phantom of the night

anime, bl and anything nice | whatever it is, it's going to be on my paper                             

[edsheawrites]

stain on my diary

I'm the type of person who likes to flip through the past pages of my life. The feeling of the letters on a piece of paper as I thread it lightly, going back to things that were already written. I know they can never be erased, they can never be undone, but I still like to look back on them.

Maybe it's the future version of me that takes pride in them. Not because I've done great things, but probably to tell myself that I've changed—hopefully for the better—and to be smug about it, saying, "I've already been through that, and I never made the same mistake again."

I like looking back on things that are already done, through the pain, mistakes, and joy. Whether I was carrying thorns as I wrote or fuming mad, and I'd know I was crying. The tears might have dried off, but the stains remained on the places where they fell. I'd look back on them and just smile.

If I don't, I'll never be able to move forward. My pen would stay buried in the same place without moving an inch, staining only the same sheet until the pen burrows a hole. I'd prefer if it were tears tearing my paper. Only then could I say I'm truly taking a step, moving forward to stain another page.

[edsheawrites]

Oblivion

In a sea of faces, one stood out – a vibrant splash of color in a world of monochrome. He wore simplicity like a badge of honor, yet to me, it was a statement of elegance. His presence commanded attention, like a model strutting down a runway, and my eyes would follow, entranced. There was something about him that defied the ordinary, a spark that set him apart.

As I watched him, I was captivated by the nuances of his expressions – the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the subtle curve of his lips. Even his most ridiculous faces were tailored to make me laugh, like a bespoke suit. His off-key singing was music to my ears, a gentle hum that soothed my soul. When he spoke, his words were whispers on the wind, soft and intimate. His proximity was a symphony of sensations – drumbeats in my chest, a flutter in my pulse.

The moment our skin touched, it was like a gentle breeze on a summer day – soft, soothing, and reassuring. I was lost in the depths of my feelings, unsure of what to call them. But deep down, I knew. I knew all too well. Every tiny detail about him mattered, not because of any inherent significance, but because I'd woven a narrative around each one, like a spider spinning its web. My perception of him was filtered through rose-tinted lenses, ignoring the harsh realities of the world. It wasn't what he did that captivated me, but the way it made me feel. And in that realization, I was both exhilarated and terrified. I'd fallen, but he remained oblivious.

[edsheawrites]

Waiting Gradually Eats the Soul

The worst stench of the rotten flesh filled the empty room—unopened—where only an unrecognizable figure lay limp. For days, she lay on that bed, at first resting without care.

For she had just heard the most beautiful sound by the ear: a promise. Day by day, the once upturned smile slowly dropped. The time flew by, but she stubbornly waited for the promise. She tore her flesh, gnawed her bones, refusing to move at all. She promised she’d stay and wait. She promised… for another promise.

She never realized that waiting slowly rots the flesh, silences the spirit, and devours the soul. Promises like that drift, unanchored—forever unfulfilled. They whisper of ease, of comfort, if only you stay quiet, stay small, stay still. But life was never meant to be lived in a cage and invisible chains where the only thing you do is waiting.

It will be too late before you realize that... you are not to wait but to make it happen.

[edsheawrites]

𝓈𝓅𝓇𝒾𝓃ℊ

For someone who's scared of the warmth of other people, I hope the hesitating tap on the back I gave still left a little warmth on yours.

I never find out the root that I have to trail and uproot. I did not try as well. It was fine this way for me. My hands were cold and unfeeling. The surfaces were also lifeless, cold and unmoving. If these hands were to touch something so alive, something so warm, I'd take it away. All I seem to do is take and hurt. A sense of dread settled in my heart that my distance against others would only grow further and the winter would only grow colder.

But you are the exception.

My trembling hands, normally unwilling to touch others finally rose to meet yours. It was the first time the cold hands felt the warmth of another person. The tears welled up, hot tears trickling down my cheeks. I realized, I wasn't entirely cold. The small flicker of flame was always there keeping me alive and sane. There was a little warmth inside me.

Yet, I wanted to share the little warmth in me. In hopes that yours would ignite mine too.

[edsheawrites]

little me in everything

I am no longer a child, I cannot let myself cry! That… I always tell myself. Maybe it was an excuse for my inability to process my emotions in a healthy way but that’s how I live. Hard as stone, firm as the oldest tree in the country. There’s always this fear inside of me that once I break, I could no longer put myself back, and there’s no one who can patch me piece by piece. But the harder you are, the easier you are to break. I put the little pieces in me to every thing that made up my existence. I just thought… that way, I could still have something left of me once I lost one thing. One day, the last thing that was left can be molded into something new.. something different but still me.

