there were letters i wrote you that i gave up sending, long before i stopped writing. i don't remember their contents, but i can recall with absolute clarity, your name scrawled across the pages. i could never quite contain you to those messy sheets of blue ink. i could not stop you from overtaking everything else.
i wrote your name over and over—on scraps of paper, in books and on the back of my wrists. i carved it like sacred markings into trees and the tops of my thighs. years went by and the scars have vanished, but the sting has not left me. sometimes when i read a book, parts will lift from the pages in an anagram of your name. like a code to remind me it's not over. like dyslexia in reverse.
BINABASA MO ANG
ader
Randomnever underestimate the pain of a person, because in all honesty, everyone is struggling; some people are just better at hiding it than others. everyone has their own story to tell, no one sees the world the way you do, so no one else can tell the...
