You Are Here Read online

  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.”