with each other for so long, when Tako is Japanese and Song is Korean. though Song does have the upper-hand, having learning more than 10 languages by the age of five. Tako was particularly relieved when Song didn't ask about his blood-red eyes. it was a curse, really. it made the people around him see him as a calamity, a bad omen as he grew up. eventually he left his hometown as his parents passed away. he still remembers how his name came about--his father was a genius at making takoyakis. until Tako arrived, at least. his father died shortly after his birth.
the train slows down almost dramatically. "next station, Shinjuku. next station, Shinjuku," the robotic voice announced. Song, returning to his usual self, immediately grins cheekily at Tako. "c'mon, don't be angry! Mayo and Nine are waiting for us at Shinjuku, cheer up, okay?" Tako, who is known for being a cold-blooded creature, smiles without putting in any effort. it's almost natural when he's with Song. 'Song' also seemed easier to be remembered rather than his Korean name, Hae Jun. Takoyaki removes his arm from Song's shoulder and stretches. the train stops right when he places his arms down again.
"yeah, let's go. time is running," Tako says as he stands up and walks out of the train, with Song following behind him like a child.
time is running. we'll be friends forever, even if forever means a day or two hundred years.
11/02/2010
ramblings.
this is my refuge. this is where i take cover when i'm too scared to say it in your face.
this is the part where i tell you i'm sick of life, but indeed i am not.
simply sick of the souls changing around me, but still thankful for a handful who're still the same.
i cannot handle a meager drop of change, it hurts me so, it makes me miss.
"i guess if you can let me down for so many times, i suppose i can do the same too"
i don't wish to be vengeful, but a certain subconscious is calling out for me to be realistic, and mean.
sarcasm doesn't work its way into my ears, humor fills me not;
i feel like a soulless child, completely transformed to be someone i am not.
i struggle to look for the delicate scent of hope around me, yet nothing comes up.
the happiest music sounds almost like a funeral to me, the sadder ones only make it worse.
who am i to speak of life's depths?
i feel worthless, undeserving and lost.
not knowing what i want, not knowing what i need, not knowing what i have even lost.
it's suddenly tough for me to smile, yet the next second i could be laughing.
worlds seem to be turning, spinning, twirling in gigantic circles.
i am lost again, not knowing a single thing, regressed into a baby.
this is the part where i tell you i'm sick of life, but indeed i am not.
simply sick of the souls changing around me, but still thankful for a handful who're still the same.
i cannot handle a meager drop of change, it hurts me so, it makes me miss.
"i guess if you can let me down for so many times, i suppose i can do the same too"
i don't wish to be vengeful, but a certain subconscious is calling out for me to be realistic, and mean.
sarcasm doesn't work its way into my ears, humor fills me not;
i feel like a soulless child, completely transformed to be someone i am not.
i struggle to look for the delicate scent of hope around me, yet nothing comes up.
the happiest music sounds almost like a funeral to me, the sadder ones only make it worse.
who am i to speak of life's depths?
i feel worthless, undeserving and lost.
not knowing what i want, not knowing what i need, not knowing what i have even lost.
it's suddenly tough for me to smile, yet the next second i could be laughing.
worlds seem to be turning, spinning, twirling in gigantic circles.
i am lost again, not knowing a single thing, regressed into a baby.
9/29/2010
that time.
when i just don't want to do anything : not drawing, not singing-along, not dancing, not studying, not talking to anyone, not feeling a thing. when i feel utterly lost like a kitten who lost her mother, learning how to stand on all fours, learning how to run without learning how to walk, learning everything from scratch again.
i am emptied. fill me with your souls once again.
i am emptied. fill me with your souls once again.
8/21/2010
7/18/2010
what a fool i am to be, still waiting, hoping like an idiot, hoping that a nice person would come along, see that i am feeling downright awful, give me a pat on the back and make me happy again. what a fool i am.
i don't need that nice person. i'll be two and comfort myself by being another.
i won't expect any more.
i don't need that nice person. i'll be two and comfort myself by being another.
i won't expect any more.
