englishsnow:

by lullabyexile

To the girl you never saw

So you say she’s not your type.

After all she’s just a friend- just one of your friends- that’s what you’ve been telling. She’s too inconspicuous and plain; “She can even go on a day without glossing her lips.”, you say. You prefer someone else worth pursuing; perhaps some other girl in a dress who paints her mouth with a killer smile, looks at you, wins your heart and knows well how to break it. You never saw the pain coming, but here it is my friend, doesn’t the torture throb and ache? Then you call her up as you take comfort in knowing she’s your friend. She’s on your speed dial and you’re certain she’ll be there, in a heartbeat. She’ll sit right next to you as she rubs her hand on your back in consolation, reminding you of the promise that “everything will be alright" and "you’ll get over it soon”. And you won’t even look at her, not even for a second, instead you cover your face with your hands and cry over your own “heartbreak”. But this time she gets up, grabs her car keys and leaves. You have been oblivious of knowing how much it has killed her hearing you out without your eyes ever taking a second glance.

She’s in love with you.
She knows how to love you.
And she loves you without you noticing.

The way she talks oddly shakes when you speak to her- so she nods, holds her breath and bites her lip to stop the smile forming on her face. She knows your bad days and tries her best to turn it into good ones. When you’re close within reach, her heart jumps and thumps it pounds on her ear and you don’t even hear it. You can’t see the way she steps into a room and brightens it like a flourescent bulb. Her eyes speak the words she can’t say, and she has been brave enough to keep those feelings she can’t scream out loud. She remains hidden, as half of the moon does at night. My friend, she matters, she’s always been there- now she isn’t, not anymore.

Funny how the tables have turned, funny how right now, you can only slap your forehead with regret and watch her walk away.
She’s already smiling for some new reason- a boy who kisses her on the forehead, holds her hand, listens to every word that comes out from her mouth, and tells her she is more than sunshine and rainbows. .

That’s the girl you never saw, and boy now you’ve lost her.

—the real definition of pain (via missinyouiskillingme)
—Alve Aranton
—Alve Aranton
—A.Y // we’re not here to defy gravity
(via 2wentysixletters)

This is why I write about love

There are certain questions that I hear over and over, from the people who have read about what I have written. “Who’s your boyfriend?”, “Who’s the lucky guy?" or sometimes I hear them say, "How do you write such things, are you really that in love?”. Being thrown with these questions somehow trivializes the kind of work that I write. As if writing about love needs a “boyfriend” or the feeling of being “in love” at the very moment.

Well here’s the truth; I have never been in a relationship before. Not once have I been asked out by a guy and have that one special person profess his love for me. I was always the girl in the sidelines, too unnoticeable loving and admiring someone from afar. People seem aghast about it after knowing such fact. The thing is, the absence of being in a committed relationship with someone does not mean that I have not been broken and that I could not write about it. I have been in such pain as someone who have just gotten out from a break-up or a terrible fight with their boyfriend. I have been broken, trampled and cracked into pieces pouring my whole self without the other person noticing. How could you not feel the pain of not having your feelings given back? These feelings are glass, so fragile they’d break the moment the person you have grown to love breaks it unintentionally.

This is why I write about love, because aside from the beautiful and giddy things everyone wishes to be in, I can clearly see the not-so-pretty things that come with it. It gets bruises, it stings, it argues, it explodes, but it does not end. It makes way for new ones if it isn’t right and it lets go whenever it’s the perfect time to.

Love fascinates me and it still remains a big question plastered on my head. I still believe in it and never will I ever stop. I write about love not to figure it out, but be mystified by it even more. I write about it because there are others who need the words to such inexplicable happiness and sadness and that it puts a smile on my face if these words have hit their hearts in the softest, most gentle way.  But most of all, I write because I am hoping- hoping that one day this one boy comes right at me, strikes up a conversation, talks about my favorite book and know, that I was the girl who wrote about love. And that finally meeting him would make me write about it forever.