; A brief love affair.

you see, he’s the type of addiction that rips your soul open. always craving for his open heart, the innocence. you are always burning and hurting without him knowing the damage he’s inflicting everyday.

he smiles my way, never at me, but it leaves me aching all the same.
his soft heart cannot bear the darkness of this place.
i long to hear his lips forming the vowels of my name.
an augmented reality that leaves me aching for days.

what sort of infatuation leaves the soul wide open
the burn his smile leaves in every darkened moment
the feeling i experience staring out in the ocean
cannot ever compare to the words he’d spoken

the memories of summer remains to be the only thing he’d impart
of the constellations we promised on seems so far apart
he never picked up the splattered pieces of my heart
the pain i feel i can only call art

still he smiles and it never cease to leave me breathless
picturing the warmth in his eyes, i lie awake, restless

though the weight of his words feel like home
i am not surprised when i end up alone.

-Anthea Calonia


“There is a law somewhere that says that when one person is thoroughly smitten with the other, the other must unavoidably be smitten as well. Amor ch’a null’amato amar perdona. Love, which exempts no one who’s loved from loving, Francesca’s words in the Inferno. Just wait and be hopeful. I was hopeful, though perhaps this was what I had wanted all along. To wait forever.”
― André AcimanCall Me by Your Name

Call Me by Your Name

“Then I thought of the drive back, late at night, along the starlit river to this rickety antique New England hotel on a shoreline that I hoped would remind us both of the bay of B., and of Van Gogh’s starry nights, and of the night I joined him on the rock and kissed him on the neck, and of the last night when we walked together on the coast road, sensing we’d run out of last-minute miracles to put off his leaving.

I imagined being in his car asking myself, Who knows, would I want to, would he want to, perhaps a nightcap at the bar would decide, knowing that, all through dinner that evening, he and I would be worrying about the same exact thing, hoping it might happen, praying it might not, perhaps a nightcap would decide – I could just read it on his face as I pictured him looking away while uncorking a bottle of wine or while changing the music, because he too would catch the thought racing through my mind and want me to know he was debating the exact same thing, because, as he’d pour the wine for his wife, for me, for himself, it would finally dawn on us both that he was more me than I had ever been myself, because when he became me and I became him in bed so many years ago, he was and would forever remain, long after every forked road in life had done its work, my brother, my friend, my father, my son, my husband, my lover, myself.

In the weeks we’d been thrown together that summer, our lives had scarcely touched, but we had crossed to the other bank, where time stops and heaven reaches down to earth and gives us that ration of what is from birth divinely ours. We looked the other way. We spoke of everything but. But we’ve always known, and not saying anything now confirmed it all the more.

We had found the stars, you and I. And this is given once only.”
― André AcimanCall Me by Your Name

Find someone who feels like little black dress and big comfy sweater. Who is both the laughter of just-right tipsy and the slow blink of a good cup of coffee. Oh, love a storm and the fire and a midnight parade. But love someone who is also shelter, a haven, the place you come to stay. Love someone who makes you feel like 2 AM parties and finally-got-to-bed. When they feel like that first moment you get out of work clothes; keep them. Seek comfortable. It lasts the way some things won’t.

-r.i.d // via inskinned on tumblr


Icarus filled me with this unexplainable warmth
and his smile would always leave a mark
He was my sun, the light in my life,
the stars I would look up to whenever I’m in the dark

but then I saw how his coffee brown eyes
dulled and gradually lost color
As his flame slowly burned out
and his smile became smaller

I watched him slowly slip away from my grasp
In pieces I could never seem to catch
Because my hands are too tired to hold on and keep clasp
Around the heart no one seemed to match

If I were to go back in time,
If I were to replay a moment once more
Instead of him falling into the sea,
Let him fall into my arms, forevermore.

Instead of carving our story into a tragedy, I will cherish him and adore
I wouldn’t let him knock on suicide’s door

Take me back to the time where he still kissed my head.
Take me back to the warmth of his smile instead.

In honor of World Mental Health Day.

someone to write about

It’s not love, but if he needs me to stay up all night with him, I will.
these nights I lie awake with the thought of him on my mind
the way he smiles, the way his warm, brown eyes would light up, how he looks when he has his guard down. his vulnerability is an endearing quality i found myself captivated by.

and i don’t know why.

If he tells me to wait a hundred days for him, I will.
time doesn’t exist when he laughs, all those melody pouring out from his lips is a song i wish i could capture down and paint in the colors of his eyes, so that i may never forget.
in an alternate universe, he and i are playing cards and we laugh and clumsily dance and fall (in love), but in this universe, i wait.

and i hope it isn’t too late.

If he asks me to break the rules I made for myself, I will.
For him, I will, gladly.
life is all about taking risks and having your heartbroken a thousand times over but still waking up the next morning just so you could hear his laugh, his voice, his silence. to see him smile, and sleep, and weep, and exist beautifully and wonderfully without end. to hold his worries and doubt in the palm of your hands, to look up at him and see him smiling without pretend.
i will bring my walls to ruin just so he could see the way my heart is painted with his favorite color, see the way my hands would tremble at the thought of holding his, see himself the way i see him; full of warmth and kindness and hope and sunlight.

his smile is a poem i try and try to capture on paper and write
so i would always remember and never lose sight,
but i could never get it right.

but then, if it’s not love, what is it?