#loveleads

Love is the light that guides us through the storms. 🌊❤️✨

Just like a lighthouse shines brightest in the dark, love leads the way and creates miracles. At Red Sled Santa, we believe in spreading joy, warmth, and hope this season. 🌟

my eyes are way too shy

to give you a glance since we got the ball rolling.

But from my expert sneak attacks,

you look so finely grown up now.

But you still have

that shoulder-length hair

with mahogany dye

and that plain jet-black shirt

you said that will never grow

out of style,

it was over-worn

right from the looks of its logo

slowly cracking against the fibers.

You still wear sneakers

and still suck in tying its shoelaces,

still unable to make both

your socks in good matching lengths.

You still wear your 'usuals’

that I never thought I’ll get to hear again.

You still have that smile

that seems so soft,

but everytime you say a word,

there is still conviction

and still says the word ‘fck’

everytime you get too surprised.

You still light up a stick of cig

after the other

and drinks a booze like water.

You still wear your black hair tie

in your wrist and still paint

your fingers in any shade

of something dark.

You’re still the woman

I know that is independent,

the one that’s not asking

for a little help despite

badly needing one.

You had always been different from her.

Our friends said

you tried your best to fall in love

again but it was letdown.

You said you are enough for yourself.

I wonder how real it was.

I still remember how we were back then,

your hands were either

on my hair or on my palms,

and how we kissed on the backseat

of my bestfriend’s car.

Now, I got a new set of lips to kiss

on my own four wheels.

You never tasted the same.

I must admit I had always been distinct

when I was with you.

Now, I get to visit all the

fancy diners in town,

met many bachelors at my age

and exchange talks like genius pretenders.

I sometimes make her breakfast

before I leave the house,

but she always wakes up before lunch.

Everything I served on plate

are either cold or unappreciated.

Unlike the way you got yourself

another bite with your mouth

still full from the almost-burnt

omelet toast I always made you every mwf.

I take her to such places under the broad daylight.

She was never a night person.

She never like the stars at night,

never like the silence

of the streets on past midnights.

She has asthma so I forced myself

to stop smoking.

She was never the type you could

walk under the rain,

but she always stay whenever I’m sick.

She can’t sleep without me by her side.

She always takes the blames

unlike the way we argued before,

how we spit curses after the other.

You still wear two cheap rings

on your middle finger.

Mine is a pure silver wrapped

around my ring finger.

I remember how I practiced the

‘will you marry me’s’

on the shower and how I ended up

asking her despite how I started

rehearsing it for you.

I wonder how it’ll turn out to be,

how I sketched it in my head

to ask you inside the bar where

music’s too loud you can’t hear it at first

until it’ll piss you off.

I had always wanted simple moments with you.

And now, I am no longer the boy

you stole your big shirts from,

or the boy who gave you the chords

when you wrote a poem

when you had your anxieties.

Maybe I am no longer the boy

you asked for a night out

and meant staying on bed

and watch series over fries and strong beers

until we hide on sheets of bed and explore

each other’s skin,

I am no longer the boy you warned

to behave while you misbehave.

But you’re still the woman I loved

who brought out all the worst in me,

everything that was bad

but I was the happiest way back then.

You still look like

that someone I saw myself

marrying one day.

Still the one who cared less

about what others may think of her.

You’re

still

someone I lost

nine years ago

— someone

that hold half

of my happiest

life.

You still look like

that someone

who wants me

back to who

I really was

— you still look

like that someone

I am still allowed

to love, darling,

and yet

someone I need to stop loving.”

but my eyes never left you

since we got the ball rolling.

You look so grown up now

with that clean-cut hair

and tux we always used to laugh about.

You no longer wear your favorite

black shirt with the MCR logo,

no longer wear that Converse,

you see, that's the one I knew.

Instead, you have some fancy,

branded black shoes on

I haven't even heard of.

Your smile seems more reserved

and I still haven't heard you say a swear word,

haven't seen you light a cigarette —

do you still even smoke?

Your glass of scotch remains untouched.

Do you still even drink?

Your wristband-covered wrist

now had that expensive watch,

and I guess, she probably bought it.

Maybe our friends were right;

maybe she changed you for the better.

I still remember how we were back then;

my hands ran through your spiky hair

as we kissed in the backseat

of your bestfriend's car.

But darling, you have

your own Mercedes right now.

I still remember exchanging looks

in the diner and walking out,

and running like rascals;

we almost always never paid.

I bet now you make her favorite meals.

I bet you take her to Cape Town

or to some exclusive restaurants

we never felt welcomed in

and tip the waiter with a ten.

I still remember the drives over eighty,

the careless drifting

and speeding tickets and crashing

on road signs and laughing,

and just now,

your bestfriend told me about

how your left hand

is a lot steadier these days

on the steering wheel

or in carrying her groceries,

and your right hand,

colliding with hers

like two universes

finally meeting.

I still remember the cheap ring

we bought in the sidewalk stall

and how it stained three days later.

We threw it; poof, gone.

I see you're wearing one now,

I know she is too;

I know this time, it'll last forever.

I still remember the grassfield talks

about marrying each other;

we were so close, weren't we?

We almost had it, but now —

now you lie

in bed with her,

married to her,

living with her,

forever,

with her.

And maybe you're not anymore

the boy whose oversized shirts I stole

while he was out with his skateboard;

or the boy who sang a song for me

when we broke up.

Maybe you're not anymore the boy

who drove me crazy with his

perverted comments at the most

inappropriate times,

or the boy who smiled after

pissing me off for no good reason.

Maybe you're not anymore the boy

I watched Scooby Do with,

or the boy who dreamed of us having

couple tattoos and piercings.

Maybe now, you're just

an older,

clean-shaven,

responsible,

married

stranger

who looks exactly

just like him.

Maybe now, you're just someone

I lost nine years ago —

someone who,

I'll never

get back again —

someone

I'm not allowed

to love anymore, darling,

and yet,

someone I never stopped loving.