A long time ago, in a galaxy far away...

Roderich's hands skittered over the piano in desperate strokes, coaxing a desolate melody from the translucent keys. It didn't matter that everything was fading - he had all the notes memorised, forever ingrained into his fingertips.

The melody blurred as Roderich felt himself heat up, blood rushing and heart pounding as he slammed his hands down in a terrifying finale, a trickle of some liquid running down his cheek.

He didn't pay it any attention.

The wrong notes had gotten the best of him.

There lived a man, who was kept alive by a memory.

The substance started to slide off his porcelain cheek, splattering onto the piano. Roderich didn't heed the sign, continuing to pound, refusing to look anywhere but at the instrument.

The man loved music, above all -  the memory of when everything was solid and beautiful.

Roderich's breathing slowed as the melody softened. Everything blurred, wet and sticky, like the remains of a carcass. Which, in a way, it was. The notes screamed out.

Once, the man lost his music.

Hands came, tugging him away from his beloved music-making machine. Roderich choked out a scream and looked behind him, clawing at the pale hands attached to his own.

They were relentless, and Roderich could only watch helplessly as his piano faded into nonexistence right before his eyes.

The hands let go, and Roderich flew over, kneeling, looking desperately at where the piano used to be. A strangled sob escaped from his fragile throat and crystal tears pattered the ground, fallen from violet eyes.

The hand was on his shoulder, an arm around him, protective and nurturing.

Restraining.

"Rods." The nickname . Roderich used to hate it, but at that time he clung onto it like a lifeline.

"Hey. Stop crying. You knew this was going to happen." A hand in his hair, ruffling it, messing it up. Roderich didn't bother to push it away. Instead, he stayed quiet.

"You have to come out of the Box! I know you love that damn music of yours, but..." The hands rested on his cheek.

"Come out. Your piano's gone now, but I can get you a new one. Stenwhy, right? What you wanted?"

Roderich stifled a chuckle. "A Steinway," he breathed, his voice cracking, a ghostly whisper. "A Steinway," Roderich repeated, feeling a new life seeping into him, bringing blood to his cheeks, vigor into his eyes.

He raised his head. Ruby eyes met him.

"Whatever." Arrogance. He missed it, missed it like he missed the sun. It was his sun.

"Steinway. Fine." Roderich saw black boots in front of him. He rose, looking the other in the face.

"You'll get me a Steinway," Roderich whispered. Those eyes captured him, drew him in.

"Damn right."

Roderich felt himself being pulled into a kiss.

He smiled joyfully.

The man lost his music, but he found something better.

That thing made him truly happy.

And it would be his, his forever.

Learn to love without missing someone

I feel that some days are just passing by

I can’t feel alive if I am not with someone

I have to learn without missing someone.

Learn to feel longing without craving their kisses

I need to learn to be free without craving caresses

I feel I can’t breathe if I’m not with that someone

My life is no more but a pile of ashes

Learn to yearn without feeling the pain 

I need to feel that I don’t need someone

However, that someone has stained my heart 

And I have stained many others to soothe the pain

Learn to look at someone in the eyes

I remember when I saw those eyes 

Profound brown as Earth’s guts

So profound my soul fell off, and it never came back

Learn to bear with desire when you’re craving for someone

My desire is unspoken 

It dies within my sealed mouth 

It never comes out when I’m in front of someone.

Learn to revive even when your heart is only a dead rose

I’m in need of Someone, but Someone never comes

Someone is so distant my soul and heart are stretched

I don’t know if they’ll support 

the tension or if they are going to be torn apart.

DA 2015  

Love can be the sweetest remedy for a lonely heart or the venemous poison for an occupied heart. 

It can be sweet as nectar or it can be bitter as a lemon. 

It can woo the heart and make happy or it can damage it and embitter.

It can be the strongest fortress for a heart or it can be its greatest downfall.

It can inspire and create dreams or it can shatter and spiral down into nightmares.

It can turn two wills into one destiny or it can repel and create a world of unknowns. 

It can be creative or destructive.

It can be true love or false lust.

Love is one of the most misunderstood emotion because once the feelings seems to fade away the person forgets to love actively. 

To love someone is to never see the benefit of oneself but to follow through the action of pleasing the other's heart. 

To love someone is to lay down one's life and be fully theirs. 

To love some one is to trust the other with the most sacred gift God gave to humanity, the heart.

To love someone is to give the most treasured gift endowed with the most powerful emotions in one's hands and trust that they won't close their hands into a fist crushing it. 

