Intricacies

Of fleeting moments and flashing thoughts

Category: Uncategorized

Maybe

Maybe when my heart broke into pieces before,
you caught a fragment of it in your dreams.
And that’s why I felt complete when I met you.

Or maybe my wishing star fell on your bed, beside you
And that’s why it felt like my fantasy turned into reality
and my wishes came true
The night I first made love to you.

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Empty

Stare deep into my eyes and tell me what you see
Don’t look away; dig deep until your eyes bleed

Did you find something?
Anything, anything worth saving

Search further, sift through the shadows,
Maybe somewhere in the cavernous abyss
You’ll find my heart’s keys

Break through the cracks on the walls
Maybe you’ll see nirvana when the parapet falls

Nothing, nothing to see, you say
Just a bottomless black pit, filled with despair and dismay

Well, what did you expect to find?
A soul with a heart so pure, so kind?

Oh darling, you are blinded with stars.
Come closer, look deeper
My soul is distorted with scars.

There is nothing, nothing in me.
My heart is dead,
From the thousand times it has bled
Spilled dreams and hopes and love
Nothing can save me,
Not even your prayers and saints from above.

So end your fantasy of saving me;
A warrior doesn’t need a savior.
Stop trying to find my light;
I am a lost cause.
This is a futile fight.

Now darling, let me look into your eyes.
I want to know what it feels like
When empty stares back at me.

Crossroads

Standing at the crossroads
Not knowing which avenue I should take,
I hold my heart like a broken compass,
And my mind, a torn map.
I stand still at the dead end;
Both roads are war zones,
Each path leads to a bloodbath.
The crossroads of reason and emotions.
Whichever road I choose, your swords await.
Whatever path I take, my soul will be the casualty.
The road to reason will slay my heart;
The avenue of emotions will murder my mind.
Either way, there will be mayhem and madness.
Either way, I will be your slave.
You, a warrior without a heart.
An assassin masquerading as an angel.
Tell me which road I should pass.
Because I cannot stand at your crossroads forever,
Waiting, suspended, hanging by your strings,
A target of your poisoned arrows,
The victim of your deadly touch.
For once lay down your arms,
Stop pointing your swords at my heart.
Take my hand and lead me down
The less destructive path;
I am ready to wage this war,
A willing sacrifice held at the mercy
Of your double-edged words.
Slay me if you must.
But please get me out of this crossroads
And show me the way
Where my death will hurt less.

I Want Your Elements

If you were Earth, I’d leave my orbit and crash right into you. I will endure the blistering heat of your protective layers, break your ground, and ram myself deep into your innermost core, a place no being has ever penetrated. I will collide against you and you will want to throw me out and this will cause massive earthquakes that can bury me alive and tear me apart, but I will hold on to something to survive your fury. I will stay, even in the light of your aftershocks and destruction; I will be still, even when the volcanoes you have in your heart erupt all at the same time, even when I’m trembling in fear at your anger, even when your world is aflame. Still, I will kiss the bitter soil of your Earth and lie on your shaky ground.

You are the strong wind that sweeps me off my feet and the tornado that sucks me in. I spin madly in the twister that is your mind, and you drop me in a splintered heap on strange lands, with no one to rescue my fractured heart and mend my broken pride. You are the hurricane that rages through my world and splits it into pieces, until I can no longer rebuild its scattered parts in the aftermath of your destruction. Still, I will hold my ground. Sweep me up, hit me hard, take me to the eye of your storm; I welcome the wrath of your winds. And I will stay. I will wait for your landfall, for the calm that follows a tornado’s rage.

You are the water that keeps me still, the element that extinguishes the flame of curses even before they escape my lips. You are the little rivers that fill my eyes and run down my cheeks; the sea that drowns and calms my heart at the same time. You came into my life with the impact of a towering tsunami, and I was swept away by your barreling waves into a fantasy world infused with madness, a union of Heaven’s wonderland and Hade’s lair. I was submerged in your storm surge, choking, gasping for air, hands grasping nothing but the trickles of your element. But I will go with your flow; I will move in symphony with the force of your heart’s strong current.

