This isn’t love.
She knows this to be true, eyes wide awake at 2 in the morning.
Though she spends the last several minutes poring over your note, letters scribbled in a lazy mess– though she runs her fingers through parchment, analyzing every groove of where your pen landed, like they were carefully placed hints to mean something more– there is nothing more.
Continue reading “Midnight Musings”
I am counting the next Christmases
The next Valentine’s Days;
I am counting on every hour and minute,
Every distant conversation,
Until I hear your voice again.
Continue reading “Through Coffee Cups”
I have always been such a huge fan of musicals, mainly because of its ability to combine different kinds of performing art such as music, drama, and dance and create something riveting and mesmerizing onstage. A multitude of iconic songs have transcended platforms, making its way from the hallowed halls of the theatre and into mainstream consciousness. Another amazing thing about musical theatre is its ability to evolve, despite its traditional roots, exploring different kinds of genres to appeal to different audiences. Indeed, Broadway has come a long way from campy show tunes and skimpy outfit-wearing showgirls doing chorus lines.
Continue reading “Six Musicals for the Non-Musical Person”
To the girl who deserves more,
First, let it be known that I would never judge you. At this day and age, slut-shaming is downright despicable and hypocritical. All the self-righteous bitches who think they know better and cast judgment on you are idiots. They’re idiots who don’t know any better. They don’t know the struggles that you’ve been through, and are going through. It tears you apart every day that you never wish that they go through the same thing.
Continue reading “To The Girl Who Deserves More”
Work of fiction. Kids, don’t try this at home.
You cock your head up, drool unceremoniously dripping from your half-open mouth and onto your pillow, when you catch your reflection in the mirror not far from you. You take in the view of your stained clothes you didn’t change from last night with what looks like vomit marks, your dishevelled bed hair which resembles less like Daniel Padilla’s teen idol hairstyle and more like a cartoon character that just got electrocuted, and your shitfaced look with the last remnants of makeup—not yours, obviously– smeared all over your face. Just half a second later, your head pounds as if there was a gong beating inside of your skull, and you clench your lower abdomen, then suddenly, you know the pain and discomfort all too well.
Continue reading “I Am Never Drinking Again”