A Love Letter To the Little Prince

I was seventeen when I first met you, and it was during a quiet and cold night with stars barely twinkling in the sky. The hands of the clock kept on pointing in different directions while I struggled to fall asleep, feeling empty like there was this voice inside me, echoing and echoing without anybody hearing anything at all. Late hours meant pangs of sadness, but that night, it was different. And it was because of you.

You were the most clueless and innocent person I have ever known. I remember you talk about how you found the grown-ups you met to be quite strange. I thought that you only saw it like that because you were too young. You would not really understand them because the world in your eyes was a masterpiece to admire; compared to their view, the world was just another painting to sell and get known for. To you, to live is to experience. To them, to live is to function.

You walked around thinking about this irreplaceable rose of yours while you became close to others. You loved the fox and the pilot. But you also loved your rose. And the thing is that I knew that you were missing her. I knew, that at some point, you were going to leave. You had to because she needed you, and you needed (to see) her.

I listened to your voice and adored your laughter, but you ended everything with a saddening parting. I tried to keep in touch with you, and somehow we ended things in the same way. Despite our conversations, you really couldn’t stay even though I wanted you to.

You were lost; I was sad. You had a rose; I had nothing. You were too young while I was growing up. You had a curious mind while I had a glass heart, and I am not sure if it will matter to you, but my glass heart has cracks and they are your–departure’s–doings.

I met other people. There was this foolish yet hopeful man named Gatsby, a smart yet depressed woman named Esther, a poetic and caring teenager named AJ. Different people charmed and fascinated me. But even so, there are times when I just find myself being dragged back to you.

I never really knew that I have loved you until now. Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to relive that night of meeting you, the prince, without being abandoned at the end because, with all honesty, you gave me hope.

For someone who is fond of sunsets, you almost fooled me into thinking that you are a sunrise. Maybe that’s why I love it when the sky bleeds–it’s because I am reminded of you, the prince who gave me hope but left me alone.

I Lied

I remember being obsessed with loving you back then. I also remember every failure I had whenever I tried to forget about my feelings.

You were you. You were a force. You attracted me, and just when we’re about to crash into each other, you’d push me away. Never did I even imagine for me to be able to fall out of love from you just because of that. Sadly, I have moved on even though I still wanted to be in love with you.

Maybe I didn’t actually love you. Maybe I was just obsessed with the thought of loving you because, honestly, I liked liking you since I knew that there would never be an “us”. I wanted you to notice me, but I never wished for us to be together. I wanted a door, but never a place to enter.

That doesn’t matter, though, right? Since you don’t give a damn, and I could care less now. Newsflash, I’ve moved on—whether it’s about my feelings, or my obsession.


If you knew that I might not had actually loved you, only the idea of loving you, would anything change?


You used to be brave and confident. You were the sun amongst the clouds that were about to bring rain. You were the spring in every winter. You were the fire matches wanted to have themselves get burned with. You were the one who brought life to a dead world. You were life itself.

But then something happened. I’m not sure what it is, but something definitely happened.

You have become full of fears and insecurities. You have started bringing storms everywhere. You have been summer and spring with winter to curse your everyday. You have stopped clinging onto matches and started burning anything you can burn. You look like the tragedy of life. You have become the dying.

You used to touch things and turn them into gold, not ashes. You used to smile like it was nothing but just another act of breathing, not a way of saying goodbye. You used to dance with chances, not run away from them. You used to wish for another day to live, not for a moment to end all the days that are yet to come.

I am in no position of telling you what you should be, but let me be honest with you. Who you used to be is a better person than who you are now. That person in the past? That person was living. That person was alive. And you? You are just waiting for death. You are just waiting for the ending.

Why have you become like that? I do not know how to help you even though I want to. However, it does not seem like I can help you at all. You are so distant and far away. I feel like if I ever try to do anything for you, you will not notice it. You are blinded by your misery, deafened by your anxiety and numbed by your pain. You have become dangerous to yourself. You have become the person who can bring his own death to himself. You have become your own grim reaper.

The very fact that you are still alive gives me hope.

I want you—the real you—back. I do not believe that you are the person with a time bomb for a heart. I believe that you can still be who you used to be. I believe that you can still live. Every dying person has a chance to be saved. Please, if you cannot save yourself, then let me save you. Let the world save you.

A Letter of Sacrifice

I have loved you more than ever and my feelings have yet to soften their cries. However, I am willing to stop them. I believe that my feelings for you are a burden, and if anything, the only option you’re considering is to break my heart in order to have me stay away from you. But, Beloved, before I leave, I have things to offer.

