Why?

We keep on dreaming,
That is the answer why we write.

We keep on wishing,
That is the answer why we still hope.

We keep on trying,
That is the answer why we cry.

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Cynic

I heard you say you needed me,
I heard you say you wanted me.
But now it’s written it’d all be bluff,
And it’s now written you & I will keep.

I heard you say you’d marry me
I heard you say you’d be for real.
Was it all true?
Or am I just cynical?

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Meredith

We drank the emptiness of the frosty drink
The bartender never knew how awesome we are on this.
We stared at each others vision
Those windows we never dared tried opening.

But there it is,
Saw everything.
Our walls took years in building
Our white flags tumbled everything.

Now all I see is not the frosty drink
But the water in my vision.
After all, who am I to talk?
I’m just the girl at the bar without a frosty drink.

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Slammed.

She travelled away from everything
And she now found everything she’d wanted.
Like having those answers in her hands, (that)
She’d been asking from all those books she read.

Aside from the purpose she felt she knew
All she ever needed was herself.
A book collector she’d been dreaming.
A kitchen lord she’d been fantasizing.

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Closure.

I pulled out my 4-year old iPod from my knapsack,
Scrolled in circular and pressed to play, Flowers In Your Hair by The Lumineers.

The smell of freshly baked pandesal joined the breeze.
Buying in some without a pang of hesitation.
For the smell is always included into use for our taste buds,
How heavenly it is when the room smells like butter.

Then I saw you with a newspaper in your hand with a bag of pandesal in the other.
You gestured yourself with the bag by your hand
I smiled and said, “No, thank you.”
I turned my back and walked out of the bakery,
Setting the volume of the iPod to max when I got inside my jeep.

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Messy Hair and Thirsty Hearts

The kind of girl with messy hair,
The one with a yellow pad and a pen.
She’s just wearing a big baseball jersey shirt
worn-out washed pants, rolled-up at the ends.

A coffee on her table,
Looking out the window through her glasses.
She seemed unnoticed,
Yet felt like she has been collected.

The next song made her smile,
Dancing in the lyrical harmony you, too, enjoyed.
Then she stopped with her dreams,
As the door opens, ringing wind chimes.

A little boy came up to her,
Hugging her like she’s one of his own.
A little boy kissed her cheek and said
“Mom, let’s have waffles.”

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Or Are We Dancers?

Somewhere outside the line,
You spilled the coffee onto a lady’s skirt
Somewhere outside the line,
I spilled the tea onto a man’s book.

Things we thought fell into places,
Thinking the best things in life happen by just accidents
Things we thought would go on smoothly
Thinking our own lobsters finally found us.

Apparently, they weren’t our own Romeo nor Juliet.
I, for one, found myself restless.
We hid ourselves in those sheets that once with them
You, for one, found yourself clueless.

Somewhere outside the line,
No coffee nor tea was spilled.
Somewhere outside the line,
Nothing clumsiness happened at all.

Somewhere outside the line,
A coincidence came out of an accident.
Somewhere outside the line,
Lobster breathe into the beginnings.

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