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I promised myself I wouldn’t say it again. The words that taste so wrong on my tongue—but sometimes they slip anyway. I thought love would fix it. I thought having someone gentle, someone steady, someone I adore so deeply would finally quiet that part of me. And yet, here I am, loving someone wonderful and still feeling this strange urge to pull back, to sabotage, to brace myself for a goodbye that hasn’t even happened.

Why does fear get louder when happiness finally shows up?

Does love raises the stakes? That when something matters this much, your heart suddenly remembers every loss it’s ever survived...? But part of me that learned to endure pain thinks it’s safer to ruin things early than to be surprised by grief later. If I’m not wishing myself gone, then am I just overwhelmed by how much I want to stay?

It’s confusing, holding joy and dread in the same hands. Wanting a future while quietly rehearsing how to survive if it falls apart. Feeling deeply grateful and inexplicably afraid in the same breath.

Why does safety feel scary sometimes? Why does comfort make me flinch? If I finally have somewhere to rest, why does my body still brace like it’s about to fall? I keep asking these questions like a kid who missed a lesson everyone else understood. I don’t know where the answers are. I don’t even know if there are answers. I just know the questions keep coming, especially at night, especially when everything else goes quiet.

because I was taught that wanting you already meant I had failed. So instead, I learned how to pray in fragments—half-requests, softened words, carefully chosen silences. I prayed for forgiveness long before I ever prayed for love.

I grew up believing that love had rules before it had meaning. That devotion was only valid if it followed a certain shape, a certain direction, a certain name. And when I realized that my heart did not move the way it was expected to, I didn’t stop praying because I prayed harder. I prayed on my knees, in my bed, in quiet corners of churches and rooms and moments where no one could see me struggle. I would whisper prayers whenever I’m staring at you. I asked God to forgive me for the way my heart leaned toward you, even before I understood why it did.

Every time people looked at us and saw sin instead of tenderness, I brought it back to God. Every time someone spoke with certainty about where we would end up, I asked for mercy instead of answers. I asked Him to forgive us for something the world was so eager to condemn, even when all I felt was gentleness, safety, and something that felt dangerously close to grace.

There were nights when I wondered if I was doing it wrong—if loving you meant I was choosing rebellion over belief. But how could something that made me softer, kinder, more patient, be rooted in something evil? How could a love that taught me to be careful with another person’s heart be something God would turn away from? Still, I prayed. Not because I was ashamed of you, but because I was taught that love like ours always came with a cost, and prayer was the only way I knew how to pay it.

ever tried cooking a sunny-side-up, only to end up with a disaster that makes you question your life choices? i swear, it’s like i have a curse when it comes to things that need a gentle touch. hindi ko alam kung bakit, pero every single time, those damn eggs either come out like charcoal or they’re barely cooked, like they’re just mocking me from the pan. it’s honestly kind of embarrassing—and a little funny, if you think about it. and it makes me wonder, if i can’t even trust myself with an egg, how can i trust myself to love again? love’s kind of like that, 'no? fragile, needing just the right amount of heat. too much, and it burns out; too little, and it’s undercooked, leaving you with a mess that no one wants to deal with. and maybe that’s why i keep fucking up—both in the kitchen and in love. i overthink, i overdo, i over-everything until what’s supposed to be something beautiful is just… not.

and every time i think about getting back out there, trying again, my mind goes back to those burnt eggs. what if i screw it up again? what if i’m just not cut out for this? maybe i should just stick to what i know—letting someone else do the cooking, letting someone else love me, because clearly, i can’t trust myself to get it right.

but then again… what if? what if this time, i don’t overthink it? what if i just… try? maybe it won’t end in disaster. or maybe it will. but how will i know if i don’t give it a shot?

you’re out there, conquering your demons and making it look like a walk in the park. me? i’m still tangled up in my own mess, trying to figure out how to untangle these feelings that seem to have a life of their own. it’s not that i’m not happy for you. hell, i am. it’s just that every time i see your name pop up—like a ghost from the past—i get this weird pang in my chest. parang hindi ko pa rin maipaliwanag. like, every time i think i’m getting over it, i get a reminder that i’m still knee-deep in the trenches.

i guess that’s what happens when you’re trying to move on while the universe keeps throwing you reminders of what you’re trying to forget. you’ve made progress, and that’s awesome. me? i’m still working on it, slowly but surely. but there’s this tiny part of me that wonders—will i ever catch up? will i ever get to the point where seeing your name won’t make my heart do a weird dance of its own? or am i just doomed to this endless cycle of ‘almost’ and ‘not quite yet’?

it's funny, you know? like, how just seeing your name pop up on my timeline—just your name, not even a picture—suddenly makes my throat feel like it's stuffed with cotton balls. swallowing? not an option. not when i’m hit with this weird-ass cocktail of feelings.

i mean, how do i even begin to explain it? we were never really together, were we? it was all just pings and pixels, late-night texts and stolen moments behind screens. but damn if it didn't feel real. it felt so real that now, when i see you, it’s like this giant, invisible hand is squeezing my heart just a little too tight. just enough to remind me that i’m still here, still breathing, still missing you.

and god, i hate how much i miss you. i hate that i’ve got this mental replay button that won’t stop flashing all the good shit we had—the stupid memes, the endless convos about literally nothing, and how we made each other laugh like idiots over the dumbest things. it’s like my brain is doing this sick little game of "let's remind them of what they don’t have anymore!"

it’s like when you’re so goddamn thirsty but the only thing left in the fridge is that nasty soda no one drinks, and you’re stuck with this dry-ass throat, craving something that isn’t there anymore. that’s what seeing you feels like—like i’m thirsty for something i can't have. and it fucking sucks.

sometimes i wonder if you remember me, if something random—like a song we used to share or that stupid inside joke we had—hits you out of nowhere and makes your stomach twist the same way mine does. or maybe you’ve moved on, maybe you’re out there living your best life, and i’m just a shadow in your memory—a faint echo of something that almost was but never really got the chance to be.

it’s pathetic, really, but i can’t help it. every time i see you, i think of how we ended things—not with a bang, but with this quiet, awful fizzle. like a sparkler that burns out before you’re ready to let go. and it hurts because, despite everything, a part of me still wonders what could’ve been if we’d just held on a little tighter, a little longer.

but here we are, right? just two people who once meant the world to each other, now reduced to fleeting moments, like passing thoughts in the back of our minds, lingering only for a second before we move on.

but then, as the days got shorter, so did we. like, you ever notice how the sunsets start earlier, and you think you’ve got more time, but then suddenly it’s dark and you’re alone? that was us. one moment, we were basking in the glow of something real, something good, and the next, it was like trying to catch sand in a sieve. no matter how tight i held on, you were slipping through my fingers.

we went from endless summer days to that awkward chill of early auguest. the kind that creeps in when you least expect it, making you shiver when you’re still clinging to the memory of warmth. our laughs became fewer, conversations shorter, until we were just two people who used to know each other. we burned so bright, but maybe that’s why we faded so fast.

and damn, isn’t it just like summer to give you the best days of your life, only to rip them away? i mean, we knew it was coming. we saw the end, lurking behind every sunset, in every "see you tomorrow" that felt more like a goodbye. but fuck, we still tried, didn't we? clung to every last second like it could save us.

now, when i hear those stupid summer songs, the ones that are supposed to be all fun and carefree, they just make me think of you. of us. of how something so warm, so damn perfect, could just… disappear. like summer was a place, and we got lost on the way back home.