I was once in love with a musician, and he plucked the strings of his guitar with such grace and accuracy that the essence of his notes were almost hypnotizing to listen to. But his virtuosity and his intrinsic skill made him regulate and adjust my way of playing my own notes. I wasn’t consciously aware of it at the time, but I’ve realized later on that his predominant control over my beginning musicianship transcended into my everyday life as well. For that, I revised my own life: I erased every trace of him out of my music sheet and wrote my own notes instead. They didn’t sound as graceful, elaborate, or natural like his own set of notes, but they were MY notes, my own creations, and in the end that was what really mattered.

This heavy, mysterious feeling usually comes and goes. Its visits are often extended until I no longer feel the difference between what’s real and what isn’t, what emotion is permanent or temporary, if it’s melancholy or another form of meaning that is unrecognizable or hard to translate into words. Between my conscious and subconscious lies a separate understanding of what I think I feel and what I’m actually feeling. Sometimes, they are so overwhelming that it swells against my chest, beating to get out until I weep them out. The built up of my sadness, anger, confusion, exhaustion, and frustration pour down my cheeks, a temporary release of the battles that are currently fighting inside me. I think it’s more than just what I think it is or more than what others think it might be; it’s so perplex that it does not have a word, but a feeling that we can only understand ourselves once it hit us.   

The walls around me

Slowly melt into puddles

I kneel down on the wooden floor

Feeling it with my fingertips

They vibrate across from me

Like ripples on water

A mixture of self-pity and loathing

Combined with white lines of powder

Sets not everything on fire

But drips down into puddles of water

It must not only be the dopamine

Overflowing my brain

Increasing my blood flow in my veins

It must be something else

That I can't recognize

And as my body surrenders

The floor rises up

Everything is turning horizontally

Black is slowly spreading

On all four sides of my vision

As my cheek lays flat on the floor

I hear the loud ticks of the clock

Vibrating in the air

My heart joins in the music

Beating in unison with the ticks

As the black continues to spread

The clock ticks are slowing down

The blackness is spreading more

And as I only see a hint of light

I hear one final tick of the clock

With my last heartbeat

The dark consumes me whole

Until there is nothing left to feel

But emptiness

I woke up realizing that

All night I was cradled by

Pages of words containing

Thoughts, conversations, ideas

Of descriptive words and objects

The air, apart from the warmth of light

Seemed dusty and there was an

Unexplainable smell that I knew

Fresh as dew, yet worn as a rag

That one only recognize when facing it

They were scattered about, mixed into

The waves of the cold, smooth sheets

Yet they warm me more than the sun

A sweet embrace that assured me

Of the good things in life

I felt at home

I hesitated when

I removed my shirt and shorts

In front of you

Because I was insecure about

My stretch marks

Running across my

Arms, thighs, and stomach

Like lightening stripes

And when you asked me what’s wrong

I told you the truth and

Pointed at them

I’d imagine your lips twisting in disgust but

You leaned in and kissed

Each

One

And you said that

You loved them

Because they were a part of me.

You didn’t considered them as imperfections but

Beauty marks that further enhances my beauty

And in that moment

I’ve never felt more beautiful.

I’m running out of words to say

And as a writer

Nothing terrifies me more

Than having a blank page

A blank mind

An empty voice

As the clock ticks faster

Under the control of time

These bitter-sweet memories

Still linger in my mind

They haunt my dreams

Slipping in my sleep

Behind closed eyes

Seducing me

With sweet melodies

Filled with fragment scenes

Of city lights and starry nights

I guess that's why I walk along

The streets among

The black nights

Looking for warmth in the cold dark

Under the silver moonlight

The ground pulses with the beats

The eighth notes hung in the air

A lullaby so serene and sweet

Reminding me of my despair

Nostalgia hits me through the bone

Faint whispers carried by the wind

Reminding me of lost scenes

Reminding me how far I've been

Long ago, I've been afraid

Of black nights from the start

Now I accept

Now I enjoy

The cold embrace of the dark