#iamunheardd

[escafeism]

I don't really remember him being sunbeams filtering through windows at four am, when the room stands eerily silent and your fingers are freezing. I remember that it was a wildfire starting at the pit of my stomach and trudging ever so slowly to the ends of my toes, to the frail arching bones of my knees. I remember him being sound and quiet one second, but reverberating and vociferous the next. He was all-consuming. Wide-eyed and warm -- the kind that reaches the soul and never leaves. The dangerous kind. Heart-stopping. Cold in my veins. Music falling to an infinite silence. His eyes grab at me without singular attempts to do so. The ocean-hued mixing with honey yellow to create images worth writing poetry for. Worth breaking bones for. He was chaotic voices building in the midst of a protest. In the middle of simultaneous shouts, you hear his silence more prominently than anything else. That says something, doesn't it? And my god, he was the same first that bruised me with his words.

truly, totally, terribly // aed

[medyopogiperobastos]

Bakit ganun ung theme ni Iamunheardd? hindi makapag-reblog. HAHAHA.

[escafeism]

Have you ever just ached for someone? When a dull feeling settles inside of you and your fingers, though clenching a handed surface, feel so bare and empty and wrong. You wish that you could jump into a pool of good moments to erase every worrisome thought keeping you captive. You look at the empty spaces surrounding you and think of how nice it would be to have someone catering to your loneliness. A hand to hold. A shoulder to rest your head on. An ear to whisper sweet nothings to. But more than that, you wish to have someone who you can connect to, who enjoy a bit of your music as you’d be willing to stay up to listen to theirs, who would read the books you have listed on your favorites list and tell you honest reviews without twisting their opinions for the sake of yours. You long for someone to tell you the jokes you need to hear, the words you need to safe-keep in instances that leave your head pounding, your heart tightening, your bones weakening in response to an immediate and unexpected misery. Have you ever just ached for someone that you feel the need to tear away your clothing, gaze at the pivoting bones sharply contrasting the softness of your skin, tell yourself that someday, it’s going to happen for you? That someday, a person will come barreling down the hall to make you feel like you’re the best person in the world? The best actuality they will ever have the privilege to hold, to cherish, to love? You ache for this person and your hands are shivering and your knees are bobbing against the fold of your arms. You ache for this person and without realizing how funny it is, that you already have a name strapped to the ache. A person associated with the longing. A man to ache for. A woman to need.

// aed

[escafeism]

This is the sad thing: more than once in your life, it’s somehow going to be about that kind of love. Wholly giving yourself to another person because you trust them with more than just your life, that if by some chance you’ll see them cradling a humungous part of your soul, you’ll smile in response and stick to an immediate: “you take care of that for me, alright?” It’s going to be about expectations and hope for loyalty, wishing that they’ll stand by you no matter what happens, given any circumstance. It’s going to be about blissful Sunday mornings waking up with toothy grins, legs entangled between sheets and a call for another hour of just holding each other to satisfaction. It’s going to be about that goddamned promise. Forever. Unending. Always. To infinity and fucking beyond. It’s going to be about that kind of love that you will never be able to replace, but it’s also the type you will never be able to remove. More than once in your life, that kind of passionate romance and seemingly perfect relationship is bound to end at least a couple of times, so it’s only fair to pocket a bit of love for yourself, to cherish the grander parts of you and keep them safe for now, until it’s the proper “once” that would actually mean something. The “once” that would be about everything, and not everything be of it.

not all romances are entitled to happily ever afters. and that’s the sad thing // aed

[escafeism]

You were told to love her with mouthfuls of sweets, fingers laced around the strings drawn from bouquets, and a couple of other gentlemanly gestures. They would tell you, “A girl wants to be treated like a princess. Give her things.” And you’d suddenly be urged to buy her boxes of jewelry and materialistic memorabilias. You would have your promises glued to handwritten love notes, your kisses stapled onto rose petals, and every little cutesy detail squeezed in between. But not every girl demands for a happy ending centered on being a Cinderella cop-out. Not every girl wishes for chocolates aligned inside heart boxes or a flash of movie tickets to call for a first date. Not every girl puts herself into a promising position only to want to be swept away by gestures straight out of a predictable chick-flick. To woo a girl, it’s good to treat her like a princess. But treat her like a princess through knowing how to be kind to her. Treat her like your first car — with gentle hands and worrisome urges. Treat her like you would a good memory — cherish her. Treat her like a bad habit, while knowing when to draw the fucking line. Press your lips onto the curve of her collarbone, whisper promises of an infamous forever, but don’t kiss her too deep to leave a mark. Don’t take “no” for a whispered “yes” trailing behind moments of decided hesitation. Treat her beautifully. Understand her. Listen to her. Call her out when she screws up, but respect her all the same. But most importantly, treat her like an equal. You don’t have to give her polished diamonds or written poetry to win her over. You don’t have to sugarcoat realities to have the right to hold her hand. See her for who she is, and respect the unfounded reality of what that would come to be. She’s human, with practical emotions. You shouldn’t lather her with pretty objects and half-meant promises just because you think it’s the way to go.

another girl’s opinion

[escafeism]

Have you seen her? Have you really looked at her? For months, she’s been empty smiles and vacant gestures. There’s a low lit fire dancing beneath her eyelashes during little seconds of closely observed curiosity, but other than being mindful of the way life works, her feelings have not been much of show. She tells you that she feels for you too, but only to spare you, and only to spare the part of her she wills to exist in the middle of a war between now and then. There are little notes trapped in between her teeth, and she only offers a tight-lip smile in fear of having her secrets detected. But there was this boy (there’s always going to be a boy), who managed to catch an inkling of what her honest truth was in the middle of a kiss. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. Skin. Clothes. Tug. He undressed her metaphorical covers when she refused to let him touch her bare skin. And he gazed at her, from head to toe, unravelling the mashed puzzles with knitted eyebrows and a lip pulled between his clicking teeth. You could only imagine, the clash of broken promises and erratic heartbeats and an entry of another army to fight in her war, you could only see the images in your head, of a lanky girl with her lanky arms wrapped around herself. You do not see the details — the midnight conclusion. The 3:00 AM realizations. But have you seen her? Have you really tried to stare past the immobile emotions fixed inside the frantic motions of her hands that she usually attempts to still? However, you should. You should try to look at her as more than the girl who shuts people out. Because she isn’t a girl that shuts people out. She’s a person who’s been through things that she wants nothing more than to get past. If you keep solidifying her existence as someone who’s damaged, she’s going to morph and remain that way. So don’t. Don’t. Look at her and appreciate her for the amazing parts that she is. There’s more to her than war and rage and unwanted thoughts. You see, there’s a garden inside her heart, flourishing when she sits with her mother in the middle of telling stories. It grows abundantly when her favorite songs, her type of music, are played on her way to school. There are little moments that allow this garden to expand, for her rose bushes to decorate her emptiness, for the thorns to soften up and make way for more. More life. More of her. More of the opportunities she thought she didn’t deserve. Just for once, see her. Look at her — her surfaces and what’s deeper. And maybe then, you will learn to understand.

i’ve been told that people aren’t always what they seem; i realized just recently that it goes both ways.

[lovemeplease1017]

Since she isn't online, just like to take this chance to say that I am always blown-away by Arni's writings. She never fails to impress me. Her words are beyond perfection. I always wish that she will lend me some of her skills. Haha.

[lovemeplease1017]

I really didn't expect that I am going to show my face to Arni. And I have this very crazy smile across my face write now, like the heck. This is all insane. Hahaha. This is epic but I enjoyed it. If you can only see my face right now, I looked awful.