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REPRESENTATION OF “IN A ROOM FULL OF ART I’D STARE AT YOU”

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Van Gogh used to eat yellow paint because he thought it would make him happier. i thought it was okay for him to touch me or slap me or kick me because i thought it would make him happier and stay a little longer. because i thought losing him would be the worst thing that could ever happen to me. because i thought it was o k a y because i loved him. but i guess i never really see that he was my yellow paint.

I think the most hurtful things I've ever heard is "I don't love you anymore." I remember it as clear as day when my uncle shout it out loud in front of my aunt's face. And my aunt's face is becoming paler and paler any second. She didn't say anything. She didn't even cry anymore. I guess the tears has dried up after the last argument they had. What happened to the vow they both said? What happened with sparks and fireworks between them? Where has the love runs out? Why? My aunt looks up to him and stared at his eyes. Then, with a mere whisper of heartbreak, she said— She never even loved him in the first place. Later I asked my aunt if she really meant what she said. She shook her head and smiled brokenly at me, her voice came out as a pained whisper, "No," she said. "I only said that so he'd know how I feel." Then she told me that sometimes if you love someone so much, you'd give everything you can give just to make them happy. And my uncle decided that he didn't want her presence anymore. So she did left him. Not because she had given up, or ran out of love, but because if you love someone so much, the best you can do is to let them go.

it was 4 months after you once said i love you. ever since that, you never mentioned or reminded me that you love me. i guess you're the type of boy who didn't want to say love that easily. as if love has this deep meaning that your tongue cannot hold the weight of; and maybe that's true. it was a week before our 5th month together that you started to text me goodnights and ily's. my heart melted and soared in warmth; you do still love me after all these months being together. a day right before our 5th month, you told me you're seeing another girl. my bestfriend, to be exact. you told me that you love her, and being with me is a huge mistake. you told me you're sorry that you hurt me; you told me it was wrong to choose me when you're in love with my bestfriend. i'm okay. really, i tried to be fine. b u t i c a n ' t. thank you for the good night texts; i never knew it was an underlying message of good bye. goddamn, i really thought ily meant i love you. but you meant it as i'm leaving you.

I used to think that you were the reason of my smile. The reason why I'm still holding on. The reason why I don't give up. Maybe that's true. Or maybe not. But you are the reason why I cried myself to sleep everynight, The reason why I think I'm never good enough for anyone. The reason why I don't see myself in the mirror for too long. And that's a fact. Its true, as much as I tried to deny it. You make me happy, but you make me cry harder. You make laugh, but you make me losing sleep. You make me feel proud of having you, but you never really love me. For I am just a plain me, and you are you. You never really tell me that you love me, because maybe you don't, to begin with.

When you put back the broken pieces from the mess he caused, I hope you remember that your hands are way too precious to pick up his mess. When he slapped your cheek so hard that his palms left a mark on it, I hope you don't feel it like he caressed your cheek right before he kiss you. When he forced you to make you feel good, I hope you understand that your body is not a toy that he can play with everytime he pleases. When he ripped off your clothes, please don't think about how much the dress costs. When he started calling you names, please don't mistaken it as a pet name, or a moan, or a praise. When your hands were too tired to pick up his mess, or too tired to wipe your tears, you can give up. Remember this: Don't try to fix him. People cannot be fixed. You just help them to fix themself. You tried your best, you really did; But some people were born to destroy. —t. f. w., Love is an illusion, some people don't really see it; so when they hurt you so many times, you'd still called it love. #iwritewithhearts

Untuk seseorang yang akan mencintaimu setelah aku, Selamat. Kamu mendapatkan seseorang yang sangat spesial. Seseorang yang akan menjagamu saat kamu ketakutan, seseorang yang akan mendekapmu saat kamu sedang sedih, atau saat kamu kedinginan. Seseorang yang peduli dan kadang cerewet. Seseorang yang akan selalu menyebut namamu dalam doa-doanya. Seseorang yang akan mencintaimu tanpa masa. Seseorang yang akan meneleponmu jam 2 malam hanya untuk berbicara denganmu. Seseorang yang akan membuatmu tersenyum hingga lelap. Seseorang yang tidak akan membuatmu terluka. Kamu mendapatkan dia, Seseorang yang selalu kurindukan. Seseorang yang dengan bodohnya kusia-siakan. Seseorang yang terlepas dari genggamanku karena keegoisanku sendiri. Sekali lagi, selamat. (Dan mohon jangan patahkan hatinya seperti yang kulakukan.) — Mengikhlaskanmu ternyata tidak gampang // t.f.w [ #iwritewithhearts ]

"I'm so sorry, I loved you with all my heart. I hope you can understand." "I didn't mean it to be that way. I loved you." "I missed you so much my heart hurts." "I missed you please come back." "I'm sorry I left." "I'm sorry, I missed you." "I cried so much, please come back." "I thought of us all the time." You know why I don't reply to your voicemails? you said everything in past tense. Loved, missed, cried, thought. It means you don't anymore. — present time, and the word "us" doesn't have a meaning anymore // t.f.w

It was three in the morning when everything happened. We were drunk and reckless and tipsy and— It was the twentieth-something sip when I pulled her close. She laughed in my arm. And she felt warm. Her cheeks reminded me of cherry blossoms. Pink and cute and pretty and fragile and soft and— And I couldn't even breathe. Her face was dangerously close to my cheeks. Her lips slightly brushed my cheeks and I couldn't move. Her lips was red and soft and plump and cute and— And I leaned in, too. I finally kissed her. She ruined my self-control. Our kiss lasted forever, I would say. We were breathless and hot and sweaty and tipsy and— And she said, "I wish you were a boy." Then she wiped off my lip's taste from her lips. And I can't breathe. — t.f.w [ #iwritewithhearts ]