Break my bones. Turn them into your writing materials.

Skin me alive, Dear. Let that be the cover of your precious work. Let it be the cover of your book.

Make me bleed. You need an ink, do you not?

That is how I love you, Dear. If I were as much as a burden, then please do what you wish to make me become something useful to you.

The Darkness is the Sun

The Darkness is the Sun

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to replace the light coming from the sun with darkness? Let us just imagine it. Imagine the darkness passing through your curtains while you are doing something that may or may not be important. Imagine going outside and looking at the sun just to be greeted by dark rays. The rays love to touch the ground and make their presence obvious to us. What would it be like if the sun’s light became something that could not help you see. You are not blinded, but it makes you seem as though you are.

There are things that I cannot escape from no matter how hard I try to run away from them. No matter what I do, I am haunted by them. I have tried to get rid of them, but I cannot. Well, honestly, I do not even know how to. They like me very much, and they love making me feel like I should be buried already. They love to blame me for the things I have and have not done. They love to make me feel like I cannot trust anybody, and that I am always watched by others who can notice my flaws or who are judging me. They love to love me while I am hating myself more and more each day just because of how they make me see myself. They make me think that I should be ashamed of my own being. I know what they are doing to me, but I cannot stop them from doing the things that they do. They are my demons. And I am their victim.

The darkness is everywhere, and I can’t escape from it. The darkness is the sun, and I don’t even need to look at it directly to be blind.

That Empty “I Love You”

That Empty “I Love You”

Falling in love with him was a punishment. I had to give myself limitations. My happiness depended on his, but his happiness never depended on mine. I cared, he didn’t. Still, he’d tell me that he loves me. I’d believe him. However, believing was my mistake. Maybe I wanted those words from him. Yes, I did. But they weren’t enough. They didn’t feel right. He didn’t make them feel like they’re right.

Maybe he loved me through words, but I loved him through feelings. Maybe it’s what set us apart in the first place. Anybody could be loved through those words, but not anybody could be loved so easily with feelings involved.

The Sudden

Usually, I find myself staring at the window, admiring the painted view by the great Being, and trying to remember a song I often put on repeat; but that usual thing has changed. What was usual got disturbed by the sudden just as how you appeared in my boring life. And guess what, you are also the one who caused the latest disturbance.

A while ago, I found myself staring at the window. What your god had painted was not the one I saw. All I saw was a scene that involved us—with me, crying, and you, leaving. That was all I could see, and it kept on repeating. I heard the pauses made by a crying girl, then a “Don’t leave me!” or “Come back!” pleading bothered by a voice crack. Everything I could remember made me feel like my present was the past—as though that moment of abandonment became every moment in my life.

You see, you took me by surprise. I was undeniably in love with you and our relationship. And I thought that you were, too. I thought, I thought that we were both happy—that we were both content with each other. But then, the musings of your love for me got triggered by another girl.

Was I not enough?

I cannot just accept the fact that you left when I know that I have done nothing wrong to make you go away. I have done everything to make you stay. And still, I ended up losing you. Why?

Is it because of her?

Why did I lose you when almost everything I did was for the sake of making you stay? I wanted us happy together. I didn’t want an ending, so why did you give me one?

How am I supposed to do the usual without being haunted by the memory of the sudden?

Why did you break my heart when I gave you no reason to break it?

Simple. It’s her. She’s the sudden in your life. I’m the usual. You’re tired of me even if I’m not tired of you. I hope you won’t get tired of her, too. I hope you won’t get tired of each other.

But I want you to come back and fix me. I can wait. Please, please come back.

A Letter to the Man I Love

There are things that I can say to you, and there are things that I can’t. I’m always at war with myself, and that’s why I can’t be honest. I might say something that can either push you away or make me hate myself even more. I’m afraid of that. I’m afraid of losing you.

It’s complicated. I am complicated. And you have impressed me for being able to put up with me because, believe me, I would have abandoned myself if I could. Oh yeah, I actually did. The scars say so. At least they’re just scars (for) now.

I remember hating you, and being annoyed at you. I also remember you hating me, too. I remember a lot of things. But back then, all I could remember and think of were sadness, pain and misery. I couldn’t remember much about being happy because each day was just a sad day. Every single day was a curse. Sometimes, I’d hate myself for waking up.

I can’t really tell you that I have stopped hating myself. But I’ve been better.

