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

Category: Out of the blue


by avrillorenzo


I vividly remember the dream I had last night.

I was walking down a familiar route, the route which would lead me to where my friends hang-out: a stone table with benches. I had ‘meeting’ running through my mind while walking. When I got to my destination, I saw my friends at one side, and a few people who I didn’t know on the other. There was something like an invisible barrier between the two and it was only when I sat down that it broke and the two parties on either side started interacting.

I saw a pack of cigarettes. I even remember the brand: it was one of those cheap ones that you can get anywhere except for 7-11s. I was shocked to see who was holding the pack and offering it to a new friend I just made, who was sitting beside that person. Then, it was offered to me and I declined. All of a sudden, everybody stood up and moved to another stone table near by, except for me and that person.

It was you.

All of a sudden, my friends started teasing me and you were grinning at them. I was seriously confused as to how that could get such a reaction from you. When you turned back to me, your pack was gone and you were looking at me expectantly. I searched the bag I had with me and didn’t have my pack. So I told my friends that I was going to buy a pack and I asked you to come with me. You said yes and started walking away. Without even looking, I called you and told you to come back. I never got an answer. I continued to riffle through my bag, looking for something. I figure it was probably my wallet since I was to buy a pack of cigarettes. It probably took me a while since I remember repeating what I was doing, exactly from opening my bag to riffling through it to pulling my hand out. That happened around six times before somebody sat in front of me. When I looked up, it was you. You said, “I’m back.” I replied with, “You came back.” And you smiled and said, “Because you told me to and you waited.”

We were well on our way to buy a pack when the scene morphed to the grounds of my high school. We walked up to this one vendor who’s pretty popular back in my school and you asked for a pack of my cigarettes, not the one you were holding. While we were waiting for him to give us our purchase, you asked me if I still had some of the things you gave me. I immediately answered no and you were disappointed. You took out your wallet and opened it wide for me to see. The pocket where you put pictures in was vacant, not like what I was expecting: your picture with her. I thought you were going to pay for my pack so I started looking for my wallet. But then you tapped my shoulder and then took out a red and green yarn braided together. You dangled it in front of me and I smiled. You still had it.

Suddenly, we were walking back to where the stone tables were with the route I was on at the start of my dream. It rained but we weren’t hit by it. It was like we repelled rain drops so we were dry. I don’t know why, but I started walking faster, leaving you behind. All of a sudden, I stopped when I felt you grab my hand. I looked back at you and there was a slight change in your demeanor and appearance: your hair’s a little longer and you looked tired. You even had new clothes on. I felt a sort of panic and I’m not sure what from. But all of that disappeared when you said these three words. The three words that I last remember before waking up.

“Wait for me.”

What a dream. The weirdest thing about it was the fact that I knew what you were saying even though I didn’t hear you say them. I just saw your lips move and I just knew what you were saying. It was only then that I realized I forget what your voice sounds like. That’s probably the reason why I didn’t hear you say the words you said. And only then did I realize that I want to hear your voice.

I’m not sure how to interpret that dream. Dreams have a lot of interpretations. But the funny thing is, I’ve had a lot of dreams about you, some the same and some different. I still dream of you. But this is the first one that I’ve ever shared because maybe it meant something. Funny how I don’t actually have the things that you gave me anymore. That bit was probably the only truth in the dream. But you still had that thing, the yarn, which I doubt you do because you found it ridiculous and useless.

I’ll probably never know if you still have it. I’ll probably hear your voice and never know it’s yours. I’ll probably never know what you want me to do about you.




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.

by avrillorenzo

You know those nights when you just understand how things happen and you figure everything happens for a reason though reason knows nothing of it yet? No? Me neither. Because, yes, things happen for a reason. I acknowledge that but I can’t understand it. I won’t. Because maybe things happen for the reason that they shouldn’t have happened to you, with you in the first place. That’s something I refuse to understand. I acknowledge it, yes. But understanding means accepting it. I don’t want to believe that. And that’s where the problem lies.


by avrillorenzo

There is something wrong with me.

I sit here; idle as people pass me by. Some take notice, others ignore. Some are oblivious, others are aware. I sit here; idle as people pass me by.

I rummage through my bag for a pack without even looking, acknowledging the fact that I wouldn’t take this long if I were to look. But I am in no hurry. I find the pack, I grab one stick and I fiddle with it before I light it. I hate the first inhale: it is premature smoking. The second is bearable. The third is fine. The fourth I like. The fifth I adore. I throw away the stick, the end still glowing. The smoke calls for me but I refuse to pick it up. It is soiled, now useless. There is no point in picking it up for it to die a few puffs later. It is better to be left with that fifth puff, the fifth inhale. All I can remember is how I loved it. Every step: from the filter on my lips to the smoke in my lungs. I remember everything about it.

I grab another stick and fiddle with it before I light it.  And it’s the same thing all over again.

I want to stop smoking. But I always stop with the fifth puff, the fifth inhale. I never learned how to hate it.