Bandung, 23 Maret. Pagi itu cerah. Secerah-cerahnya Bandung, tetap saja terlihat abu-abu. Dingin. Aku mengenakan jaket seadanya, dan kamu memakai sweater putih dilapisi jaket hitam. Kamu sudah tahu benar bagaimana cuaca Bandung, kota kelahiranmu. Kota kita bertemu. Kamu mengenalkanku pada sahabat-sahabatmu dengan senyum bangga dan pelukan hangat. Oh, aku ingat. Masih sangat ingat. Kamu mengecup dahiku setelahnya. Balikpapan, 28 Januari, 3 tahun setelahnya. Aku mengundangmu ke acara pernikahanku. Pernikahanku dengan sahabatmu yang kamu kenalkan di Bandung bertahun-tahun lalu. Selama 5 tahun kita bersama, tapi aku malah ditakdirkan bersama seseorang yang baru 2 tahun kukenal. Pemikiranmu akan cinta dan komitmen yang membuatku takut menjalani hidup dan masa depanku bersamamu. Aku minta maaf, sungguh. Aku mencintaimu, tapi aku juga butuh kepastian. Karena bagaikan kapal terbang, untuk apa selalu melayang-layang diudara, terlalu menikmati angin dan pemandangan dari atas, tanpa pernah berpijak? Aku memang mencintaimu; Tapi aku tidak bisa menjalani hubungan kita tanpa kepastian kapan untuk mendarat. — t.f.w [ #iwritewithhearts ]

there are million things rushing in my mind; everytime i see you, or everytime i think about you. millions of words i wanted to fathom like stars; i want to fathom them into constellations. like aquarius, or preferably cancer, because it's your zodiac. crazy, that's what you made me. you made me believe in stupid things like zodiacs or even blood types to see if we were meant together. as if it can guarantee that you and i would happen. i wanted to scream at the top of my lungs the million reasons why i love you, and why i kept it all by myself after all these years, and why i kept waiting and waiting for you to notice me. but all i can do is stutter; "i— i— i love you." but the echo of that sentence alone is louder than anything i've ever heard. — t. f. w. [ #iwritewithhearts ]

now, imagine this: the walls are surrounding you, getting closer and closer until you feel claustrophobic; the air is toxic, you couldn't breathe; throat closing and no words could come out, other than silent and choked up cries; tears fell like it could drown Noah's Ark, too blurry to see anything; chest heaving up and down like it is being stomped by a big pair of boots. that's exactly what it felt like everytime i woke up alone screaming your name. (i'm drowning in regrets of losing you; us.) — t.f.w [ #iwritewithhearts ]

i love you. actually no, not you. a better you. a you that my mind made up. a you that actually loves me. not you, who breaks my heart, times to times i lost count. but you are not what i want anymore.

here's the rules of being a girl: one; you have to be skinny. but not that skinny because people will call you anorexic. two; you have to be tall. but not that tall because guys prefer girls shorter than him. three; you have to like guys. not girls, not 'no interest in any gender at all' thing. four; you have to be perfect. but not too perfect because people will accuse you for doing plastic surgery. five; you have to look flawless. that dress you have on? iron it until it looks smooth. six; you have to be pretty. and white. no other race or skin color is better than white. white means pretty. yellow sunkissed means disgusting. seven; you have to have this 'seduce me' look. but not too obvious, that'll make you a skank. or a bitch. or a whore. or a prostitute. eight; you have to look cute in short skirt. you may get uncomfortable when people cat-call you, but you have to accept it as a compliment. nine; always tell the truth. unless you get raped, then it is not the truth. it never is. its probably the look in your eyes. or the skirt. or the dress. or the body. ten; you have to be strong. for no reason at all. you just have to. —t. f. w., the lessons i got from growing up as a girl [ #iwritewithhearts ]

#Poemsnight this is how it goes: i tried my best to make you fall in love with me, and after a long, long time, you finally loved me back. we grew closer and closer each day; heck, we couldn't sleep without saying good night to each other. we stared at the night sky and pointed random things and you would say, "that's a star." and i would argue, "no, that's satellite!" both of us was failed in astronomy. but we laughed anyway. you'd say, "not a single star can compare to your eyes." then i would blush like crazy for the rest of the night. you didn't know i was a poet. and you thought your pick-up line was good. well, it is. good enough to make me crazy; enough to make me miss you at times like this. "you're like air to me. i can't live without you," you once said on the phone. i smiled. but i guess you are my air. and i was just your passing breeze; because later that day, you broke my heart. — t.f.w [ #iwritewithhearts ]

people often wonder why I'm still holding on to us. and i have millions of reasons why i should leave you. you are toxic; you broke my heart one too many times i lose count. you're like cocain injected into my veins; made me giddy and happy and loved but you also hurt me. i consider myself as a poet, and often times, i romanticizes abusive relationship; because that's what i know so well. you called me names like bitch and whore and skank when i didn't even do anything but i mistaken it as a petname. i don't know why i'm still crazily in love with you, when all you have done is hurting me. maybe it is the feeling of sadness that i crave the most; to make a beautiful poem, you have to get hurt first. — t.f.w [ #iwritewithhearts ]

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