You see, this is why I’m writing this letter. Back then, I was just that sad and hateful girl. Now, I’m a girl who feels happiness, too. But I’m not sure how I’ll be able to help myself in the next days, weeks, years.

I will help myself. I am helping myself. Because I want to be better. I want to be happy. I don’t want to be sad anymore. I don’t want to be empty. And this letter, this letter is everything.

There will be days when I’ll just feel thankful for you and the others. I will always think of you in the best ways – how you’re all so kind and helpful to me, how you matter to me and how I love all of you. It will always be an honor for having met you all. But even so, there will also be days when I’ll just feel like I’m holding you back; that I’m worthless to you, or that you’re all judging me. Or, perhaps, you’re just pitying me, and, behind my back, you’re all saying how sick you are of me. On other days, I get confused about the difference between kindness and being kind. And I’m afraid to know which between the two you are under. I’m afraid. You can always make me feel safe, but my safety with you is not a reassurance that I am safe. And I’m sorry if I doubt you. My mind is playing tricks on me. I’m explaining my side, so you’ll understand because I know that you’ve also been confused with me.

There will be days when I’ll just feel like I’ve accepted myself. I’ll look at the mirror and see an average or a slightly above average looking woman. I’ll think I’m satisfied with life. I’ll tell myself that I’m lucky and that I’m actually a nice person. But there will be times, not days, that those thoughts will be shooed away, and I will be disgusted with myself. I no longer know the difference between self-acceptance and narcissism. I’m so afraid of accepting myself in such a way that I refuse learning to be satisfied with myself. I’m afraid to come to the point where I’ve grown to love myself too much or I have changed too much. This is new to me. I haven’t felt okay with my own skin for a long, long time. That’s why I just can’t be okay in such a simple way. Because what’s been okay or normal to me is hating myself. Even though I can accept people, I just can’t accept myself so easily.

I hate myself for admitting this, but you, you pushed me to be brave. I am ashamed to think that a man helped me with myself because I wanted to be strong enough to fix myself. I didn’t want love. I didn’t want a man. I didn’t need  love or a man. That’s why I wanted to pretend that you didn’t like me. It’s because I was afraid. I was afraid to know that I’m weak and desperate enough to have to need someone or something to make me happy. I didn’t want romance. I didn’t need it. And yet, what happened? It’s what I got. Even though I didn’t want it, I somehow liked it. And this is really shameful to say, you know. Especially to a flirt like you. You must be so proud of yourself.

I have realized that I have dreams. You, too. This relationship isn’t healthy, I think. It’s not because of you. It’s because of me. One moment and we’re okay. The next, I’m having a storm, and you’re trying to calm me down. You can’t always happen to have a coat or an umbrella, you know. There will come a time when I’ll be a storm and you’ll be there, not able to shield yourself, so you’ll find someplace safe, away from me. And this is a note in advance. If that ever happens, I’m sorry. And if you think that it’s your fault, it’s not, and will never be.

I don’t believe in forevers. I know that everything has a limit. Even us. I know that I’ll just be someone you were with in the past. I can’t avoid that. But you, you make me want to hope. You make me want to believe in something that goes against my beliefs. You make me want to wish for us never to end. And that is why I’ll be honest.

Please don’t get tired of me.

It’s pathetic, I know. In fact, this is the most pathetic thing I’ve ever done. But I’m being honest. If being honest is what will make you know how much I really care for you, and if it isn’t what will push you away from me, I guess I’m not going to mind the embarrassment. For now. Take note of that.

I’m sorry for talking about me so much. I’m being selfish. But here’s the thing: I’m grateful for what you did for me. You were there. You didn’t give up on me. Thank you for that. When you were slipping away, you were not abandoning me. You were just trying to see if I’d actually get out of my comfort zone, and do something. That’s pretty threatening to me, you know. For someone who’s bottled up her feelings inside for such a long time, expressing myself and being honest would do nothing but create cracks on all the bottles I’ve kept with me.

You made me realize that I was ruining myself when all I ever thought was this: the world is shit and I am worse. I wanted to be pretty, to be fit, to be enough. As life would actually have it, satisfaction is what makes something enough. I wasn’t satisfied with myself that’s why I wasn’t enough for myself.

I love you. There it is. And I hope that I really am not your charity case because you don’t make me feel like that anymore, but my mind makes me think otherwise. Right now, I’m actually happy with my family. I’m closer to my friends. I’m happy with you. Thank you for being the stuck-up bastard that I love.

