by Dawn Lanuza
And do I have to?
But how do I keep living?
And then I thought,
Maybe from here on out, this is what it means to keep living:
to carry on with injured parts
and tattered hearts and
the years
just
keep
on
piling
up
It’s a daunting task to keep showing up
to settle into a routine or to shake things up,
which then, really, makes me want to question:
Are my dreams worth this much?
Is my life big enough?
ode to march
You had me screaming for medicine,
tugging at my sheets
because reality was crashing
and I was falling
a
p
a
r
t
Every fragment,
every word is a
symptom,
a side effect—
sometimes it dresses up
like identical twins
in stripes of black and white
running in my backyard
But
Some days I stumble upon
some kind of medicine:
sunlight,
melody of a new favorite song,
coming home.
Finding something new to love
that is in a way, my own.
Compliments,
changing my mind,
because I am allowed.
Then the fact that still remains:
I am alive.
not ready
And if you meet him—
tell him I’m sorry.
I’m sorry I never went
out of my way to meet him.
Tell him I wanted to meet him
but I was always afraid.
Tell him I see him
and the life we could have lived.
Tell him, tell him
I would have loved the shit out of him.
And I’m sorry,
so sorry,
because I wasn’t able to.
Tell him I believed in him
and in the promise of a better life.
I believed in our first dance,
fireworks, and fairy lights.
I believed in him,
of his goodness,
his existence.
I believed that he would come.
But tell him I’m sorry,
as much as I have faith in him,
I have none for me.
It is probably why
it’s taken this long
for us to stay apart.
idol / idle
He bleached his hair blond,
shaved it to one side.
They said he’s looking fit
wearing those tight jeans.
His frown has gone permanent,
kept his eyes down at times.
His voice sounded the same
but his words fell flat.
He’s present, tangible,
a living god walking around.
But the more he stayed on stage
the more he faded out.
Like the weight he lost,
the hair he shaved,
the light from his eyes
has disappeared.
Every day he was losing a piece of himself,
yet this was everything he wanted
in his old life.
He’s grown up
and grown out of it.
youth, it’s painful
And maybe if he waited a little longer
he wouldn’t have to lose so much
but he’s young and therefore braver
than the rest of us.
touché
I wanted to keep you so much that
I broke a piece of you
to keep for myself
I’ve been holding on to you
with clenched hands—
now,
look at all this blood.
3x5
And here is my heart
riding on a 3x5
there’s no need to say hello.
I’ll just get straight to the point:
I miss you.
I wish we never let go.
a plea
You have to understand
the proper response to
“I can’t do it anymore” is not
“What did I do wrong?”
How hard can it be to just ask,
“How can I make it easier?”
“How can I help you?”
Don’t forget how good I was
in case I forget.
I always seem to do it.
Remind me every once in a while,
I might need it
that one time.
resolutions
Taking things leisurely means
not ordering things on the go,
not eating on the road anymore,
not not eating at all,
I’m going to take a seat and savor a meal, that’s all.
I’m not going to kill myself little by little anymore.
selfish
Allow me to be selfish these days.
You’re leaving and I’ve only got
sixty-something days.
I don’t want to burden you
with questions like,
Who do I go to when I’m running away?
See, I knew we’d grow up
but I always thought
together we’d grow old.
But growing up takes
some people apart.
I’m not naive but—
Soon we will be oceans apart.
Allow me to be selfish this time around.
I’d like to still have you in my life,
the way it has been,
before you board that flight.
I’m torn between deciding whether or not life is cruel.
On one hand, it brought me you
Yet it kept me from having you.
it is not mine
It is not mine. I can make it so, but it is not mine.
When it is yours, you’ll feel the hurt.
You will feel the need to make it so.
You will ache until you hold it.
And sometimes even more when you already have it,
because it is yours to keep and lose.
But sometimes, the hardest thing to do is to let go of
what is not yours.