7/07/2010
i always do.
i always have a reason why 'he' likes 'her' and not 'me'.
she's prettier;
she has long hair;
she has flawless skin;
she's petite;
she's sweet and lovable;
she's girly;
she looks good in everything;
she's charismatic;
she's good with words;
she's quiet;
she's cute;
she's talented;
she's so insanely kind;
she's perfect.
while 'i' am not.
she's prettier;
she has long hair;
she has flawless skin;
she's petite;
she's sweet and lovable;
she's girly;
she looks good in everything;
she's charismatic;
she's good with words;
she's quiet;
she's cute;
she's talented;
she's so insanely kind;
she's perfect.
while 'i' am not.
7/01/2010
no one saves her.
and i'm not the girl you'd want to be in love with, because i'm far from beautiful, far from graceful, far from girlie, far from everything you ever wanted to see in your girl. and i'm not the girl...
she repeated the sentence over and over and over and over again, as if drunk in her very own words. her heart cracks, breaks, shatters. he had done nothing but smile, yet he has succeeded in breaking her fragile heart, which was big, for she was a tall, boyish girl, and it only made it hurt a lot more. no words has been said by anyone, but she smiles as he smiles when she is crying inside. no one sees the faint hint of misery on her expression, not even the best friend, who had her own string of problems to deal with. she can only hope time runs, sprints away from her so she can run away, far from this place where no one can see her cry and foulmouth.
her self-esteem once again broken, but most friends are more than tired to fix her back into who she was before. the friends are finally exhausted from telling her nice things, giving her hope and love, mending her back, stitch after stitch. the girl never learns, always running into love and breaking herself apart. she thought she was strong, she thought she could handle every ounce of pain and sorrow driven back at her.
she thought.
a minute felt like an eternity to her. time passes so slow, so sarcastically, as if to laugh at her stupidity, as if to wake her up from her deafness when she's with her friends, to make her listen, as if to teach her a lesson, to let her go through this painstaking heartbreak slow and long, so she'd understand, so she'd learn to slow down.
nothing helps.
the girl is broken yet again, and this time, no one is here to fix her.
no one is here to save her.
no prince charming, no willing friend, no caring family.
none.
the girl is left broken.
the girl is left broken. forever.
she repeated the sentence over and over and over and over again, as if drunk in her very own words. her heart cracks, breaks, shatters. he had done nothing but smile, yet he has succeeded in breaking her fragile heart, which was big, for she was a tall, boyish girl, and it only made it hurt a lot more. no words has been said by anyone, but she smiles as he smiles when she is crying inside. no one sees the faint hint of misery on her expression, not even the best friend, who had her own string of problems to deal with. she can only hope time runs, sprints away from her so she can run away, far from this place where no one can see her cry and foulmouth.
her self-esteem once again broken, but most friends are more than tired to fix her back into who she was before. the friends are finally exhausted from telling her nice things, giving her hope and love, mending her back, stitch after stitch. the girl never learns, always running into love and breaking herself apart. she thought she was strong, she thought she could handle every ounce of pain and sorrow driven back at her.
she thought.
a minute felt like an eternity to her. time passes so slow, so sarcastically, as if to laugh at her stupidity, as if to wake her up from her deafness when she's with her friends, to make her listen, as if to teach her a lesson, to let her go through this painstaking heartbreak slow and long, so she'd understand, so she'd learn to slow down.
nothing helps.
the girl is broken yet again, and this time, no one is here to fix her.
no one is here to save her.
no prince charming, no willing friend, no caring family.
none.
the girl is left broken.
the girl is left broken. forever.
wish post.
wish someone would hold me tight and whisper to me 'it's okay'
wish you would compliment me all day long until i tell you i'm sick of it
wish i would have the courage to do whatever i want
wish i could draw better things
wish you would call and ask if i'm okay
wish i would be a million times braver and two times dumber so i can live a great life
wish i would stop wishing so much
wish i had a simpler, less complicated mind
wish the rain would stop.
wish you would compliment me all day long until i tell you i'm sick of it
wish i would have the courage to do whatever i want
wish i could draw better things
wish you would call and ask if i'm okay
wish i would be a million times braver and two times dumber so i can live a great life
wish i would stop wishing so much
wish i had a simpler, less complicated mind
wish the rain would stop.
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