Browse Tag by romance
365, Prose, Writings

Wrong choices

“Are you afraid?”
“Of what?”
“Of making the wrong choice.”
“Yes. Definitely. I had my pasts, all the wrong choices that felt exactly like a right one at that moment. I’m afraid I’ll be wrong with you too.”

//excerpt from a book i’ll never write #35


A.N. in case you’re wondering, I’m actually writing a book! Release date: December 2017/Jan 2018. Check out cynthiatingo.com/books for more details.

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365, Prose, Writings

Happily ever after

The first time I looked at you, I didn’t see forever, more like unnecessary pains and broken hearts. And the second time our eyes met, I swear I’d hated you. You were the epitome of everything I hated in a guy, yet life has a funny way of making things right. I guess the universe really falls in love with stubborn hearts, and ours were the most stubborn of all.

It’s been nth times now of looking at you and I’ve already lost count, it turns out that you’re my happily ever after, after all.

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Poetry, Writing Entries, Writings

The Night

I used to fear the night
when your unwanted presence
would kiss me goodnight
and I would squirm and blush
’til I fall asleep in your arms

Now, I still fear the night
when your welcomed presence
I would wait,
and wait ’til dusk to dawn
but you never came up

– – –

Here’s my take for #FWF Do you fear the night?

 

Poetry, Writings

Only you

Only you know
the depth of my soul
the beat of my heart
the sigh on my lips
the heat of my fevers
the cold of my chills
the roundness of my bones
the edges in my curves

Only you know
the taste of my tears
the sting of my words
the hatred in myself
the grief in my smiles
the swings of my moods
the darkness of my secrets
the pureness of my reasons

Only you know
of me, apart from the One above
for only you I have trusted my thoughts
with the sound of my voice
before I sleep

And now that your feeling is waning
and mine will soon follow
let me just say,
I love you
for the very first and last time.

Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

Would-be’s

Safe inside, toasty warm, while water pitter-patters on the roof… describe your perfect, rainy afternoon

It’s a cold rainy afternoon, and it’s weekend, and there’s nothing much to do but read a novel, watch TV, or curl up on a bed with him—with First. And in that moment and time, I imagine that he is my husband and it’s already the future that I’d always saw in my visions and long-lost dreams—

He would be in the kitchen making a cup of hot tea for me because my stomach is cramping after eating the lunch that we’d had, while I’m on our bed, on my side with a book, waiting for him to finish whatever tea he is brewing.

Then he would silently open the door, and I would hear his footsteps but I wouldn’t look at him and I would pretend to be so engrossed in the book I’m reading when the fact is that all I want to do is to look at his beautiful face the entire day.

Then I would hear him place the cup on our side table, and then I would hear the bed creak, and I would feel him on my side. He would wrap his arms around me and my stomach and he would kiss my bare shoulders, then he would whisper to my ears, “Still hurts?”

Inside I would smile, but I would turn to him, and making a face I would say, “Yes, a little.”

He would nod in understanding, and I would see love and concern in his eyes. He would bring his face close to mine, almost kissing me, then he would breathe, closing his eyes, and I would inhale too his scent, clean and heavenly, and I would feel instantly safe, and then he would whisper to me that he prepared me my favorite tea.

I would touch his beautiful face, grateful for having this being before me, and I would murmur, “Thanks.”

Then with that, he would open his eyes and would lock his gaze on me.

Then he would smile and I would forget that my stomach is cramping or that the protagonist in the book I was reading is about to get shot and I would forget everything in the world, and why I even chose him, or why I even have a problem in choosing him in the past, for this is my reality now; he is my God-willed and God-given reality. Then, as if knowing that I’m about to be lost forever in his eyes, he would nudge me gently, kiss my forehead, and remind me softly that my tea will get cold any moment if I don’t start sipping it.

 

Prose, Writing Entries, Writings

The Angel’s Valley

 

The place was cold, and the wind is still. I am standing on my favorite place, the rooftop of the university building. There was no sun yet, and everything was quiet as the ocean sleeping. My life used to be this quiet, so mundane that I almost hate it. Now, even though my feet begun to feel numbed by the cold stone on where I was standing, I now admitted that I craved for this stillness, the ordinariness of life. Continue Reading