She is like a forest on a hazy night.

She is like a forest on a hazy night, the one that makes you question the existence of werewolves. Thick layers of moss cover tree trunks and rocks. It makes you wonder if moss turned into slime on nights like these. Sheets and sheets of mist and haze makes everything within five feet hard to see. You make out shapes and forms of the animals that lurk in the darkness but your vision might be mistaken. Her secrets were like these animals. You thought you knew them but you might be wrong. Sometimes you pay the price for being wrong.

Why do I want to live?

Every time I want to kill myself, I'd look for five reasons to not do it. I didn't want my reason to be friends, family and a bright future. I was stubborn. I wanted good reasons, reasons that will only impact my life to show that there is something to live for. For those who wonders, I try. Everything on my list is never repeated.

Once, the taste of a good juicy burger was among the five. Another time, being able to breathe in fresh air and taste the molecules at six in the morning was one. Some days I stop at three, after "I get to feel the texture of flower petals". There were not enough reasons left. Then, I let myself fall into the trap of a bad habit, which is a story for another day. Some days, I couldn't get past two. I didn't know if getting out of bed counted as one reason. I wanted to give up. I was tired.

Then, you turned up, all smiles and green contact lenses. Five months later, I asked myself, "why do I want to live?" One, you. You are everything. You are sunsets and sunrises, morning dew and night mists. You are the cold side of a pillow and a hot bowl of soup on a rainy day. You are the smell of grass after the rain and the song I sing in the shower. You are the heart that I draw on foggy windows and the red dragonfly I saw once outside a church. You are everything at once.

I still want to kill myself sometimes but since then, my list has never changed.

Cyan.

You were green.
I was blue.
I tried to be the color of your skies.
I painted landscapes with you.

You seeped through my veins,
and I now, a body of blue and cyan,
I changed and I didn't mind,
I thought you didn't mind too.

Eyelashes.

I have a problem these days. I realize I have a hard time writing. I used to be able to write about the difference between black and white, justifications on why I should eat more french fries. Now, when I write, I write about you.

My pen glides across the paper, trying commemorate everything that I could about you. For example, my favorite feature of yours is your eyebrows. I find them adorable. Whenever you look down, I like taking a peep at you because your eyelashes will be so obvious then. Unlike most, you don't need mascara to make them "stand". They do that on their own. I will be smiling to myself when you don't notice and you'll give me a "what" look.

Stars, parks and possibilities.

I want to watch the stars with you. I want to lie on top of a cheap blanket, in a park with you. We can complain about the amount of bugs that will be feasting on our very limited but tasty blood. We can also get annoyed at the possibly wet and prickly grass underneath the cheap blanket. Then, I know we'd probably agree unanimously that we'll never do that again.

However, in spite of how much we suffered, I think we'll keep going back to that spot to look at stars. We'll be smart. This time, the blankets will be around us. We'll probably be on a bench, with a blanket to keep us warm and protected, under a blanket of stars, The funny thing is that I'll probably be the one to plan this and it'll either be adorably romantic or horribly miscalculated.

Either way, I'll still want to watch the stars with you. If you'd let me, we could forget the stars for while.

To be wrong

I want to write about how you made the anxiety in my bones still. I want to write about the way the side of your eyes crinkle when you give me a mischievous smile. I want to climb on to the tallest mountains, just to scream "I love you" in to the clouds. I want to tell the world that loving someone can change so much of what you were so sure about.

Before I met you, I was so sure that the most annoying accent in the world is the mandarin accent when English is spoken. With that accent, came the complimentary broken English. I was so sure that I didn't like it. Of course, like I said, it was before I met you. Now your voice is my comfort. Your words became the Big Dipper that guides my way home when I get lost. I was so sure and then, I was wrong. And boy, I have never been this happy to be wrong.

Coffee, cakes and secrets.

I told a stranger about you today. I told her that I love someone, that I am in love with someone. We were standing in line in a coffee shop. She was nice and she looked very comfortable with that fuzzy jacket on. It was completely absurd that I was in that shop because I did not like coffee. I just wanted cake. Well, we both wanted cake. So, I went in to get cake and she was there.

She asked if I liked coffee. Obviously, my answer would be a no. Then, I told her that I have a friend who likes to try out different cakes from different shops. I knew I said "friend" but the thought of you, no matter what the title is, made me smile. I gushed that you didn't care what cake it was, it just had to be good. My mind was full of nothing but you. Cake didn't matter for a while.

I told her how you always forget that you're not alone in movie theatres. You would sit up in surprise during plot twists, with gasps so loud that people would turn to look at you. I didn't care. I held your hands and laughed while trying to get you to remember that we are among others. I told her that you think flower bouquets are a waste of money. Your ex-girlfriend got you flowers as an apology. Later, you found out that she was actually cheating on you so the flowers meant nothing. I didn't tell her that though.

I think I was whispering to myself when I talked about flowers. She smiled and asked, "Does she know?" I chuckled and nodded. A little too fast, I supposed. "You said "friend". What's stopping you?" she asked again, this time brows furrowing.

I felt my smile falter as I shrugged, "I am nothing more than another secret for her to keep."

To be loved.

When I was younger, I was a ball of anger, fury and pain. I went through old diaries and journals. It spoke of nothing but pain and my love for other people. I think I didn't know how to love myself so I just ended up giving away every piece of myself even to people who don't deserve it. It sounds cliche but it is cliche for a reason. It happens.

I wanted to be loved but I refused to give anyone the permission to love me. That made a lot of things harder. In spite of that, I know now, that I just wanted to be loved so fiercely that I have no way of doubting it. That is how I loved people. You can never doubt I love you. You will be that sure of me.

I'd give myself a hug. I think that's all I wanted, really. I wanted someone to hug me and stay there for 15 minutes. I wanted to be loved.

You don't have to love me back.

I know it's exhausting for you, to deal with someone's love for you, especially when you don't want it or can't return it. I understand. You watch your words to keep how you feel unknown. You keep your wall up so you don't feel too much. You have always been a master at changing the topic to another completely different train of thought.

When I said I love you, you didn't say it back.I said it six times more on different occasions. Not once. Not once you acknowledged it. I'm sorry if it's unwanted. I didn't know. Well, I guess I did. I just didn't want to believe it. You've always said that we should be better off as friends. I don't think I know if I can be your friend. I love you. I have trouble finding the right way to explain what I feel. Then, I concluded that no combination of 26 alphabets can summed up to the way I feel about you.

I can't explain why I feel sad because "because I love you" would be a weird answer. I guess, "you can't be mine" would suffice. I'll remember the way you look at me. I remember how your lips curl up in response when we kiss. I'll remember how your skin feels. I promise I won't forget you. I understand now. I love you. You don't have to love me back.I won't force you to reciprocate what you can't.

\

Who was ever lucky enough to be loved in exactly the way they wanted? - Carmilla Karnstein

I love you.

Those three words are said too much,
they're not enough.
They became merely words,
with no promises, no hope, empty.

Then,
there was you.
I'd regret it if I didn't tell you that enough.