Breathe in, breathe out with Brethney

  I Am Afraid to Become A Mother, a Parent I am afraid to become a mother. First off, I still have dreams to reach, goals to achieve, and things to prove. ‎ ‎I am afraid to become a mother. Secondly, I saw my parents thrive; witnessed the blood and tears to provide, for us to have a better life. ‎ ‎ I am afraid to become a mother. ‎Third, I am young and dumb but learned that life is not about the butterflies in our stomach but food on our table. ‎ ‎I am afraid to become a mother. ‎Not because I don't imagine myself as one but because I might not be the best one. That what if I couldn't give the nurture of a mother. ‎ ‎I am afraid to become a mother, ‎Not because I don't want to be one some day, but because I'm afraid I can't provide. I am badly afraid that I might be one of my child's reasons to cry at night. ‎ ‎I know love conquers all, but a desperate love won't create a less harsh life; won't give lighter problems to carry; won't present a clear...

  Take me back to when I used to think the moon was following me. ‎Take me back to when going to urban places felt like a whole day travel. ‎Take me back to when I thought a week felt like a month and a year is enough to do all my plans. ‎Take me back to when I was a child and oblivious of everything. ‎ ‎Learning is a blessing. ‎ Discovering things, and being knowledgeable about them are essentials for us in growing. ‎ Though a great deal yet it pains. ‎When did simple things become so complicated? ‎ ‎ Take me back to when my tears were because of being hurt while playing, ‎ And not because of the pressure I am feeling. Take me back to when everyone thought it's fine to know nothing since I was still a child, Because knowing nothing now is like failing in life. ‎ ‎ Survive is now the goal when we are supposed to be living it. ‎I am on the stage where dreams felt like delusions and impossibles ‎ Instead of being the tip of my pyramid— The final stage and goal; the purpose why I am ...

If love is measured by the bouquets of roses ‎ Or the places you two visited ‎ How often "I love you" was said ‎ Or how many months were celebrated ‎ Then I don't know what love is ‎ ‎ All I know was the hugs of the heat of the sunlight ‎Until it gets dark and replaced by the moon and its tranquility ‎ The comfort it brings together with the breeze of cold winds ‎ Swinging the trees that make sounds like a whisper ‎Until the birds sing and chirp again in the morning ‎ ‎ With you, that's how I count our time ‎ That's how every day goes by ‎ Taking note of every detail ‎ Having faith that this love will prevail ‎ Until the end of infinity ‎ I am not the shadow that leaves you in the darkness ‎Trying hard to be that rhodopsin instead ‎That, even if the world is in the shades of grey ‎ You'd still see things that would make you stay ‎ Promise I'll hold you in happiness and pain ‎ ‎But if it unfortunately will not go far ‎ You are the memoir I'd write and ...

I can treat you right, ‎Like how girls should be treated ‎But I'm not a guy ‎ Then should I be quiet? ‎ ‎ Perhaps my friend was right That I am afraid for I know that we both can't be the endgame I am not Mr. Right. ‎Right. I am not a guy. ‎ But by the way, are you a Ms. Miss? ‎Or are you fine with a gay Miss? ‎ If you're down, Miss ‎I would take the risk. ‎I won't sleep. Press the buzz and beep ‎I'll make it there in a minute. ‎Just let me know, please . I mean.. I don't even know if I was just kidding or not ‎Though I am sure that I want us to have this and that Is it real, or infatuation? ‎ Or a fear of rejection? Looking back, we were never close ‎ Why do I miss you? ‎We never really had that much of interactions ‎ Why do I talk to you now? ‎ ‎Missed the sight of you ‎I wanna keep you ‎What do I do? ‎ How to? ‎ ‎I was giving signals ‎ Sometimes hesitating yet ‎ You surely are the target ‎But why am I still holding it? ‎ ‎ Can't I release the arrow? ‎ Do...

It is a story that no one can understand. ‎It is like you're reading it backwards or holding it upside down. Or even if you read it properly, No one can feel the words' intensity the same way the author put into it. The sound of the keyboard is creating; The stroke of every letter; Every word creates The feelings she relays.‎ The short pause after the phrases, Ellipsis of hesitations, ‎Exclamations of madness and pain, And dots of endings. ‎It is not a mere story. ‎It is a book of realization while she lives her life. Sadly, no one cares for the chapters, ‎Everyone is waiting for the plot twists‎. Just like no one really cares which one's real right, They just know both are. Some say it's six, ‎When it's really nine . The difference between you two is— She holds the book right as she's the one who writes, While you hold it upside down and barely get the sentence. ‎Yet don't worry, your six looks nine in mine. (Photo from: https://clipart-library.com/2023/p...

Would you want to sit by the seashore? Listening to every wave passed, 'Til the sky gets dark and full of stars? ‎ Or would you rather, Watch movies till daylight?‎ Cook snacks at midnight? ‎ Go to the highlands for fresh air and watch the city lights?‎ or... ride the bus' last ride home? ‎ with me?  For the meantime? ‎ ‎ Or until we get bored again. (Previously known:  A Letter for That Gal ) ‎