To love some one is sacred. It is a commitment between two imperfect people perfecting love every day by sharing emotions and carrying one another's burden and sorrow. It is a verb as much as it is a noun. 

To love some one is to lay down your life for them. It is to make them happy and to do whatever it takes to satisfy their heart. To never break but to always be kind as a baby's laughter and sweet as honey.

To love someone is to be patient and be confident and secure. It is to never be too demanding that it feels forced but to expect the best to come from that person. 

Love works best when two eyes can stare intimately and birth a smile. Love works best when it desires. Love works best when it is soft, tender and kind.

May love continue to be the purpose behind every action. May love be the motive behind every kiss, hugs, and acts of love because true love is the highest and brightest star that many look up to but rarely find it in front of them, next to them, loving them and caressing them. 

Crystallize a flood of tears

While hope brings with it a thousand fears

Shiver, stumble, shiver.

Listen as the voices whisper.

Run into the shaded night

Fall gracefully, out of sight.

Dance a waltz, tumble through the air

Stars diminish, the world's never fair.

A surge of cold liquid,

Ice mint, painfully savored.

Sudden oxygen deprivation

Taste relief and joy of salvation.

Whirl round and down

Never to be found.

Embrace warm folds of forgetfulness

Smile as burdens fade into mist.

My heart is broken and I can feel the pieces clinking around in my chest as I go about my business, waving and smiling and making people laugh.

I try to deny it all I can, pretending that he still loves me but it makes no sense because he hasn't talked to me in forever, we've unofficially "broken it off" but I thought there was still room for me in his stone heart.

The proof is right there, she's a person just like me who he doesn't know but knows too well.

She's a person just like me, happy and bright and a ray of sunshine to pierce through the void that is him and save him from his own mind.

Why not me?

Is it because I was too sweet in the beginning, too happy and comforting, and we were both shattered and shaken and bursting with rawness and too willing to fall into each others' arms?

And suddenly, the cat faces and happy noises began to disappear, because I thought he would still see me behind my words, behind the screen.

He didn't.

And now I think, that maybe it never happened in the first place?

After all, all he does with me is ask me to record things for him.

Hardly proof that he ever loved me.

So I will choose wisely next time... Or so I said.

She's amazing in her own way, but I don't know what to do now.

Go on?

I'm taking the risk.

I hope I will never have to pay for it.

A mistake

Was what they called

The girl with hair

Like a raven's feathers,

And eyes that rivaled the

Never-ending black pits

Of her family's despair.

An angel

Was what they called

The boy with golden curls

Woven like silk and vivid dreams

Who had eyes that shone

Like perfectly cut diamonds

And glittering sapphires.

She was an outcast.

She was a stain.

He was a fairy tale.

He was a god.

She was inevitably lonely,

And abandoned by all.

But she held the grace

Of a thousand ballerinas,

And the intelligence

Of a hundred brain surgeons.

He was beautiful,

Like a shimmering star.

But he was pressured to no end,

Beaten and thrown

From his first and only home

For being weak.

And the day came when fate decided

They would meet.

And when he saw her

He tripped over himself

Because in her eyes of darkness

He saw himself.

He was back to square one.

"She is to blame,"

They said.

"For his plummeting perfection,

And his shattered success."

And by not fault of her own,

She was suddenly

The careless fingerprint

On his spotless record.

And she was

The smudge of poisoned ink

On his detailed autobiography.

He was at first worthless.

A corrupted weakling,

Who was never strong enough.

He was a tattered cloth,

Until he was stitched together

By chance and luck.

She was always worthless.

She was chipped and broken glass,

Her cracks tearing at her skin

Until there was nothing left

But a whispered sigh

Of disappointment.

"She's a nuisance.

She's inferior.

He was a framed masterpiece

Of total faultlessness,

Until he met her,"

They said.

"They are polar opposites,"

They said.

A memory.

One amidst billions and trillions

Connected and intertwined

And separate from the rest.

It could be

Vivid

Colorful

Cheerful.

Something to hold on to;

Something not to lose.

A treasured possession,

Recalled lightly with a smile.

Or, it could be

Blurred

Muddied

Emotionally packed.

Something banished to the back corner;

Something held at bay.

Yet, it lurks at the edge of nightmares

Unwanted, but doesn't listen to what you say.

It could be neutral.

A coffee cup.

A painting on the wall.

A bird chirping on a rainy day.

A memory made

Is a memory saved.

Forgetting is not a good thing to do;

Your memories equal you.