I feel as much as I think. I do both excessively.

Category: Attempts at art

Classic Soul

by avrillorenzo

There was a thing that circulated on Facebook on how you would introduce someone in a story. This is my take on it.. and this is about Kevin.

(Play My Girl by The Temptations as soon as you start reading)

The sound of a jacket ruffling made me turn my head – and then our eyes met. It was like a typical scene in a movie wherein the leading lady finally meets her leading man – in slow motion. Hair neatly slicked back, and lashes as long as you could imagine fluttering over rosy cheeks – he reminded me of spring for some reason. He was in the process of taking-off his jacket – and I swear everybody in the room was watching him. My heart skipped a beat when I realized he was looking at me. I tried to be less awkward than what I am normally capable of and turned my head back slowly to the front and down to my book – feigning disinterest. Too late, I thought. Too late.

I never realized I was counting until I reached 27 and there was a knock on my table.

“Is this seat taken?”

His voice rang in my ear and turned into a sensation you get when you first hear the groovy, smooth melody of a classic soul song. I look up tentatively and he was smiling down at me – smiling at me as if I was the best thing he’s seen all day. Of course, that was just my imagination – and too caught up with it I was, I only managed to shake my head in response.

He sat down and I did my best to try and ignore him and get back to reading. It was a moot effort since I was reading the same three words over and over again. All I could think about were his eyes and classic soul.

And oh boy, did I love soul music.



by avrillorenzo

Date created :12/28/2012 00h45
Last modified : 01/03/2013 14h10


And I realized that I haven’t thought of you for a while.
But now that I did, it didn’t shake me.
It was more of the pavement beneath my feet breaking in one strong instant
as layers of ground and masses split like the red sea and the ground swallowed me whole.
But I’m not yet within the depths of this crack, falling deeper and deeper.


I am pretty much like how James Franco was in 127 hours.
Stuck, lodged painfully between protruding boulders, relatively mangled.
And the only way I could escape is if I cut my arm off.
Trying to get out of this is gruesome and bloody.

Nothing is ever easy when you miss somebody.
Nothing is ever beguiling when you miss somebody so much.
Nothing is ever beautiful when you miss somebody who doesn’t want to be missed.

Nothing will ever be.

But, in a weird twist of circumstance, it is perfect.

For it is the chip of your favorite cup, the crack on your favorite pavement, the broken branch of your favorite tree and the tattered cover of your favorite book.

It is in these things where we find perfection.

It is perfect because it attests to love.

Love is always perfect.

Sadly enough, it was you and I who tainted its perfection.

And why is that?
Because love didn’t want us.
But love loved every body and is there for every one.

But it wasn’t for us.

So, here I am, wondering if I should proceed to cut off my arm and set myself free,
challenging gravity as I make sure I don’t fall in the process.

I should and I admit that I miss you.

But admitting that does not instantly grant me the freedom from the yearning.
I still have to climb out of this crack.
Maimed and bloody and only about a 12% chance of survival.

And I am holding on to that percentage.

Who knew missing somebody could be so dangerous?

Of Crickets and Sunsets

by avrillorenzo

A set of stone tables lined

beside an old building.

18 years old.

At 4:30 in the afternoon,

if you happen to pass by,

you’ll see her.

Earphones plugged on each ear.

Sitting alone.

Notebook out, pen in hand, writing

and constantly looking

at her watch.

I passed by once.

I saw her. Then

I sat at a far corner,

somehow intrigued.

I watched as she scribbled

furiously on her notebook

as the sun sets to her

left. Shadows of people

passing didn’t seem to

faze her. Once in a while,

she would look up

and around.

The lush greens

were tainted with the orange rays of the sun.

I hoped to be bored soon,

but I found myself counting

the times she would look

at her watch or look

up and around.

Slowly, the sky turned orange.

Then pink.

Then mauve.

Then slightly velvet blue.

And as I sat there,

serenaded by the crickets

and caressed by mosquitoes

which died when they did so,

I watched her

slowly packing her things.

I stood up, the same time

she did, but I sat back down.

Because she looked over to her

left, breathed deeply

and bid the sun goodbye

when it was already gone.