I thrive in the scathing heat of your lethal fire; tongues of your flame lick and sear my skin, but I get high from the smell of my own burning flesh tinged with the scent of your rage. You consume me and reduce me into ashes of nothingness; your scorching words make me bleed, but these wounds fuel my will to stay. I don’t want a colorless and tasteless love; I don’t want rainbows and roses. I want the storm and the thorns; I want to face the nightmare of our worst monsters rather than dance in the masquerade of blissful dreams. I want your violence and your vengeance; I want your fire to reach its crescendo and burn me alive.

We are a phoenix. Our wings were set in flames even before we took flight, but it is from the burning, the destruction, the death, and the ashes of our hearts that a new beginning may spring into life.

This is How I Know You

Let me tell you what people see when they look at you.

In the first few milliseconds when they lay their eyes upon your face, they will be entranced and not be able to look away. They will stare at you for a few seconds more, not even realizing you already have them under your spell. It must be the way your luscious lips curve upwards in a mischievous, carefree smile, or the glint in your eyes that’s both sexy and playful at the same time. It could be the way you carry yourself, how you seem so cool and collected, walking in confident strides like a motherfucker who owns the world. Your boyish charm mixed with your ruggedly handsome looks will always command stares; this is how you magnetize people’s eyes to you. And they will continue to watch you until you disappear from the crowd; only then will your spell on them be broken.

It’s a pity that they only get to see you and not experience you.

Let me tell you what I see when I look at you.

When we’re alone in your room with the curtains drawn and the lights dim, when you’re not dressed in your designer clothes but bare naked between the tangled sheets, I see not your boyish charm nor your poised composure, or that sexy, playful glint in your eyes that they all see when you face the world during the day. I don’t see the superficial behind closed doors.

What I see is a man, in every sense of the word. Any boy can claim to be a real man without knowing the complexities and responsibilities that go along with the title. The road to becoming the man you are now wasn’t easy; I know because you have walked me through some of the deepest, darkest alleys you have traversed at different points in your life. You have not only stumbled in the dark; you have fallen hard, crawled on your knees, and wounded yourself trying to claw your way out of the abyss. Yet even at rock bottom, even as you were heavily scarred and broken by the world, you did not let despair consume you. Instead, you embraced the fire of pain and let it forge you into an unyielding person who’s wise beyond his years.

Let me tell you what I hear when I listen to you.

I hear not only the low, rich, and alluring voice that everybody else hears, but also the mysteries and marvels laced through your rich baritone. Your voice is comforting; it has the power to wrap me in a loving embrace, even without your touch.

But it can also be scalding at times. You can rain the dirtiest curses and raise hell during arguments, especially when we’re both exasperated and furious and angry at the same time. Your voice can clash against mine in the most turbulent way, until we can no longer hear each other or get anything settled. Yet you have the ability to raise your voice to a certain tone that commands my attention and makes me listen, regardless of how angry I am.

I also hear the passion and excitement in your voice when you speak of your career, your future goals, and all the things that move, drive, and enliven you. You speak of great stories, of worlds beyond what I’ve seen, of things I’ve yet to experience. And you share to me pieces of advice that I don’t hear from anyone else. You talk to me in a kind yet mature way, molding me into a woman I’ve yet to become.

Let me tell you what I feel when I touch you.

Desire spreads through me like wildfire; fireworks explode in my body when you lock me in your arms. You awaken all parts of me and move in rhythm with the beat of my heart. Every time we kiss, the heat of your passion courses from your body to my lips and down to every inch of my skin. Your touch eclipses everything; your scent intoxicates my senses; your fire engulfs me. We are set ablaze. During these moments, only you and I exist in the world.

Let me tell you what I unearth when I look into your eyes.

I see a possessed angel, one whose wings are burning, whose light is chased by darkness. Demons lurk in the farthest depths of your soul; some are caged, but most of them roam free inside you. I could see them writhing and twisting when we lock eyes. They are waiting, wanting release, eager to wreak havoc, hungry for blood. They wish to rip the angel apart, to swallow your light whole.

Let me know them that have the power to possess an angel such as you. Pull me in, throw me into the war of heaven and hell waged inside your heart. Put me at the mercy of your darkest demon; I want to smell the stench of decaying love and dying dreams. In your dark brown orbs, I see the wreckage of a soul that has fought many battles. Yet I also see a glimmer of hope, of all things good, of light coming through from the cracks of your broken soul.

I am not here to exorcise the angel and release it from its captivity. I will not sift through the shattered pieces of your soul to find your light. I am not here to save you; I will not change you. We are both empty. But I am with you, in wars and darkness and dreams and hopes. I will burn with you. We will be an inferno.

