001. z & g

z
Three things: There was something I wanted to tell her, there was something I didn’t want to tell her, and there was something I couldn’t tell her.
I wanted to tell her that she was the most beautiful girl to me. Her smile, the sweetest. Her hugs, the warmest.
I didn’t want to tell her about the rose I am desperately trying to keep alive in my locker. I carried all my textbooks and whatever trash I used to store in there for the whole day just so the rose can have its space to breathe. So that it can stay alive a little bit longer until I can tell her the things I wanted to say.
I couldn’t tell her I was afraid. I wanted to promise her the world, that I’d guarantee her happiness, that no one will hurt her. I wanted to promise her my life, but I only have one rose and some made-up words.
I wanted to promise her one special night.
She was just with her friends. She walked over to say hi and asked me what’s up.
What’s up was my heart about to burst because of the things I wanted and couldn’t say. But I kept my cool. I’m a cool guy, sure.
I nodded at the right times, said some words, and paused. I try my best to get it together, but there are moments when she makes me feel like I could be better, that I would want to be better.
I wish I could promise her everything. But best I can do at the moment was a secret promise: to keep that rose alive in my locker until 2 PM.
g.
I saw him and walked over. It was always like that, like there’s a magnet that kept me wanting to be close to him.
I asked him what was his plans for the pep rally. He said he wasn’t sure whether to go or not. I shrugged it off.
There are moments when I want to tell him everything, every single feeling I have for him, but something always holds me back. Fear, or something. I’m also not good with words.
So I have two defence mechanisms: the shrug and funny gibberish sounds that guaranteed a smile on his face at least.
It was difficult, but I walked away. I had to. Or else, I would have hugged him in front of everyone. Sometimes I just know when he is trying to hide his heart.
I went to the pep rally with my friends. My feelings confused me a lot, it’s frustrating. Given the choice, I’d be with him. But I also know that most of the time, that’s not on me.
And I learned the hard way that sometimes you don’t always get what you want.
So I try my best not to want so much.
z.
I knew it. I couldn’t even promise her one night, so how can I promise my entire life? Her happiness?
The words I’ve prepared, words I’ve saved only for her, were useless at this point.
I was trying my best to hide, but she saw me.
Game over.
g.
What was he doing here?
And why does it look like someone broke his heart?
I have it, don’t I?
And I promised not to break it.
z.
hey.
g.
hey.
z.
I’m sorry for everything I couldn’t do. But here’s… a rose. For you.
g.
What’s it for?
z.
It’s for the dream of a dance I would like to dance with you.
Just with you.
Only with you.
g.
Come here.
z.
How is your hug so warm?
g.
I don’t know.
But, hey listen, your dream is enough.

u / yu / you / yuu

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Twenty-Five.”

There are 26 letters in the English language, and we need every single one of them. Want proof? Choose a letter and write a blog post without using it. (Feeling really brave? Make it a vowel!)

When I met you, you re-shaped my sentences and stories in such a specific way that I couldn’t write without your image hovering over the page telling my words where to go, where to hide, where to slip, and where to stick.

And my words follow you. My words needed you since you smiled and looked at me as we danced.

You’re like a shadow: inevitable during the day, faint and haunting at night.

You’re the invisible vowel that holds my story together, and I cannot write without you.

And all my stories are a rewriting of your name, a rewriting of the moment you came to my life, a revisiting of the many yesterdays you have made relevant, vivid as the present time as if you are still here.

always

The blank screen I left last night–still here. Not that I didn’t have things to write. Quite the contrary, I had too many thoughts last night. As always, I fight with myself and argue that my words aren’t good enough. I declared defeat and went to bed at 10:30 PM–something I haven’t done in months. At 7 AM the next day, making my coffee, bidding my lovely mother to have a nice day at work, returning to the blank document, I realized it wasn’t really defeat. It’s not defeat when you give your thoughts a rest they deserve; and so the words will return. They always do. I just need to let them know that I’m waiting here. Always.