to the ones who were there and now are gone

i always carry parts of you wherever i go. your jokes seem to always fit my backpack and i still laugh at them every time i’m alone at the usual spot we have at malls: the convenient store. the memories of us wondering about our lives once we get out of school lie inside the pocket of my jeans. every single laughter stays in my ears like fireflies caged in a jar, flying around and playing with one another.

there isn’t a time when i wouldn’t ask the sky and the glistening grounds about how you’ve been today. i listen to the sound of rain hoping it doesn’t bother you that much like how it does to me. every single rain drop that falls on the UV’s window makes me wish you wouldn’t let the water fall out of your eyes, too.

i can’t seem to accept the fact that we’re living under the same, bright sun but not on the same ground anymore. you were there to witness each detail of my life, as if i was an open book and you were my avid reader. you made each scene bearable than it’s supposed to be, and i’ll always be thankful for that. but maybe it’s time for me to put my jeans in the laundry basket, unlock the jars, and set the voices free. i guess it’s time to defamiliarize myself from all things tangible — let each place we used to visit become a place i’d never been to; let each conversation turn into an empty chat box; let every empty room remain empty like we never stayed there before; let every music we listened and sang to sound new to our ears.

you still have me anytime you choose to bombard my house — of couse you do. you are always welcome to barge my walls like you always do, but maybe at this moment of our lives we’re supposed to create new memories and experience the unknown has offered to us. for now, i’d stop shedding tears over forgotten memories and let myself wander around this new world i’m currently facing.

i’m so sorry. thank you. for everything.

 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

the thin line between everything and nothing

 

If you came to think of it,
there is a thin line between
nothing and everything.
One second you have plain
black walls —
as in plain, dark walls that you can
mistakenly call as blackholes —
then the next
you have paintings and wallpapers
and decorations,
and somehow, they lit up your room
making it a universe of your own.
One moment you have blank sheet
of paper and then the next you’ve got
letters and sentences in between
the blue lines that were ones
filled with nothing
but white spaces.
Yes, really.
There is a thin line between
nothing and everything.
Everything, nothing,
nothing, everything
nothing.
It’s just an endless cycle.
Just like when you have the world
at the cracks of your palms,
holding it so dearly to your chest,
and suddenly
it disappears.
You had it all with you —
your favorite cat,
your worn out copy of Wuthering Heights,
your favorite tv show you watch every night,
your hope, your dreams,
your love and your life.
I remember you as a shy girl
sitting at the corner
at the farthest table
and I watch your eyes spark
as people come towards you.
You were the happiest,
as you found yourself
inside the sphere of bliss
because you were so sure
that the people around you
are like your favorite coffee —
you can’t get enough of them;
you can never run out of them.
At that moment, you had it all.
But what you never think was that
what you have kept inside your closet,
what you have cherished inside your brain,
and what you have collected in your
pocketful of feelings in your rib cage
will disappear like the bubble you once blew.
And just like the decors of your dark-painted walls,
the people you’ve cared for so long
will remove themselves from being clutched into you,
making you tear down your walls
as the black hole swallows you whole.
The writings on your once blank sheets
no longer hold meaning
like how you see your life now.
Because, really.
There is a thin line between
nothing and everything.
Everything, nothing,
nothing, everything
nothing.
It’s just an endless cycle.

 

— © emg, 2016

ooo

art details:

Artist Name: Juan Jose Calva
Tumblr: jjclv.tumblr.com be.net

 

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.