A Deadly Gift

Him and her — they were only meant to collide and explode,
not create a beautiful story together.

There were moments that swept them off their feet,
but most of the time, they were on the ground,
beaten and bleeding and crawling in pain,
struggling to get up and make it through another day
without knocking each other back down again.

But they always did. Their hearts always end up torn.

They were a pair of explosives, a mixture of lethal poison,
a fusion of the deadliest elements that kill relationships and destroy people.
And for the longest time, they embraced the fire even as it consumed them;
Saw the explosions as exhilarating fireworks even when the light blinded them;
And drank the fatal concoction to the last drops and kept thirsting for more
even as a part of them dies with each drink.

But somewhere between the explosions and toxins,
the heat became unbearable and the high reached its peak.
There was no more saving grace, nothing to rebuild.
Their hearts are six feet under,
buried in betrayal and choked in curses.
The will to rise has died.

And so they saw what they had for what it was.
It was destruction and obsession, cleverly laced together and deceitfully wrapped
in a deadly delusion called Love.

“I Have Lived Before”: The Ryan Hammons Reincarnation Story

“I have lived before.”

This is probably one of the strangest, most unnerving things a parent can hear from a child. At two or three years old, children start stringing words together into sentences and learning to express themselves to the people around them. This is a milestone in a child’s developing years – a much awaited stage that many parents look forward to because they’d be able to understand and communicate with their children better.

But when your child starts talking about having lived in a different time – an alternate universe where you don’t exist – and describing the events in his past life in precise detail, the joy of hearing your child express himself more clearly gives way to an unsettling feeling.

How can you differentiate between a child’s figment of imagination and a true story of reincarnation? If your child has indeed lived a past life, what will you do?

Below is a true and recently investigated account of a child who claims he has lived in the past:

Mama, I think I used to be someone else.”

This was what four-year-old Ryan Hammons suddenly told his mother Cyndi one night as he was being tucked into bed. The child was upset that he couldn’t remember the names of his three sons, but he kept insisting that he lived in Hollywood in a big white house with a swimming pool.

His mom started researching about reincarnation when Ryan kept getting more and more disturbed about the memories from his supposedly past life. But then, as Ryan and his mom were leafing through the pages of a Hollywood book, he suddenly recognized himself from one of the black-and-white photos. It was a still shot taken from Night After Night, a 1930s film. Imagine his mom’s shock when Ryan pointed at one of the men in the photo and said: “That guy’s me. I found me!”

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A 1930s Hollywood star trapped in a child’s body

With this discovery, Ryan’s mom sought the help of Dr. Jim Tucker, a top-tier child psychiatrist and researcher of reincarnation cases, to figure out the truth behind her son’s claims and ease his anxiety. Dr. Tucker eventually discovered the identity of the man Ryan recognized in the photos as himself. It was Marty Martyn, a Hollywood actor who died in 1964.

Ryan provided accurate descriptions about some things in Martyn’s life which all turned out to be true. He recognized Hollywood stars from his era, including “that Mary lady” Marilyn Monroe and Rita Hayworth, whom he described as someone making Coke floats. He also identified the actors he worked with in Night After Night – George Raft and Gordon Nance. Ryan also asked his mother once to get him a can of “Tru Ade”, which was a brand of soft drink sold decades ago in the 1940s to the 70s. Ryan couldn’t have known such relevant pieces of information on a certain era at his age – unless he really did live in that era in his past life.

Dr. Tucker further investigated and tested Ryan’s memories of his past life after verifying most of his descriptions. Ryan was able to properly identify Martyn’s wife among four photos of different women and also Senator Ives, a New York senator in the 40s and 50s whom Marty had met, among pictures of four men.

Confronting the ghosts of his past life

To help Ryan find closure on his past life and let go of the memories which cause him distress, Dr. Tucker arranged a meeting with Martyn’s daughter. Upon learning her age, Ryan said: “She got old. Why didn’t she wait for me?” The child got angry, seemingly unable to understand why his “daughter” changed so much through the years and didn’t wait for his return. He was later on quoted as saying: “Same face, but she didn’t wait on me. She changed; her energy changed. I don’t want to go back. I want to always keep this family.”

