Two Love Letters


I intend to hide them away, but my muse won’t let me sleep. My muse has been haunting me with sweet nightmares. So though I am not sending these letters at all, I am letting them out of me and maybe I can look forward to a healing.

To my one great love,

I should have sent all the letters I have written for you. But would it have changed how I feel right now?

You were never mine. Ever. Because I never took the chance to make you mine. Because I was waiting for you to take that chance for us. But maybe there was really no ‘us’.

I could only think of one person who can send me to the clouds by just one smile, by just one look, by just one touch. You. You always took my breath away. You always made it difficult for me to catch my breath. Even without saying a word. And I think that was always our problem. We never spoke a word. Particularly, we never told each other how we felt. And that leaves me wondering always if I did mean to you like you meant the skies to me.

There are a lot of things I wanted to say to you, but I never had the courage to. Maybe I was afraid then. I was afraid that if I tell you how I feel about you, heaven would end. I would not have endured it—it was always heaven with you. I could not take that chance of having to fall off the clouds and not feel the way you make me feel. So I never took the chance. And so did you. But I never have the slightest idea why nor if it is true that there is even an idea of you taking a chance on me the first place. We were both scared I guess. Or maybe it was just I…How should I ever know?

And that leaves me with nothing but questions I was hoping you’d answer now that I have taken the courage to write them all down for you: Did you mean to send me to the clouds whenever you’d say Hi or simply smile even if you were in the middle of something and I pretended to be just passing by? Did you mean to leave me breathless when you’d walk me home, go to church with me, watch movie with me, even if we did not plan on doing all these things together each time? Did you mean to tell me how you really feel, to take the chance with me, in those times that we both failed to show up? What did your smile, your touch, your concern, your wit, actually mean that they never failed to blow me away? What did the moments with you actually mean that even if we never planned on them it felt like we actually intended to be together? What did those unspoken thoughts and feelings actually mean for you and me? Did you mean them like I illusioned them to be? Or is this really just me alone in this empty fantasy? On this strange cloud?

What I am trying to say is, I should have taken the chance when I had the chance. I should have told you. I should have asked you. I should have not been afraid of losing heaven with you because eventually I would lose that sky high feeling anyway, and I actually did. Because chances ran out. And when I failed to take those chances, it was tantamount to giving up the heaven with you.

But they were chances un-taken but un-regretted. Because when I convinced myself that you were just some heaven I could not reach, I found another way to fly. And I was glad perhaps. Because having to see clouds on uncertainties in my heaven with you, I found another universe. My one true love.

And my one true love is not you. Even if you meant the heaven to me.

But if I did take the chances to say what I needed to say to you, that you meant the skies to me, then maybe I am not the one left here with questions to ask, or even just one question to ask: Did I also mean the skies to you? For whatever your answer would have been, I think, would change the way I feel right now that I no longer have another chance to actually hear what your answer is…

If you have said yes, then maybe I could have shared sweet memories with you I could proudly claim as genuinely mine, and not that the were visions of a broken dream. That even if heaven would have eventually run out for the two of us and still I would end with a new-found universe I consider now as my one true love, the important thing is my sweet memories with you is truly about us, and not an us that never was.

If you have said no, then maybe I would have charged it all to bitter memories that the idea of heaven sometimes just did not work for some lame dreamers like me. Maybe the clarity I would have gotten about the disillusion had made me more willing to love without the promise of being loved in return. Maybe I would have had the better courage to part from you as the special person you would always be to me but I happened to force into oblivion because I did not take the chance to ask and hear your answer after all. And so we ended up as strangers with memories.

Maybe, I could have moved on more peacefully having at least a yes or a no to hold on to.

Maybe, you would not be looking down on me right now, sending still vague messages you had no power to explain to me. I am writing to tell you how you still mean the skies to me because you have taught me how to treasure a love like this. Yes, love. I never said that I love you. I never had the courage to say it nor feel it that it is actually love. That it is indeed love. And although I no longer long for you to love me back, as up to now I still do not know if you do, if you did, moreso, if you ever will, I want to thank you for making me feel that I love you. Loving you was having a taste of heaven, that bliss that comes with being among the clouds or maybe even above the sky. For one moment I actually believed that it was possible to feel bliss without having to have enough reasons to be happy except that there was you. Loving you was a great feeling I intend to cherish its memory until the world is no more. Yes, a memory—that is all you are left of me but still I am so grateful for. A memory of that one great love. I want to thank you too for making it clearer now that loving you is never wrong because I am inlove with my one true love. Because you are special and the love I feel for you is special. You are my one great love. And even if I should accept now that goodbye is on its way to be finally faced with, you will always be in my heart. Yes, this is really goodbye I guess. I will no longer send you the letters I wanted to send. You will never get them anyway. But I am sending this one to you through the wind after reducing it to ashes, sealed with a kiss I never took the chance with you, hoping this will be first and last letter I will be sending to heaven. I love you.