I sit here; smoking as people pass me by. Some take notice, others ignore. Some are oblivious, others are aware. I sit here; smoking as people pass me by.

There is something wrong with me.

Another Letter to No One Not in Particular

by avrillorenzo

I thank God for man and man’s capability of innovating technology. Because if it wasn’t for that gift, I would have killed a few hundred trees with the number of times I would have crumpled a sheet of paper with the things I want to tell you. A few clicks on the keyboard and I’ve either paraphrased or deleted a couple of useless sentences.

Hi there, stranger. Do you still remember me? I’m sure you do. But as you say my name in your head, it’s in that passive, detached voice of yours that annoys me to wits end. You know very well how I detest being irrelevant. Enough of me and this pointless rant about how you say my name in your head.. How are you? I haven’t talked to you in a while. The last conversation we had was via text messaging and me relatively under the influence of alcohol. I’m not saying that I only want to talk to you when I’m drunk. It’s not that. I want to talk to you, but I know that I shouldn’t. Alcohol makes me forget the latter. I rarely see you around school, not that I’m looking for you. I’m still not used to it, I guess.

Do you still remember how we’d talk ’til the wee hours of the morning about random things that didn’t usually go together but we found something in common about them? It would usually be because we both were partial to the two topics or because we would make them work. Remember how we did the same thing to us? People didn’t see it, us. But we made us work. Kudos to us for not being overrated. How very nonconformist of us. Do you still remember?

I’m sure the ‘us’ bit is disconcerting for you. The thought of an us flew out the window a long time ago. Or us was a homing pigeon that only knew your past address and after a few months, it found you in your new apartment in the city. It’s either romantic or crappy. In our–your case, it’s probably the latter. I’m sorry if I keep making things awkward for you. The letter alone is awkward, the content made it worse. I don’t know. I can’t control myself. I thought I’ve moved on, but I haven’t. Not yet, at least. I am moving on. I just wanted you to know that.

I’m actually a little mad at you. Why? Because you’re a jerk, that’s why. You’re an asshole, a grade A douche bag. I’m mad at you for being that way. But I’m not saying that you’re that kind of person, no. Not to everyone, just to me. I don’t understand why you had to lie to me about things. You know how much I value honesty, right? I don’t see the point of you lying. What, to make things easier? Did it even cross your mind that it would be easier for me if you just told me the truth? Because the truth does not produce ‘what-ifs’. I’m mad at you for that because I hate ‘what-ifs’. I hate them, and you… a little.

But I’m going to stop being mad at you now. And no, it’s not because I don’t want to be mad at you anymore and be friends with you again. No. It’s because I don’t want to be mad at you anymore. Because to be mad or angry implies that you care. And honestly, I just want to stop giving 2 fucks about you. You don’t deserve it.

But before that, let me tell you this:

I miss you.




by avrillorenzo

One of the worst feelings is when someone makes you smile, takes you in his arms and tells you he loves you; then you look into his eyes and know that it’s not possible. It’s not possible because you know there’s that someone else. The someone who set his standards.

And eventually he walks away. Just like that.

Then, you see him happy. He’s happy and that makes everything okay. But it breaks your heart and hurts much worse because it’s not you who he takes in his arms. You see the look in his eyes and know that there isn’t any doubt. You’re not the one who makes him smile. You’re not the one. Not even a little bit.

He said he’ll never forget. But the look in his eyes says that there wasn’t anything to remember.


by avrillorenzo

It’s 3:30 in the afternoon and I just noticed the sun. I’m sitting in front of my desk, waiting for the crappy Internet connection to come back. My desk is directly in front of the window, so I basically have the view of the outside world. There’s the writer vibe hovering around me as I stare at the sun that I saw for the first time today. When I woke up, the sky was pretty much covered with gray rain clouds. It was a relatively gloomy day. It wasn’t as dark as I wanted it to be because the sun made sure to make its presence known by making the sky bright despite the gray clouds. Now, those clouds are just hovering around while the sun decides to claim its stage again.

I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now. All I know is that the sun finally showing up made me want to start writing, or as I would like to call it, talking to myself in my head and pretending that I’m a different person. It sounds like what a socially awkward person would do, right? Well. I am that so I guess whatever I’m doing fits. But that fact still remains, I don’t know what I’m feeling right now.

You can say I’m a little out of sorts recently. I’m at that place again where I don’t know what to feel so I don’t feel at all. I choose not to feel. I had a person encounter this side of me and even called me heartless. Maybe I am. But I’m not. I can’t possibly be heartless since this is just a ‘place’ I go to on certain circumstances. I guess I just have the skill to turn off my heart once in a while. I was thinking of using emotion instead of heart. But numb is an emotion so I guess it won’t count.

If I were to explain how I’m feeling right now, only one word can pretty much explain things. Floating. I feel like I’m floating. I’m not particularly latched on to one feeling thus me being non-feeling. It’s like my vision is pretty much blurred and I’m walking down the road I call my life. Basically, I’m wrapped in uncertainty right now. Confused.