And as I sat there,

alone and smelling

the remnants of sunset,

I realized I’ve been thinking of

her as often as the

crickets sing.


by avrillorenzo

She stood outside his door, contemplating whether to knock or just leave. This isn’t a good idea, she thought. And of the minutes that she stood there, all of her memories of him flashed before her. She remembered how the hall of his apartment smelled of candle wax. He wasn’t one for using electricity at night. He likes the soft glow of candles. She found this weird trait of his dangerous, but he would always blow out the candles before they slept. The first time he held her hand was when she was trying to plug in her laptop one night because she was running out of battery. He stopped her because of his ‘I-don’t-use-electricity-at-night’ thing. She was too overwhelmed with the sensations brought about by one touch that she forgot that she had to send her paper that night. But it was worth it, she mused; that was when they first kissed: sitting on the floor, surrounded by candle light and the city noise masking the silence. She was looking at one of the paintings he had on his wall, the one that screamed autumn because of the crisp browns and oranges brushed across the canvas. She thought of autumn when she thinks of his lips. That was the last thing she thought of before he pressed his lips against hers for the first time. It was a clumsy kiss, considering that he leaned in the moment she turned towards him; he didn’t have his sights on the target but he barely missed. Barely, and then he moved his lips against hers, brushing them like how he brushed autumn into his canvas. She wondered if he still had it. She also remembered the cold nights. They wouldn’t need the heater because they had each other’s body heat. She could still feel how his arms would brush hers so faintly and how it would burn. And at nights like those, she would be lulled to sleep by the sound of his snores and heartbeat, mixed into an unorthodox melody that always made her smile before she slept. And often as not, he would always breathe against her hair. And in his exhale, she would always feel him say ‘I love you’ in the faintest of gestures. And she remembered how that fleeting moment before she succumbs to slumber told her that she was in love with him.

She blinked and looked at her hands with an envelope with 2 things inside. She knew what she had to do.


There was a knock on his door. A second later, he wouldn’t have heard it for he was about to go to sleep. Grumbling, he made his way to the door asking who it was. He looked through the peephole and saw that nobody was there. He cursed whoever it was and made his way back to his bed. But before he could fully turn around, he stepped on something. He bent down and picked up an envelope. He caught her scent on the measly stationary and immediately opened it, heart racing. Slowly pulling out the contents of the envelope, he fell to the floor. He looked around his apartment and his eyes landed on that one painting that she loved the most and immediately remembered her lips. The feeling of them against his were still there. He carefully opened the invitation and felt his world fall apart… The only thing that was going through his mind was whether or not he was to finally burn that painting.

It was her wedding invitation, dated exactly a week ago. He burned the invitation with one of the candles he had nearby and threw it in the bin. He held the other piece of paper found in the envelope, crumpled and stained.

You’ll always be the one, even though I’m not yours.”

And for the first time, he turned the lights and the heater on.

In Between

by avrillorenzo

And as I watched her lecture me

on love and loss and all that’s in between

I couldn’t hear her.

I couldn’t understand.

Because I knew, she was talking

to herself more than me.

For my love and loss and

all that’s in between

Reminded her of what she’s forgotten;

Of who she’s loved,

Of what she’s lost

and all that’s in between.


by avrillorenzo

It was when I saw

the sun kissing the horizon goodbye,

full of promise of them meeting again;

the rain sacrificing itself to cool

the ground from the burns it

subjected itself just to feel the sun,

the heat seeping into its core;

the leaves falling from trees

with slow sways of hope

guided by wisps of wind

wishing that when they are shredded,


they will grow, live again,

in the arms of their tree..


It was when I saw things this way

that I knew


I was screwed.


by avrillorenzo

The infatuation, it started

the moment your

eyes lit up

when you talked

about how

she batted

her eyelashes.

The attraction, it started

the moment your

eyes shone

when you looked

at me and



The pull.

The desire.

The care.

The passion.

The lust.

The attachment.

The need.

The devotion.

They started

right after you



and whispered

my name.


love came after that.

The rest,

as they say,

is history.

And now,

we live forever.


by avrillorenzo

Kiss me… One last time. Kiss me with all you’ve got. Pretend that you love me because I know you don’t anymore.

Skip the teasing and grab me by the waist. Pull me close. Then, move your hands up, lingering a few moments on the sides of my body before reaching my face. Cup one side gently and put the other hand behind my head. Look into my eyes and be honest. Pretend to be honest. Say it with your eyes. Say that you love me. Kiss me… One last time.