After the meeting with Martyn’s daughter, Ryan seemed to eventually come to terms with the events in his past life that he can no longer change. He learned to let go of his past, accept his present, and embrace his new family.

What It Feels Like To Break Up With Someone You Thought Was “The One”

Originally published on Thought Catalog

At one point in your life, you will find someone who will be your very definition of love. They will set your world ablaze, awaken every crevice of your soul, and penetrate your heart so deep that you’ll feel as if you’re burning from within. You will feel vulnerable and exposed, stripped of the power you thought you’ll always have over your heart, mind, and body. They will turn you inside and out and change you and reveal dormant parts of you that you never even thought you coexisted with.

You will fall passionately, even selfishly in love. And you will spend many years with them, weathering trials and surpassing problems, even overcoming challenges that seemed too big for your love to handle. You will be obsessed over the idea that they are “the one” and that you can’t spend the rest of your life with anyone else but them. You will change, and your friends will start to worry.

When things start to get tough, you will turn a blind eye to all the warning signs and tell yourself that your love can conquer all. You will make yourself believe that your love will prevail, even if all odds don’t always turn out to be in your favor and fate seems to be telling you something you should listen to. No one, not even your friends or family, can coax you out of the dangerously-in-love situation you have created.

But then as the years pass and the seasons change, problems will pile up that neither of you would be able to handle anymore. The difficulties will be harder to surmount; the differences too glaring to ignore. Your monsters will rear their ugly heads and bare their fangs and tear each other’s skins apart. Both of you will want to claw your way out, yet you will, for a few more months or years, believe that this will still lead to something magnificent in the end — marriage, maybe. You will live for this distorted dream. You will stay.

Each day will be a struggle — to fight or to let it slide, to turn away or to give in, to stay or to go. You will be caught in the crossfire of these unsettling questions; you will stand at the crossroads of critical decisions. You will be stuck in limbo, waiting for something you know at the back of your mind would never happen. They will, at this point, also have the same questions. Both of you will stand on shaky ground; your relationship will be neither here nor there.

At first, you will try to rekindle the dying embers, piece the relationship back together, and save it from going completely downhill. You will convince yourself that what you have with them is worth fighting and staying for, despite the constant disagreements, the seemingly petty fights that actually stem from deeper wounds, the differences in ideologies and values, the jealousy, the lies, and the shouting matches. You will have a number of reasons to leave, but you will dismiss all of these and insist on staying because you love them.

You will spend many nights crying yourself to sleep, asking yourself what went wrong. You will go by weeks without talking to each other, and when you do, you will fight for the same reasons. It will break you into pieces, and their words will scar you like fire against skin. You will cause them pain, too, and drive them away. The love you share will wither and eventually fade. You will lose your faith in everything; your heart will be twisted and torn, and your eyes will grow weary with tears. You will reach the height of pain.

And then you will feel nothing.

At this point in your life, the decision will be in your hands. Your friends and family will have grown tired of giving pieces of advice you never even listen to; you will have to rely on yourself alone. You will want to talk to them and ask them why or how or what if. But because they have the same questions, they won’t have the answers you’re looking for as well.

You will find yourself at the borders separating the familiar from the unknown. You will hold on tightly, as much as you could, to the comfort of their familiarity. But you will know in your heart that this is not the place where you want to stay for the rest of your life.

By this time, your definition of love will have changed, and you will eventually realize that you no longer find its meaning in them. Something that is supposed to be beautiful shouldn’t be this difficult.

No matter how impossible it may seem, you must find the strength to cross the border and venture into a new chapter.

You will be back to square one. Scary and uncertain as it may seem, it will be a much better place than the one you will leave behind.

Last Words to a Love That Can Never Be

She stares outside her bedroom window. The skies are turning grey, chasing the sun’s golden hues as it sinks below the horizon and sheds a bleak glow over the fallen leaves on the pavement. The last shots of summer have faded; autumn has arrived.

She draws the curtains close and lights up her bedside lamp. The feeble beam casts a shadow over the tangled sheets on her bed. In one fleeting moment, she sees his body intertwined with hers, molded so closely together that she can no longer tell where his limbs begin and hers end. She tosses the sheets aside and breaks the image, refusing to sink in the quicksand of memories threatening to swallow her whole.

Her weakened knees crumple beneath her. With shaking fingers, she tears a page off her journal and begins to write.

