A Letter for My Special Friend

A Letter for My Special Friend A little Maya bird that aims to fly high.

I didn’t noticethat it was already the last time—I thought the moon was only hiding,waiting for me to look up again.I wa...
02/05/2026

I didn’t notice
that it was already the last time—
I thought the moon was only hiding,
waiting for me to look up again.

I was too certain, too at ease,
believing in its quiet return,
holding on to a sky
that had already let it go.

But some things don’t come back—
not every absence is temporary,
and not every silence
means “wait for me.”

So I loosen my grip on the night,
learning, slowly, to let go—
even if a part of me
still searches for that same moon.

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05022026

Hindi naman lahat kailangang dibdibin,may mga bagay na puwedeng hayaan na lang lumipas—hindi dahil wala kang pakialam,ku...
25/04/2026

Hindi naman lahat kailangang dibdibin,
may mga bagay na puwedeng hayaan na lang lumipas—
hindi dahil wala kang pakialam,
kundi dahil napapagod ka rin magdala.

Pero kapag dumating ‘yung bigat
na hindi mo na kayang itago sa katahimikan,
‘yung parang kahit anong pilit mong maging okay
ay may kumakapit pa ring sakit sa loob—

umiyak ka.
Tao ka rin, at may karapatan kang maramdaman lahat—
ang bigat, ang sakit, ang pagkabigo—
at unti-unting gumaan, sa bawat patak ng luha.

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04252026

Bakit kung kailan marunong ka nang huminga,saka naman may darating na panibagong bigat—parang hindi ka kailanman papayag...
09/04/2026

Bakit kung kailan marunong ka nang huminga,
saka naman may darating na panibagong bigat—
parang hindi ka kailanman papayagang mapayapa.

Hindi na hinahayaang maghilom ang sugat,
laging binubuksan, laging ginagalaw,
parang wala itong balak tumigil sa pagsakit.

Paulit-ulit na bigat na walang hanggan,
walang pahinga, walang pagitan,
at wala ring katiyakan kung kailan ito titigil.

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04082026

26/02/2026

Sino ang aking tatakbuhan kapag ako’y pagod na?
Sino ang magiging sandalan ko
kapag ang katawan ko’y nagtatampo at ayaw nang lumaban?

Sino ang yayakap sa akin,
para patahanin ang magulo kong isipan,
na parang bagyong walang humpay?

At sino ang mag-iintindi sa akin
kapag ako mismo ay hindi na maintindihan ang sarili ko?

Tama pa ba,
Na magkunwari akong maayos
Habang ako’y lumulubog sa alon
Na tila kailanma’y hindi ko na kayang saluhin?

Pilit kong tinatago ang pagod
Para lang magpanggap na matatag,
Habang ang isip ko’y tila tumutulo,
Pinipilit lang lumaban sa gitna ng dilim.

Masama ba ang magpahinga,
Kahit saglit lang,
Kapag pagod ka na sa laban ng bawat araw?

Hindi basehan ng pagiging malakas ang walang tigil na pakikibaka,
Kundi sa pagtanggap na minsan,
Kailangan mo ring huminto, huminga,
At hayaan ang sarili mong maghilom saglit.

You were never supposedto be the one.You were safe—a friend,almost a brother in the wayyou stayed.I didn’t plan this.Fee...
23/02/2026

You were never supposed
to be the one.

You were safe—
a friend,
almost a brother in the way
you stayed.

I didn’t plan this.
Feelings are strange like that—
they grow in the quiet,
in ordinary days,
in jokes that aren’t even funny
but you laugh anyway.

It was small at first.
The way you understood my silence.
The way your shoulder
became a resting place
for my tired heart.
The way my phone lights up
and somehow
so do I.

I didn’t notice the shift—
when “thank God you’re here”
turned into
“what would I do without you?”

I told myself
this is just comfort,
just closeness,
just habit.

But why does my chest tighten
when you don’t reply?
Why does your name
sound softer
than it should?

And still—
I am not ready.

Not for love that rushes,
not for promises
I cannot yet carry.

I want a future built steady,
not on emotions alone
but on purpose.
I want to seek God first,
to build something unshakeable
before I place my heart
in someone’s hands.

Yet here I am—
confessing.

Not to trap you.
Not to demand anything.

