i eat your name for dinner

Every night I wish only that you would be mine. This I always shyly and cautiously leave hanging in the air. Only the stars and the leaves that rustle by my feet bear witness to my desperation – my pathetic contradictions.

Every night the moon watches me and drowns my plea with its silvery moonlight. I watch my shadows dance beneath the lamppost as I whisper my request out into the world.

The moonlight does not falter. It seeps through my very being. It fills me up and empties me.

Unlike the fragments of light that escape the clasp of leaves and branches, my wish will not reach the Gods.

Every night I whisper your name out into the world in the hopes of having you closer to me. In exchange, a piece of you is taken by the Gods as my own special atonement.

My heart tells me I should stop. My mind urges me forward.
Tell me, will the moon ever run out of light?

イサベラ

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nausea —
the wind, knocked out of me.
my lungs, like stubborn wind
does not succumb,
unable to surrender to death
for your sake.
my heart breaks
to a fast paced waltz

un
co or
dinate
d.

it shatters more,
each piece crying out
each letter of your name
it starts with a loud J

and ends in a hushed
letter unrecognizable
nausea.

nausea —
it comes back.
like the ghost of poison
empty and
real
enough to bring forth
the fire
of you

and cause me
to bend forward.
and scream your name
in agony
of longingness.

nausea.

イサベラ

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maybe we need more

A young man probably in his late twenties sat down beside me and started a monologue without regard of embarrassment as if  I am a longtime friend he had not seen for years and not like the strangers that we really are. He did not look at me when he split open his heart and shoved it to me.

I wish that she could have loved me… not like how much I adored her but even more — like how the day marries the night without question. I wish that she could have loved me so earnestly enough for her to have created a storm inside my emptiness. I wish that she could have loved me enough for me to burst into an endless symphony of chaos and beauty that made sense and meant nothing altogether.  I wish that she could have loved me enough  . . . 

イサベラ

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whilst I wait

I silently shift from my seat and watch as the things my feet had collected over time escape leisurely. Why must I be the pit stop of leaves and withered flowers whilst I wait for you?

What else can the wind ferry off to me?

I see a woman’s umbrella almost answering my query. The wind blows a neon pink candy wrapper at the mercy of my feet. I pick it up and watch little pebbles attempting to sway to the wind’s serenade. I beckon the wind to bring me more things.

It rolls a discarded plastic bottle close enough for me to pick up. I grin. What an amusing game this is!

I wait for more things and close my eyes. I urge my ears to listen.

I hear a young lady’s voice tremble with desperation. I hear a balloon pop and a child’s frenzied laughter. I hear the gentle chimes of tiny bells.

The wind has brought fragments of life to me.

I hear the familiar tapping of shoes. In my mind I see her walking toward me and wait with my eyes still closed. The wind brings her closer to me. I smile. She smells of lavender soap and a light musky perfume.

What are you doing? She whispers this into my ear.

Waiting. I answered.

イサベラ

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Declaration of Love Through Nakedness

I have decided to just go fall madly in love with myself.

I have declared to love myself at the start of my summer vacation. I do not want to fool anyone into thinking that in just almost a month’s time I have accomplished this because for sure, I’m far from anywhere but where I started. But this statement has helped break illusions and has got me thinking of just how much more there is to this self-love movement.

After much confusion and much time spent on thinking of ways on how to actualise this new goal, I have decided to go with being naked first. It sounds too bold and crazy — to go out naked. No, I do not mean that I would strip down and walk around in my birthday suit, challenging people’s sensibilities.

What I mean by being naked is to stop hiding behind so much walls, clothes, facades and pseudonyms; and be okay with it. I feel like by being comfortable with my own imperfections and my own flaws and being unapologetic about it is a good place to start because then, I would probably cultivate my sense of self-awareness more and in the process, understand the many ways I can learn to love myself and how I can improve more. I don’t think it’s going to be an easy feat but it’s probably worth trying.

Dearest World,

Please give me your blessing for this.

Forever Yours,
Ysabella (イサベラ)

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intertwined

Drops of cool water from a broken shower head are at the mercy of gravity. They fall miserably onto my sweat-laden skin. For a moment I tried to believe that this second bath for the day will somehow kill the wrath of summer. I drowned my skin with more water and remained unconvinced of my own delusions. God. This heat is killing me. But what has not?

I listened to the k-indie playlist I randomly clicked for my ears’ pleasure and realized that it is my soul that needed to be relieved of the heat and the music which is neither foreign nor familiar to my soul, was doing a great help. I listened more intently. The world is filled with beautiful things waiting to be discovered either by chance, fate, destiny, or by plain stupidity.

I chuckled for a moment. God. If anyone from outside this rather small space would hear me laughing, they’d be looking for other signs to prove that I have gone crazy. Have I not?

My clumsy hands dropped the dying pink soap bar on the floor. If my soap had a soul, I bet that fall would have hurt. I picked it up lazily and caught a glimpse of my body being reflected by the glass panes. I lather more soap on my body and wish that I could do the same for my soul.

I stared at myself — which is not essentially all of me. I traced my shoulder with the tips of my fingers and watched myself do the same thing. I wish I could have married a photographer. I would have posed for him naked everyday. I felt embarrassed of this thought and tried to take it back.

It was too late; thoughts that have been born are at the point of no return. I must be a thought that have seeped through reality. I am at an unreturnable point. I allowed myself to laugh at that that analogy. I must really have gone crazy.

I listened to the playlist I have forgotten.
It is still beautiful.

イサベラ

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