I like it when you sleep
for there are cracks in my ceiling
that I know like the back of my heart
and to learn of your body (and heart)
in half of that manner was something desired from the start.
That was a part of a poem I like, slightly modified. This part resonated in me, because I want to know you in that kind of way. But that desire also scares me to death.
Knowing someone would mean that they would know me, too. To be vulnerable. To open up to somebody else completely. God, can I handle that now? I don’t even know myself that well.
And, one more thing: I don’t even know whether you want to know me or not. That’s where the real problem lies, I guess.
You speak in riddles (why don’t speak your heart out, instead of living in your head?). Go hot, and then cold (you’re cold and I burn, I guess I’ll never learn). I don’t know. I don’t know. I’ve never been this both certain and uncertain about a person.
I make mixtapes for you. I write poems and stories for you. Because that’s where I could everything freely, without fear of judgment and violent reactions.
Pero gusto ko na lang magsabi para matapos na tong lahat. Ayoko na, besh. Nakakapagod na eh.
This may be the last time I’ll write something about/for you. Dammit, I need other things to write about. I don’t wanna dwell on these feelings, to be honest. Nakakabaliw.
Yun lang. I wish you all the best in life.