My Rockstar: Dear John

There’s a man that makes me happy and sad.

Happy to have him near me, loving me and taking care of me. Sad, like the saddest love song that relentlessly playing through my head, useless even if I would try to stop the music from spinning about my consciousness. We would part all the time, and all those times that I could see him go away, he’s taking a part of me with him. and I need to see him back so I could be whole again.

Whenever I see John, my blood curls to the top of my head and my hands would feel stiff and numb. And I soften up when he starts to smile at me. I feel made of wax, I could melt any minute.

“Hey love” he would say, and he keeps me in trance like Edward Cullen dazzles Bella Swan. My heart pounds out of my chest, bursting with intense thrill at the sight of him. I want to grab him and kiss him, kiss him more like time does not exist and the world owns nobody else but him and I. Thousands and millions of throbbing electricity rapidly flux unto my head to the tips of my toes.

I feel weightless and sore. And the hurt is piercing me. Needles raining on the surface of my skin, each prick sleeps and dies when his hand begins to travel about my arms and he gently hugs me. I could stay that way forever.

I could see him caressing me and kissing me in my dreams. Until my eyes pry open and this god like rockstar is still in front of me. He’s not a dream. He’s real and I could feel him. I could feel his face, his lips against my fingertips. His hands, that’s too cool and hot when I hold them back. He’s real. I could feel his body and the heat that ignites. he’s real, way too real. Even better than a sweet dream. His lips sweeter even than a love song.

He is my love song and he is a lot of words. Words that’s easy to comprehend, nonetheless, the hardest melody to sing and to memorize. But it wouldn’t be good to memorize as I want to keep him to me unread, unopened and unsung. And I will forever sing him the way I know how.

I am writing, and all I have in my head is his face, the sound of his voice, the bolts of his scream. And thinking about him makes me shiver. Makes me weak. Makes me dead. The sound of his voice brings me to life. Brings me home. Takes me to the wind, cradles me to the wide vermilion skies by the grace of the clouds. and when I fall back to earth, I would know for sure, he will catch me and hug me and kiss me and love me again.

Dear John…

I love you


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