[edsheawrites]

wager of life

I've always heard other people telling me, "Think twice before you decide." 

I do not need to be reminded by an everyday occurrence. It is something that I've reminded myself, like a mantra I live by. However, it was a difficult path to walk. Maybe most people got nothing to lose, or they're just not afraid of loss. But for people who have something to lose and might lose everything, thinking twice is more than just thinking "twice". The idea of doing something at the expense of your future is scary. It is a winding path and dark at that. 

Maybe thinking twice is comforting. That at some point, we might come across a new direction that would lead us to a better point. It is comforting to think that way, like a hand that pats on your back. It is a wordless assurance that, I have other options. 

But... what if I don't? What if the only choice I got is not even the right choice? 

It's not a mistake, it's not your fault... it's just the difference in where we stand in life is heaven and earth.

[edsheawrites]

raison d'etre

The dream I keep holding on in the grasp of my hand, slowly slipping out of my fingertips as the tic-toc sound of clock draws near the ringing. And then, I woke up to the miserable reality where I have no meaning. I walk out of my house everyday in the circles of life, every steps were light yet empty. I've known where to go but it was not a destination I've longed. The mask that gripped my face tightly, afraid it might slip out and that, I'd lost the littlest meaning of who I am, it was painful but it was a proof of my existence. My existence has always been a wound I was agonizing about. Only when I have my eyes close that I slowly collect the missing pieces of myself. But the puzzle pieces I tenderly held in my hands always aflutter in the wind like it was never meant for me. Yet I keep searching for them. That was the entirety of my life. The constant lost and found, but never really found.

[edsheawrites]

at least, in my rose-colored glasses

You may have had thousands of encounters in your entire life, but I know you best. I know you better than anyone else because I’ve watched you longer than them. I know you at the fingertip that touches my heart, and I know you when your fingers clasp my trembling hand. I know you by the smile that brightens the world. Oh, how beautiful it seems to me now, like the sun that rises in the morning and the morning breeze that breathes on my face. I know you by the voice among all the voices when you call out my name. I know you at the top of your head when we’re both lost in the crowd. I know you at every step you take. Each is carefully crafted toward the path you have paved for yourself. I know you at every rise and fall of your chest, and behind that is a heart, beating beautifully, creating music that even virtuosos cannot hold a candle against. I know you at every beat, and I know every beat doesn’t spell my name. I know you best, but what help would knowing do when you don’t know me at all?

[edsheawrites]

[edsheawrites]

a hand that seeks—that no longer seeks

There was a hand that always reached out to me. It was warm and held on mine tight. I hated it so much because my hands would sweat so I would swat it away and wipe my hands. But the hand consistently pursued the other hand that never want to touch it. And I keep doing the same. Flicking it away from me, wiping my hand like it’s a plague that will take my life away. However, a situation unfolded that I never thought would happen. Still, the hand seeks mine. This time, it was trembling, weak and cold. But it still tried to hold mine using the last strength it could muster. A lot of things run through my mind and the biggest thought that passed through my heart is the regret. I gave back the warmth that the hand have always longed but it can no longer receive. No matter how much I tried warming up the hand, it’s only gradually getting colder and colder. I never let go... I could never while trying to reminisce of the warmth that it once had. Then I realize, I could never recall anything because I always let go. There’s nothing I can look back and there’s always to miss.

[edsheawrites]

The Name That was Lost

You were always the subject to my musings. The muse to my poetries. My hands are relentless, incessantly writing about what seems to be your name in a long-ass paragraphs and stanzas. But now, I’ve been looking for that drive. I lost the you that’s always been on my scribbles. It slipped in the middle of my pages; I don’t know if you’ve lost your way or you’ve grown tired hearing your name written in kitsch poetries, woven by tireless hands. The “you” that’s always been in my pages has become nameless.

[edsheawrites]

Recommendation BL Manhwa

This is not donghua but a manhwa I happen to find. This manhwa still needs to be finished, and there is still much to be revealed. However, I felt compelled to write a review because I adore it.

The title is “Shining Summer”. So far, I enjoy this manhwa. I am not sure if the original tags said "psychological" or "body swap," but I prefer to think of it as psychological. There are numerous theories about this manhwa, but none of them have been proven.

Title: Shining Summer

Genre: Shounen ai, Drama, Slice of Life, Psychological (?)

