Knowing If It Is Love, and Fearing When It Really Is

I woke up early this morning. It’s been a long time since I last did that; it’s been a long time since I last felt that there is a reason for me to face and challenge a new day with much zest—with much hope of getting in touch with you again. I was uncertain if it was really you who was giving me this feeling until I reached my house this evening—you’re certainly not in my school, not in my house, and not in any place that I know, but you’re certainly in my mind.

I’m beginning to like you; or perhaps, I already like you. I feel so scared; I feel so anxious right now, as if anytime, even at this very moment, I’m going to lose you—and I don’t want to. I feel that you’re already my friend, and I also feel that you consider me as your friend. I value our newly-found friendship, but although it’s really hard for me, I think we should end it now. But I don’t want to end it now; I still want to spend more time with you to know if you also enjoy marveling at the beauty of the stars, if you also take pleasure in eating Japanese food, if you can play "Ironic" for me on your guitar, if your favorite colors are also black, blue and white—I still want to spend more time with you for me to discover who you really are.

If we continue our communication, I will only continue to discover the wonderful person you truly are; I will only continue to share your happiness as well as your grief, your highs and lows. Because I want to be there for you, because I believe in you and I want to support you. I only know a little about you; I’ve only known you through what you have said about yourself. I’ve also only known you through your poems, but I’ve also known you through the things you have said to me. And I still want to know you more. Because, I guess, I do like you, and I’m ready to accept you no matter what else I might learn about you. However, even though it pains me so much to say this, we really have to end our friendship, because if we do not, my feelings for you will simply just grow deeper.

I want you to know that I like you, and that I want to love you. But I shouldn’t, because I know that there’s no possibility of you liking me, or loving me, or even you entertaining the thought of liking or loving me. It is unhealthy for us to continue our friendship when for you, I’m just a friend, but for me, you’re something more special. I have to get you out of my life or at least cut my communication with you, because my feelings for you have to subside, even though I don’t want to. I have to stop thinking of you all the time, even though—again—I don’t want to. I don’t want to live in my imaginations; I don’t want to live in my illusions.

You are a great person. You are special. You have inspired me in many ways, and you still continue to inspire me. I thank you for your kindness, for involuntarily motivating me to start my own online journal, for entertaining my messages, for supporting me on my first steps as a blogger and for being my friend.
Still, I really wish to know you, but this has to end.

Perfumes

It's been two years since I last smelled your perfume on your skin but the scent of it still pulls at my heartstrings and brings a tear to my eye. A stranger has passed me by, smelling just like you, and I close my eyes... dreaming that for a couple of minutes it is you who is nearby, and not some guy I have never seen before and will probably never see again.

You have made that scent yours -- even when thousands, perhaps even millions of other men across the globe have claimed it for their own as well. That smell will always remind me of you and you alone. No other man can wear it the way you can.

A few months after we broke up, I rode in an empty elevator smelling of your perfume. I almost broke down right there. I thought, God was playing a trick on me. I felt your presence so strongly, it was almost as if I was back in your arms. And then the elevator doors opened and in came the smells of the outside world, and with it a healthy dose of reality that you are gone.

Once in a while you take me out to dinner to talk and to keep the farce going that we are still friends. I say farce because I can never just be your friend. I still love you, can't you see that? I sit through our meal, smelling your new perfume and trying to smile and be happy for you as you talk about your newest date. You never seem to notice that my heart breaks every time you mention some other girl.

It is only at home that I let the tears flow, that I wish over and over again that you'd go back to using your old perfume, that you'd come back to me.

But wishing never brings anything so I'm forced to dry my tears. And I do my best to keep my eyes dry and to keep the pain at bay... at least until someone else wearing your perfume passes by, and once again I can pretend you are still mine, Papao ko.

i hate this part right here...

 i hate it when you're doing your best in what you do, without thinking of something in return, yet they give you allegations that is so below the belt... what's wrong with you pipol??? cant you be nice to the world?