We’re always looking for connection among things, for explanation and for logic within life. While there’s connection, for sure, real life is almost unexplainably above logic. Like why do we fall in love? Why do our hearts break? Why did I lost my phone. It doesn’t make any sense to me, but I get by, knowing that there must surely be a reason for all of this. Just that it doesn’t matter why, this is life in all its beautiful meaning.

So I finally figured I lost the sense for small talks. I need someone to talk about how beautiful a sunset is. I need someone to talk about the Orion in the winter sky. I want to talk about the small chance that we were born in the same era. I want to talk about Wes Anderson and Moonrise Kingdom, about Quarantino, Shusaku Endo. I want to talk about the simple joy of calm seeing thousands of birds returning home on sunset. I want to talk about how magical love is. But yet there is this silence. I only know how to talk to myself.


My dreams of you are so beautiful, it hurts to wake up. 

It hurts to open my eyes just to realize you never cared about me and probably never will.
It hurts to see you sad while I’m too clumsy to do anything for you without making you feel even worse.

It hurts to think that someday someone will take you to the moon and that man might not be me.

It hurts when I have to lie to myself that love isn’t about possession, because I want you so much.
It hurts. Because to you I don’t even exist.

It hurts.

She was the kind of girls that were born with pretty eyes. I can swear you this: at times I can see stars falling inside her eyes. Always reminded me of the night sky I used to watch in my youthful summers. It’s the same mysterious dark space that makes one feel lonely. A depth one can never reach. It makes you sad to the bone. Yet over and over again, you catch yourself at the same place, gazing up the stars in an endless stream of thoughts. Then she would catch your stare and throws back a smile.

That’s when I would feel like falling down in a sky full of fireworks. Time doesn’t exist. You feel so warm. So real. So alive. You fall into her eyes just like a stars.

N.