There are three things I loved about that Sunday afternoon—sun rays, the careless painting, you.
#5 - May 21, 2011 - End of the world?
Then I want to be with you when it happens. :)
A.) Happy 421st Daysary!
This is Relly’s “421st Daysary” gift to me. She is just so sweet. I am just soooooooooooooooooo lucky to be with her :)
Thank you very much milurbs!
(Whenever I remember this video, I remember you :) )
#4 - One, two, one, two, three, four…
Give me more loving than I’ve ever had
Make it all BETTER! 
when I’m feeling sad
Tell me that I’m special even though I know I’m …not… 
Make me 
feel good when I hurt so bad :’(
Barely getting !@!?*(&@#$! MAD!!! 
(nahirapan ako maghanap ng pic)
I’m so glad 
*** I found you ***
I 
love being around you (^_^)
You make it 
easy
It’s as easy as 1.) one
2.) two 
one two 3.) three 
(Chorus)
There’s only one thing TO DO
…Three (3) words for 
you…
(I love you) 
.:I love you:.
There’s only one way to say
Those three words 
that’s ~WHAT I’LL DO~
(I love you) I love you <3 
Give me more 
loving from the very start
Piece me back together 
when I fall apart
Tell me things you never even tell your 
closest friends
Make me feel good (I look good!) 
when I hurt so bad
The best that I’ve had (seryoso :) )
I’m so glad I found you …oO 
I love being 
(around you)
You make it easy
It’s easy as 
**one-two**,
one-two-three-four 
Will you come with me in a place where we could stop time?
Where we could build cities and castles on our own pace,
Stroll around our creation for days,
Lie beside the waves while holding your hand,
Watching the sun rise and set.
All care and worries thrown out in the wind,
Where yesterday has passed, and tomorrow is an illusion
Where we have nothing but each other, now, and infinite sands of time.
Come.
Surely, we don’t agree all the time.
I go east, you walk west. You are keen on the tiniest details, I love grandeur and excess. And while you passionately speak of your Latin body parts, of deltoids and Darwin’s tubercle, I prefer to hide in my world of binary truth, of logical orderliness, and well-implemented algorithms.
But if you stop and listen —- really listen —- to the beating of my heart, you will hear amidst my counter-arguments, rationalizations, and sloppy excuses, my heart’s voice, whispering softly:
I love you.
Once, I lost my pen. Or I dropped it. Or I intentionally threw it back in the deepest, darkest recesses of my subconscious. No matter, that pen made me see crazy things, things that weren’t there. It made me feel things that were made up of dreams, sand, and a little bit of delusion. I threw that pen so hard because I thought that all the good things in life were nothing but a play I wrote in the naivete of my adolescence. Every ink that pen spews is a white lie. A well-meaning lie, yes, but a lie nevertheless, a lie that bruises and scratches this already battered soul.
But hey, you gave my pen back.
Somehow, you made me feel that despite the craziness and contradiction and random flying things, there is truth and reality.
You are the reason I write again.
About A million good things combined
