Browse Tag by creative writing
365, Prose, Writings

To all the things I’ve given up on

How many prayers and dreams have I let go just when I about to reach it? How many nights of praying have I wasted, pleading the heavens just for me to have you? And just when my prayers are about to get answered, why did my heart suddenly stop loving you?

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365, Prose, Quotes, Random Thoughts, Writings

Doubtful Heart

I want to be loved so much so that my doubtful heart would never know how to doubt again.

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365, Poetry, Writings

I believe there’s an alternate life where we both make it

In this I believe,
that when I close my eyes every night
without you by my side,
an alternate version of me, of us, exists
in an alternate universe
so similar and parallel to how we live,
yet so vastly different with what we have.

In this alternate life,
I won’t be writing poems about you.
In this alternate life,
you won’t be making yourself sad
thinking about me.
Because,
in this alternate life,
we have each other.

In this alternate life
you are happy,
and I am happy,
and we are both happy together.

In this alternate life
I won’t be wishing for your happiness,
because I am a witness
of your happiness
and I can see your happiness
clearly reflected in your eyes
each time we say our goodnights,
and sweet dreams,
and each time we kiss our way to sleep.

In this alternate life
I won’t be imagining of how your eyes
would crinkle when you smile,
and we won’t be thinking
and dreaming of alternate lives,
and we won’t be wishing
to hold each other close,
even just for a second.

Because in this alternate life
We both make it.

In this alternate life (maybe)
God looked down upon us
and before we are even born, He said,
“I will make it easy this time.”

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365, Prose, Writings

Tuesday blues

There’s this part of me that sometimes hopes and thinks, “What if he loves me? What if he really cares for me? What if he’s different?” And I think everyone of us who at some point in our life had been at the giving end of unrequited love had perhaps thought of those things.

Today, it’s as if all those what if questions were finally answered for me. And all I could ever think of was “He didn’t love me. He didn’t love me. He never did. It was all just me.”

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365, Prose, Writings

Better Days

You always held on to him, long enough to hurt not only your arm but also your heart. It’s a pain, an ache, that you kept on bearing and enduring until such time that the pain turned into numbness. The numbness made you lose your grip to him a little bit, and suddenly this made you feel a little bit better. So you try to loosen your grip to him a little bit more, and more, and with every space you create, and every distance you make, your heart feels a little bit lighter, a little bit better, until such time you realize that you’re actually a little bit more happier now.

– – –

// I‘m probably going back to writing again. Yey! ☺️ I think I regained most of my lost energies. 😁 I wish writing does not exhaust me this much. 😭 

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365, Prose, Random Thoughts, Writings

The After

Sometimes, things happen. Unexpected ones. And it changes your life in an instant. All your prayers, all your problems, and all the things that once bothered you before, all the things that you thought were unsolvable just dissolve and vanish away in an instant like a smoke. You can’t even pinpoint when and where it all happen, or the specific moment or event that marks the change. But for some reason, you know without a doubt that your now standing on the after of before.

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365, Prose, Writings

This is how I’d fallen out of love of him

This is how I’d fallen out of love of him:

I didn’t. It just that one day I woke up, and I just.. I just didn’t feel anything for him. Not love, not like, not hate, nor anger, not even sadness or disappointment, just.. nothing. Like my heart entered a sudden oblivion, and it just forgot. It forgot to remember to care for him or to think of him, and in a blink of an eye, everything about him, every feelings I associated with him is erased, and he didn’t matter anymore. Like he never really mattered at all.

And I’m okay with it. I mean, it’s a lot like looking at a blank grey canvas, what do you suppose to feel about it? Nothing, right? Nothing and just okay.

//excerpt from a book i’ll never write #33

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