Tags: Bodyswap (?), Manipulative Seme, Childhood Crush, Personality Change, High School, Accident/s

Current Chapters: 66

Rating: 10/10 (This is just my thing. Don’t mind the manipulative seme. You’d be his bitch. )

The story started when the MC and ML were 10 years old. They were involved in a bus accident on their way to the dojo where they had enrolled. Because the ML shielded MC, he only sustained minor injuries. Because of the accident, ML seemed to become a different person. He was saying that he does not know this boy who goes by the name Jihoon. He claims that Jihoon is not his name, that this is not his body, and that those are not his parents. MC was distraught and came out of the hospital room, crying. Is he telling the truth, or is it a truth he claimed by himself because of a head injury? Maybe it is more complicated than that...

You understand what I mean by "psychological" and "body swap." ML believed he swapped bodies with the original Jihoon, so when he grew up and reconnected with MC, they went looking for his original body.

I like the pacing of this story. The pacing is perfect for a story of this genre. Some people are upset about it, but I do not think there is anything wrong with the pacing taking so long to develop. This book requires a good build-up because there are many mysteries lurking. Not only to build up the plot but also to build up and flesh out their characters. The writer is doing great. This book keeps me going because I am curious about what is going to happen next.

Characters are also well-developed. They are not flat. Even the minor characters are well-developed. I particularly liked how the author shaped the ML into who he is. He is not entirely a good person; despite the book's many cute moments, he is not designed to be fluffy. That is fine because his character is tailor-made for him, given what he is been through. I just hope the best for him because he’s been through so much. Imagine if you were in his shoes. Most people would lose their minds.

I just hope the plot does not veer off course. And, if it does, I hope it swerves like a race car. I have high expectations for this manhwa. I wanted to savor it while also learning more about it and reading more of it.

[edsheawrites]

Should I also post my sentients of the books (donghua) I read in here? I want to do that. I’ll also follow more with the same interest.

[edsheawrites]

When I was a child, I never truly felt like I was a child but also never felt like I was older. Probably because a child is curious by nature and as a child, I am curious about many things. Although I could never be older and wiser enough, I recognize that I lack the knowledge to navigate the world. I have always wondered, first things first, how alphabets were created, how the creator sounded out those letters, and what crossed their mind while they are in pursuit of knowledge. Words are one of the few things humans learned before anything else yet there are many beautiful words left undiscovered. They are beautiful but with the wrong usage, they could be dangerous. It’s one of the few things I considered truly beautiful for the fact that words can be flipped around like a coin and change their appearance. With the limited time I have in the human world, in a corporal body, I wanted to learn all of those. And with the little footsteps I left on the vast Earth, I am slapped with the fact that I know too little. I may not know more than what I want to acquire but I wanted to know more. Knowledge goes beyond the solid Earth, the green nature, blue skies, and pristine turquoise waters. They go beyond the dark and mystic universe. I could not navigate all of that with the little time I have and with the limited worldview I have. My world is too little to tear through the boundless universe, I could only watch one thing. It is probably the reason why I enjoy reading so much. It’s not only the love of words and creation but also my wild pursuit of knowledge. Writers take their time researching, the road they walked to is sweat and blood, and their blood stains the paper. The thoughts they poured into it make me think to myself. I’ve seen few sceneries through my eyes but I’ve lived different lifetimes. In those different lifetimes, I became different people with different memories, different characteristics, and different academic and intellectual interests. I’ve seen different eras, and during my journey to different dimensions, I became a voyager who carries all the memories and feelings of every character I’ve lived. These things carved in words are not only created to entertain and to provide knowledge but they are also engraved in the heart of every people who lived the life of those characters. Those thoughts they carried while walking towards the path they laid for themselves became the foundation of curiosity. Curious minds are always in pursuit of a greater goal, that is the attainment of knowledge, and knowledge is found in curiosity. The beginning in exploration of different matters of the world started with a question and will not end with one question.

[edsheawrites]

Escape

I wanted to keep it simple and keep myself away from understanding difficult things. I know life is far from simple and many things remain undiscovered. Maybe grandiose words are needed to define grand ideas. I also wanted to learn things that I don’t know but the only thing I am certain of is I don’t know anything. I wandered around the complex ideas of the world, life, and humans. But I can never catch up to it. I keep running, running, and running, going far until I could count the steps I take while my steps slowly declined. I looked back but I am unable to find the roads I took. I was scared that I’d get lost and I could never come back, I could never find the place that I was looking for. I know there is more to adventures than feeling lost and getting lost. My feet have grown numb and my eyes have lost sight of what the world has to offer. Even if I continue my journey, there are no words left to speak. All those things I’ve threaded so far are left unlearned. I can’t remember where I left my footprints. All I know is that it was all gone, and never can be found again.

[only-tiktoks]

[oldwinesoul]

“𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑦 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑖𝑠𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑘, 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑡ℎ

𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑐𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔.”

—Warsan Shire