Just to breathe again.

If you only see me as a friend,
I will fold this feeling quietly
and keep it where it belongs.

But I needed you to know
that somewhere
between daily conversations
and borrowed comfort,
I fell—

not loudly,
not recklessly—

but gently,
and completely.

----------
02232026

He says I’m important.He says he cares.He says I’m special.But only in the waya friend is special.And I smile,because wh...
22/02/2026

He says I’m important.
He says he cares.
He says I’m special.

But only in the way
a friend is special.

And I smile,
because what else am I supposed to do?

How do you confess
that “friend” feels like
a locked door
with your name carved into it?

I didn’t want fireworks.
I didn’t need a grand confession.
I just wanted
to be chosen.

But instead
I am the safe place.
The listener.
The late-night comfort.
The almost.

I am the one he trusts
with his secrets
about the girl he actually loves.

Do you know how cruel that is?
To hold his heart in your hands
and know
it beats for someone else?

He looks at me
with warmth.
With gratitude.

But never
with longing.

And I would rather be rejected
in flames
than loved
in a way that never grows.

Because being “just a friend”
means I have to stay close enough
to watch him fall
for someone who isn’t me.

And still clap.

And still smile.

And still pretend
my heart isn’t folding in on itself
every time he says,
“You’re like a sister to me.”

I don’t want to be family.

I want to be the one
he’s scared to lose.

But instead,
I am safe.

And safe
is not the same
as wanted.

----------
02222026

I’m tiredof translating my paininto softer words.Tired of rehearsing my truthlike maybe this timeit will be heard.I expl...
15/02/2026

I’m tired
of translating my pain
into softer words.

Tired of rehearsing my truth
like maybe this time
it will be heard.

I explain,
and explain,
and explain—

until my feelings sound
like arguments
instead of wounds.

No one listens,
they only wait
for their turn to speak.

So I’m learning
the quiet kind of strength—
the kind that knows
not every heart
is a safe place
to land.

----------
02152026

This is a piece from the spoken poetry contest I delivered. Posting it here to share with you.
15/02/2026

This is a piece from the spoken poetry contest I delivered. Posting it here to share with you.

We talk in late-night bubbles,your words warm and strange.You call me “best friend,”but sometimes your messagestiptoe li...
14/02/2026

We talk in late-night bubbles,
your words warm and strange.

You call me “best friend,”
but sometimes your messages
tiptoe like something more—
and I stumble into feelings
I wasn’t supposed to have.

Your signals flicker
like a candle in the wind—
one moment bright,
the next, gone.

I’m just a heartbeat
between your maybe
and your nothing,
learning to hold
feelings
for someone
who exists
mostly in text.

----------
02152026

Love is the longest sentenceever written—not in ink,but in the hush between two heartbeats.No period.Only pauses—quiet s...
14/02/2026

Love is the longest sentence
ever written—
not in ink,
but in the hush between two heartbeats.

No period.
Only pauses—
quiet spaces where breath gathers,
where foreheads meet
and leaving is reconsidered.

A moment
when anger flares like summer heat
and we choose water over flame.

A moment
when silence pulls tight
and a hand crosses the dark
to say, stay.

For forgiveness—
that fragile bridge rebuilt
with trembling hands
and stubborn hope.

They say time moves forward,
straight as an arrow,
never glancing back.

But love moves in circles.

It loops through familiar laughter,
returns to old songs,
finds its way to
the first look
that felt like home.

It does not hurry.
It turns.

It gathers what was shattered,
sets it at the center,
and sways around it
until sharp edges soften.

Love ignores the grammar of endings.

It breathes.
It forgives.
It begins again—

a sentence still unfolding,
curving through us,
line after living line,
toward something
that feels like forever.

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02142026

Not every Christmasglows.Some sleep on sidewalks,wrap themselves in cold,listen to carolsfrom the other side of glass.Wh...
25/12/2025

Not every Christmas
glows.

Some sleep on sidewalks,
wrap themselves in cold,
listen to carols
from the other side of glass.

While tables overflow,
they count coins,
trade wishes for warmth,
call survival a gift.

Christmas passes them quietly—
but their hunger,
their hope,
still deserves a place
in the light.

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12252025

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Bantayan Island
Bantayan

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