If we ever breakup, don’t pity me, okay? I want you to be happy. Treasure this letter because this is where my honesty is. It’s because I’m not brave enough to say these things. But for now, let me be brave enough to tell you this:


To My Own Creation

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I drew you in the sanctuary of darkness so you could act as their light because I’ve gotten too used to black lines on white papers. I wanted you to be different. I wanted you to bring light to darkness, and not darkness to light because that’s how beautiful you are. And I want you to be unaware of that, that’s why I can’t make you smile for them. I have to make you seem like you hate being there despite bringing a miracle. That is your torture. Because I’m your possessive and sadistic creator. I am the artist.

Goodbye, Innocence

I used to love being in the arms of my father while my mother would look at us with a gentle smile on her face. I would get that warm and welcoming feeling while I stared back at my mom as I returned the love my father had given me through his embrace. After a moment, my mom would give in and join us. Sometimes, it might be the other way around wherein my mom would start the hugging session, and my dad would be the last one to join.

My happiness existed with them, as well as with silly toys like Barbie dolls, dollhouses, paper dolls, and pretty much any toy that would make me feel like I was in control of the lives of the people I could use as my subject. I was the queen in my own lifeless and tiny kingdom. I was the queen in love with being in control of herself; but with my parents, I would become a princess because the real queen was my mother.

Reality had a different kingdom for me to rule over, though.

Whenever I went to school, I would search for my friends. My friends and I often talked about ridiculous things. We would brag about our toys, clothes, and accessories. But as we grew older, our topics started to involve boys and crushes. We would even guess who was going out with who, as well as who liked who.

I had a crush on a boy back then. I could not help myself from smiling every time I would see him around. Sometimes, my friends would tease me, and I would be annoyed even though I liked being teased about him. But that crush faded along with other girls’ crushes. I would never ever forget the night that I started wishing to be the girl he liked.

There came a day when I went to school and talked to my friends about this girl who was liked by many guys. I was insecure, but I could not admit that. Other girls were insecure, too. A part of us wanted to be liked by guys, as well. Not being liked led us to think that something might be wrong with us.

I started to get aware of my appearance.

My dresses, shirts, and pants became tank tops, skirts, denim shorts, and fit clothes. I started to like showing my curves off even though I got even more insecure when other girls did the same. We were all looking at each other’s bodies. Sometimes, I had a better figure than someone. Sometimes, I was inferior. My body started to crumble under my expectation of being pretty. I was never fit even though I had an okay body. I only felt fit whenever I was around a girl who was inferior of my figure. I just had to be better.

My once powder-kissed face started to get blessed with makeup, too. I liked making myself look beautiful. I would do it for my own satisfaction, but sometimes, I would do it for a guy.

Having a crush was no longer the same. Whenever I had a crush, I got it badly. I knew that having a crush didn’t require me to be on a mission to have to attract the guy, and be in a relationship with him, but it made me feel like that. It was as though I had to be sure that we both belonged to each other.

And because of that feeling, I experienced the joy of being loved back, and the pain of being cheated at. I also experienced being the other girl in the relationship, as well as being the one rejected. I experienced a lot of things. I also got my heart broken.

I started with being happy with meeting someone’s gaze, then that happiness started to get less until I had someone to hold hands with. I started yearning for warm hugs, until I ended up with wanting to be kissed on my lips. But having my lips kissed was the beginning of my yearning for a greater way of being loved. I started liking the feeling that I got whenever someone kissed me on my neck, on the top of my breasts, and in other places of my body. I was once a queen or a princess, but to a man, I would become a land that his lips would want to travel at.

Sex had been a disgusting word for me. But I came to a point where sex was normal, and the phrase “making love” is cheesy and disgusting. That was all until I met another guy.

Time was fast. It danced with me, my father, and my mother; but death took them away, and I was left with him.

I fell in love again, but it was finally a different kind of love. It became one that I could not abandon. I gave birth to a girl, and it reminded me of myself.

This time, I am the queen. I am the queen of my own world, as well as the queen in my own child’s eyes.

But sometimes, I have to remind myself that I am also just a girl who used to love her parents’ arms around her, and is now yearning for them. I was the girl who was confused whether I was a queen or a princess. I was the girl who thought that happiness was with having a prince beside me.

I cannot help but wonder if my mother were the same, and I cannot help but wonder if my child will have the same insecurities I had had. I am afraid because I have met and seen girls who think that men complete their lives, and when they get hurt, it’s as though the universe has played with them.

I want my daughter to be sure of being a queen. I will rather be her servant in her own Kingdom. I do not want her to be unsure of herself. And when I leave this world, I want her to be happy.