By the time you read this, I’d have long kissed our memories goodbye. I can still taste the bitterness on my lips, but my eyes are now dry from tears. They’ve given up and grown weary from taking the brunt of my heart’s pain. I have finally realized that tears, hope, prayers, and wishes on shooting stars cannot reverse the fate of a love that can never be.

We were blinded by this love. We thought it can move mountains and prevail in the end. I really thought so, too. I had hoped, with every beat of my heart and crevice of my soul, that ours is a love that can transcend human conflicts, errors, and weaknesses. That it is above societal rules and barriers. We thought, for far too long, that we can prove people wrong and be testaments of a love that made it through despite the infinite impossibilities.

But, as we have come to realize little by little, our love has its limitations. Great as it may be, our love cannot conquer all. It is powerless in the hands of fate; we cannot force what is not meant to be. We did our part; oh yes, we tried so hard and did our best to stay together. We managed to prolong the inevitable. But we have reached a dead end. This is as far as we can go; our story ends here.

We are not each other’s fates. You are not my destiny, and I am not your happily ever after. If we are truly meant to be, then it wouldn’t be this hard, would it? We cannot go against what has been set for us. There have been far too many unfortunate circumstances that have not only scarred us, but also wounded the people we care about.

This isn’t our time. Love, no matter how great it is, must be set free if it is not meant to be.

I am letting our love go. If, in the long run, fate changes its course and decides to give us a chance, then I hope we’d still find it in our hearts to start all over again.

Until then, I wish you well.

She stops writing and folds the tear-stained page neatly into half. Holding the letter close to her heart, she draws the curtains open. Darkness has set. It’s going to be a long, sorrowful fall.

I Don’t Want To Fight With Anyone Else But You

Let me start by saying that our love isn’t, and will never be, the ideal happily-ever-after story.

Rather, it is a long-winding chapter of fighting for that damned happily ever after. It’s not limited to a clichéd ending.

See, that’s the thing with fictions and fairytales. These saccharine stories forget the fighting part; they choose to highlight the highs and leave out the lows. They don’t tell of the turbulence — the hysterical fighting, the ricocheting curses, the consuming rage, the crippling depression, the agonizing emptiness.

But it’s the parts they leave out that make love come alive.

And it’s these chaotic chapters that lace flesh, blood, and bones into our love. It’s the extreme episodes that animate this intangible emotion and turn it into a solid force that’s strong enough to knock us over.

Ironically, these moments of madness also have the power to rebuild our crumbling relationship from the ground up. We hurl curses and things at each other, yet we know at the back of our minds that the stormshit is but a manifestation of the incinerating passion we feel for each other. A towering inferno that ravages remnants of rationality, yet also makes us realize just how much we’re willing to fight to right the wrongs in our relationship. Sometimes, realizations are borne out of anger.

Just like the time you punched your car’s window to punctuate our heated argument. I was rambling on and on, yet stopped short of saying “die, fucker” when the sound of your clenched fist hitting the glass overpowered my voice. And then we sat in silence for the entire ride. I was shaking in anger, but then I realized I couldn’t keep pushing you against the wall and expecting no retaliation.

I also remember that time when we kept shouting at each other in a crowded restaurant, spilling our drinks and almost breaking the glasses as we kept banging them down the table in our fury. I knew people were watching us, waiting for us to explode and give them a show. I remember pointing the table knife at you amidst a torrential downpour of fuck yous and bullshits.

Countless hurricane moments. And yet we fuck as brutally as we fight.

It’s true what they say — the most passionate love is also the most violent.

There are times when I feel like I hate you so much, yet I also know that I love you like I’ve never loved anyone else before and that I’d be paralyzed in pain if I lose you.

Extremes, opposite ends of the poles, no middle ground. On our good days, we’re the most crazily, euphorically in love couple. On our bad days, we’re a collision of the most turbulent forces of nature.

It can get a little toxic and depressing sometimes, but our love is addicting. Like drugs, we keep coming back for more.

Our love isn’t rainbows and butterflies. It’s the broken glasses on the floor after a fight, the resounding bang of a closing door, the sound of your footsteps walking away, the melancholic breeze on a sleepless night, the tear-stained pillow in my arms.

But this is how we fight for our happily ever after. It’s a constant struggle of making it work, a labyrinthine road of highs and lows. It can be painful, but most of the time, it’s beautiful.

This is our version of love. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Originally published on Thought Catalog