You’re not a secret,
you’re one of my favorite tales to tell.
Like a bedtime story, I remind myself
that every once in a while,
miracles do happen.
I still
write about
you
sometimes
a silent prayer
I’m in no hurry
I won’t worry
I’ll come to this page and think,
This is my medicine
watching the sand fall from that opening
biding my time
No one is after me
no bill
no child
no man
I dictate when to have
what I want to have in my life
I’m in no hurry,
I won’t worry.
Things will play out
right when it’s time.
She was lost
but she never returned,
didn’t retrace her steps
and just carried on.
She built herself a new home.
seasons
You’ve already started
to water yourself with goodness
expected your buds to bloom
only to prune them before they had the chance,
and denied yourself sunlight.
You have so many seasons to see,
don’t let this winter stay longer than it has to be.
Look forward to your spring,
of sunflowers and sunshine.
Dance in the summer
and slow down at fall,
ride through your winter
without cutting ties or issuing last calls.
Some nights will be colder
but you will survive,
you always did
as long as you tried.
Let yourself go through all of this,
without guilt and shame.
Of course, you can love again.
One day you’ll be brave again
to want something like this
and when that day comes
you’ll be better equipped with the belief:
you deserve all the love,
you deserve all the happiness.
This is how it starts,
how it bends,
how it goes.
May you welcome it.
Dear Reader,
You have reached the end of this book. I previously released some of these poems in a chapbook called This Is How It Starts, working with the idea of giving oneself a second chance for a second love. But over time it grew and ultimately resulted in this very book.
As a romance writer, I write happily ever afters—and it’s not an easy task. How to get there, and how to make the characters believe that they deserve love, always seemed to be a challenge.
I also struggle with this in real life. You Are Here is a testament to that.
This Is How It Starts ended with a happy ending, but sometimes it doesn’t last. And that is also all right. I’d like to think that we are all on our way to affirming and reaffirming to choose happiness: in endings, beginnings, and in-betweens.
Lots of times we will feel lost, but I hope you trust your journey. You will meet people along the road: some will walk with you til your next destination, while some have different routes to go. Some even have shorter journeys than you.
You define what happily ever after means. It might change as you go about your way, and that’s okay. You are allowed to change your mind, to want things you didn’t want before, and vice versa.
Wherever you are in your path, I hope you remember to be kind to others, but most importantly to yourself. I am grateful that my book has crossed paths with you. Now go on your own way, as I must go mine. Let’s meet each other again sometime.
Keep walking,
Dawn
NOTE
Some pieces made it here from my self-published chapbook,
This Is How It Starts:
all I had was white space
all this wanting
canceled plans
crash and burn
excess baggage
falling in love with your words
I’m no artist
I’m torn between deciding whether or not life is cruel.
imagine
Maybe for you I was
the mechanic
Not all
One day you’ll be brave again
passing through
the perfect plate
plans
a prelude
second loves are underrated
staying is your choice
superman
that is so last season
There are a thousand ways
this is our cosmos
this is your lullaby
to the one I wanted to marry, on your wedding day
waking up to a dream
warm lights, cold nights
when I said “nice to meet you,” I meant
y / n
You’re not a secret
you’ve got standards, so what?
About the Author
Dawn Lanuza writes contemporary romance and young adult fiction. This is her second poetry collection. She has two first loves—music and writing—and is lucky enough to surround herself with them.
She currently lives with her adopted cream toy poodle.
Contact her at:
www.dawnlanuza.com
[email protected]
www.facebook.com/AuthorDawnLanuza
Twitter: @dawnlanuza
my love and gratitude go to:
#romanceclass, for the love and confidence.
everyone who read and loved This Is How It Starts
Layla Tanjutco
April Cauilan
Reginald Lapid
Carla De Guzman
Patty Rice and the Andrews McMeel Publishing team, for working diligently on this one.
Maan
Jay
Kara
Marie
My sister and her family, for providing me shelter during the storm.