Whisper my name. Moan my name. Pull me even closer. Move your hands all over my body and make sure to linger in some areas. Leave an imprint, a memory. Slowly, move your lips against mine. Caress my tongue with yours and let’s battle for dominance.

Kiss me like you’ve never kissed me before. Kiss me as if it were the first time. Soft, gentle then hot, passionate the next. Kiss me as if time doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters. Just you and me and this one last kiss. Give me at least that… I feel like I deserve it.

Don’t hold back. Give your all. It’s hard, I know, to give your all when you don’t want to.


Pretend that you want me more than anything.


Pretend that this is the greatest thing in your life.


Pretend you love me so much.

Just pretend.

And I’ll pretend. Pretend you still love me. Pretend. Pretend that you never hurt me. Pretend with just that. Because I will give my all. I’ll kiss back… One last time.

Kiss me… One last time.

One last memory… The memory I’ll love and hate the most. It will be the most wonderful kiss I will ever have. So full of love, of passion, of you. Fireworks on a grand scale. Like the fireworks in the Beijing Olympics. It will be the first and last of its kind. You will kiss me like you never did before. Like you never did and not like I always do.

Last. I say that because I know you’ll never kiss me again. Those lips that once caressed mine will be caressing another in due time. And I’m sure it will be more than what we ever had. Because you’ll kiss her with all you’ve got. As if it were the last time. But I’m damn sure it wouldn’t be.

Kiss me… One last time. Kiss me with all you’ve got. Pretend that you love me because I know you don’t anymore. Maybe you never did.


by avrillorenzo

The light,

it dances

between her fingers.

Her hand in the

air capturing

the wind


Her eyes


from one cloud

to another

never fazed

by the striking

light of

the sun.

Her nose

all red

with the bite

of the damn

cold breeze,

making it hard

to breathe.

Her lips

bled of


all wet

with the salted

taste of tears.

Her breath,


so shallow

and stolen.


at every


Her brain,

so frazzled


by the multitude

of blacks

and whites, she

fears she



Her heart,

oh dear heart,

beating slowly

and silent.


breathless and

broken beyond repair.

Her face.

Her blink.

Her sigh.

No one knew



Where is she?


by avrillorenzo

A warm breeze blew through her hair as the late afternoon sun gently painted the scene before her. The park was oddly empty as she stood and watched the trees dance and the waters of the lake ripple here and there. She sighed and raised her hand to the sun. She opened and closed her hands, spread her fingers to let the sunlight dance between them. After a while of standing, she sat down on the slightly damp grass and hugged her knees to her.

She wore a very solemn expression on her face graced with tear tracks along her cheeks. They just had the biggest fight in their whole relationship. It scared her how much their story was somewhat resembling a tragedy.

It was only a few minutes when somebody sat down beside her. She looked to her right then looked up to the orange sky with hints of pink and mauve, her lips pressed in a thin line. The person sitting beside her spoke.

“I love this time of day. It’s like the sky compensates for the end of the day by making everything majestically beautiful. I’d take the end if it’s always going to be this way.”

“But would you really settle for the end?”

“Maybe. As the saying goes, ‘all good things come to an end’.”

“What if the end isn’t as lovely as you want it to be? What if it’s the start and the middle that’s beautiful?”

“Then I wouldn’t take it in the first place if the end’s going to be horrible.”

“I guess that’s why you’re with me, aren’t you?”

“I guess so. The start of our story was never made of fairytale magic. It started out bad. We were always at each other’s throats. It’s pretty funny, if you ask me. Looking back, I never expected we would go far. Our story isn’t perfect, isn’t wonderful and nobody expected us to get this far. But what’s amazing about it is that in the end, it’s us together. And that’s the most beautiful thing I have ever come across with in my entire life. Having such an awful story made me flip the pages until I reached the end. Because I think happy endings make more sense when it’s not expected. It’s not just a happy ending, but a beautiful one.”

He took her hand and laced their fingers together. She looked at him and squeezed his hand gently.

“You know, I think I’m starting to like this part of the day.”

He brought their hands to his lips and kissed them.

Everything was perfect. The park was filtered orange and set a beautiful contrast to the lush greens. She couldn’t help but smile. The engagement was back on.