Dionysius

Tumblr’s font has changed. I am not a fan. And I’m sure it’s not the only thing that has changed in its interface. Tumblr used to be simple but deceiving. I had real-life friends who’d say that they didn’t have tumblr because it was confusing to use, oh but only if they knew.

With me, well, my hair is now twisty and curly as it should be. I have fallen in love with K-pop for almost two years now, and it seems that I can stomach watching series now. I seem to be more aware of who I am as a person or perhaps, it’s just part of a coming-of-age. I don’t know. I guess I’m still by the doorstep of soul-searching and I am thrilled and anxious how it’s going to go.

sometimes the blooming of a flower,

And when I’m in the mood for music, I’d skip our playlists and listen to the songs we both disliked. I subconsciously hum these songs when I work, and I still cringe whenever I play them. (I made them a playlist.) I wear colors now. Ekk, god, they look horrible on me, but I wear them and try to last until the day ends. I still end up sleeping in grey or black clothes though. I just can’t help it.

I’ve tried rearranging my days, reinventing the routines we used to do and subtracting you from the scenarios, but I ended up retracing my steps without a map. I was still at the same spaces, the same air. I was still eating the same food with the same seasoning. In my schedule, I was on time in different times, in the same places with different shoes.

I tried to subtract you from the scenario, but I forgot how you were filling up all of me, and how everything is just raw and still so full of you. After a long day, I still lay in the same bed, wearing the same boring grey clothes I used to wear when you were here.

Who would have thought that your world could come into your life, walking in a body of 159cm?

The warmth you never knew you needed. The familiarity and home that becomes the 159cm — both frail and strong and bruised and loved.

That 159cm opens your door, and sometimes, you, yourself, open for her. She presents herself, bringing her past, present and future, and you embrace every fiber there that steps in.

i’m not good with late night talks either, but i love the thought of it. with gentle fingers, vulnerabilities are being laid out one by one, and somehow there are no judgements there. sometimes, i let on too much. i let them in too much, and i’m never sure if i’m saying it with the right person.