The Auckland Central City Library, for giving me the space, literally and figuratively, to work on this.
My dog, who has been the most loyal companion and the best cheerleader.
My family, friends, and kind strangers, who have offered me support and showered me with goodness and love.
To all the places I’ve visited while I was working on You Are Here, thank you for letting me discover and rediscover you.
To the people who took a chance on The Last Time I’ll Write About You and made it here, too: thank you for believing in me.
Lastly, to the people who have created the music that I listened to, whispered the words of affirmation and assurance that I needed while I go through the night: may my words reach you and give you comfort, too.
Elan wasn’t supposed to meet Caty. She lived halfway around the world, and he barely left Manila. Yet here he was, giving her a ride to the airport. Convinced that they would never have to see each other again after that day, Elan and Caty started to bond over truths, dares, stolen kisses, and games in hotel rooms and bars.
They were perfect strangers—all perks, no strings.
Until they weren’t.
With brief encounters that turned them from acquaintances to friends—tipping to the point of lovers, always—will Elan and Caty keep settling for a day, or will someone finally dare to stay long enough to discover: is this is love?
Coming May 2019. Enjoy this sneak peek.
part one
“Something has given my poor warm life
Into the hand of someone random
Who doesn’t know what even yesterday I was.”
rainer maria rilke
one—
It had been a long ride. Elan had ridden a bus for hours to the small town of San Juan to get his car. Normally, he found public transportation troublesome, but the moment he saw his friend Jules opening the gate for him, he stopped feeling antsy. Not even a bit unsettled.
He was just thankful.
And pathetic, because that guy waiting by the door was obviously the reason why Jules suddenly left the city as fast as she could. That’s how Elan’s car ended up in this driveway. That’s why he was here in this town.
How had he ended up on the outside, while she was here with someone else? Well, Elan knew he’d had it coming. He’d seen her every day for the last few years but never made a move.
“I’m so sorry.” She started apologizing as soon as she spotted him crossing the street toward the gate. It was an impressive gate. It s
creamed, “Rich people live here; don’t even think about robbing it.”
“I was supposed to ask someone to drive it back for you, but I—”
“Honestly, Jules,” Elan replied as she took a step toward him. “It’s alright. We’re still on vacation, remember? It’s nice to get out of the city for a bit.”
Lie. Having grown up in the city, Elan wasn’t used to small towns. He and his friends had flown to Bali a couple of weeks ago, but he had ended up feeling even more anxious. He needed his life to be on schedule, and sitting by the beach for hours, no matter how beautiful it was, only made him think of how much time was passing by.
“Well.” Her eyes darted to the other guy waiting by the door. Elan followed her gaze and took in the other man—his competition, so to speak—but it looked like he’d already won.
The guy walked toward them with a small smile on his face. To be polite, Elan guessed. He knew that smile only too well. He’d used it on many occasions throughout his life.
The guy stopped, still a step away from Jules, and nodded at Elan. “Hey, man.”
He nodded back. “Sorry. Was I early?”
It did look like they’d just gotten up—eyes glazed, hair messy, clothes wrinkled. But it was almost noon. Was that usual for small towns?
Jules finally spoke up: “Kip, this is Elan.”
The guy nodded again, as if he recognized his name. He extended his hand, and Elan took it. “Sorry ’bout the car. We were going to take it back, but everything’s just been hectic with the move.”
Elan shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.”
Jules sighed, “I owe you so much, seriously. Have you had breakfast yet?”
Of course he had.
She checked her watch, rolled her eyes. “I meant lunch! We should get something ordered—”
“I’d love to, Jules,” Elan interrupted. “But I actually need to get back today.”
That wasn’t a lie. He needed to get back because he had errands early tomorrow and he needed his car.
“Well,” she took a deep breath. “Thank you so much for lending it to me again. I promise, whatever you want—name it—I’ll make sure you get it.”