Until I could be with you in heaven, I guess this is truly goodbye for now.


To my one true love,

I love you. I say that without reservations.

I have chosen you like you have chosen me in some random and crazy whirlwind we decided to take a chance with .

I am glad I took a chance on you, and you took a chance on me. If we did not, we would not have learned how capable we are of loving not because it feels like heaven but because it sure feels like hell when it hurts, but the true heaven rises once the hurt subsides and the pain and scars are nothing but marks of strength of one true love.

You are not my idea of heaven. It is because you are something else.

You are my universe. You mean the heaven and earth and everything between them to me. I don’t know if you feel the same way about me, but having to take chances everyday that a love like ours is a battlefield worthy to be battled on for whatever reasons there are to stay, is enough for me to continue living with this vast space that is either empty or exciting called true love.

Ours is a love story that can never be written, for words won’t be enough to narrate the weight of emotions that come with truly loving someone like you, someone like me.

When you truly love someone, you cut the crap of fantasy and still feel like it is the greatest dream cloud ever. You face life and all its harsh realities knowing tests of time render true love and great love as two separate entities not meant to be compared. Your one great love shows you the heaven and the illusion of flying over the promises of bliss. Your one true love shows you heaven and earth as one place where you can be true to yourself and you get to feel what you allow yourself to feel by taking chances both on bliss and sorrow. And that is why you are my one true love.

My great love taught me to fly to the heavens. You, my true love, taught me to rise above everything else even if I fall and hurt myself, because I would have you to fly and fall with me again and again and again and again…

You have shown me the idea of pain by breaking my heart for countless times and yet I am still here.

You have shown me the truth about the illusion of being in love, that it can never be perfect except if you love an imperfect person perfectly well, and so I know that there is nowhere else for me but with you.

Memories are bittersweet, and maybe I am just glad that the ones I have with you may be bittersweet but they are real. Bittersweet memories with you, just like a bad medicine, are hard to swallow, too painful to endure, but make me well and whole. Thank you for being a part of me that is never complete without you. Thank you for making ‘us’ feel and sound the same as ‘I’—selfless but strong.

What I am trying to say is that:

I love you not because you love me, but you made me love you.

I love you not because you are here with me, but you are enough reason to stay.

I love you, and I have no better explanation for that except I love you.

And I thank God everyday for giving me the courage to make this felt.

I am writing you this letter because you deserve to know, that despite what we have gone through and will be going through, despite the things we would rather not do or say, despite what lies ahead, beneath and within, that I love you and I will never love anyone this much as I love you. You are my true love. Deal with it.

I love you.

My heaven is with you.




Scary Fairytales

Is a fairy tale a dangerous place to be?

I have seen a lot of these mushy love stories already, interesting, light and amusing plots written by teens whose illusion of falling in love is quite too far from being realistic. They have this illusion that fairy tales do exist. That a handsome, rich guy can actually fall in love with a poor, ugly girl. That a guy with an ugly personality can actually change for a random stranger who speaks wisdom to his ears. That a super star can actually have an ever after with a fan. That a long-time crush can actually feel something for someone hopelessly in love with him because of what has been written in a diary or a love letter. That a bet or a wish can actually lead to true love to be discovered. That love seems to be transitory. conditional. petty. meant to expire.

I could not blame them.

In a world where you need to network in order to establish connections, where you need to rely on filters in order to get noticed, where you look up to celebrities for standards of your own existence, where your affection comes with the approval of the universe as you publicly display it, where you get frustrated with having to make realities make sense because they tend to be more complicated…well, these apprehensions make fairy tales a more pleasurable route to take as a a short cut to pure bliss.

Now this alarms me.

If most of young people nowadays are blinded by these illusions of love, then how will they handle being disillusioned by harsh realities that falling in love is not as fancy as the fantasies in paper backs? That falling in love is rough as the pages of these paper backs? That the reality is, falling in love is serious business and the very complicated route they for long avoid?

This alarms me because while I am fascinated by these shallow plots, the rest of the population of young people actually consider them seriously.

Like seriously?

If this persists, whatever will happen to real courtship? true commitment? sense of sacrifice? “death do us part”? What will happen if they seriously hang on their hopes to the odds that their one true love is behind a mask in a ball, or the kiss under the moonlit sky, or the icy embrace in a snow-capped wonderland, or if the shoe fits?

Not like I have anything against these ideal romantic set ups.

My concern is, they are too blinded by fantasies that they shut their eyes to see the realities, that the best love story is not found on paperbacks. The best love story is the true love they themselves write. The best love story begins just as it is felt, and it will never have to end. No background. No fireworks. No moon. Just plain true love.

I can’t help but be scared, because true love is supposed to be real not fancy.

True love is supposed to know no end.