Was I okay? No! No, I hadn’t been for a long time.

  But, did I cry? No! Did I say I wasn’t okay? No! Some people asked – they did! They wondered why I looked tired, or why I had been away, and some people even asked if I was okay.

But I stayed silent. There was something poetic about silence I told myself, but never them.

Poetic or not, I wasn’t okay.

Did I cry? No! Did I say I wasn’t okay? No!

Nowadays no one asks. They know the pre-constructed response. Perhaps they don’t care, but it doesn’t matter. There was a time when they asked and cared.

No matter what the words say, there’s nothing poetic about rock bottom. There is nothing poetic about being lonely. There is nothing poetic about sadness. Melancholy only sounds good on pages.

Was I okay? No! No, I hadn’t been for a long time.

But, I wish I had said something. I wish I had cried.

There is nothing poetic about sadness.

—  Navin E. (there is nothing poetic about sadness)

Do you believe in God? What about the Devil?

Where there is light, there is also darkness.

You know, to truly know what is good, you must know what is evil.

There are no heroes here – only those that have sinned less than others. We stand precariously on the tightrope that is light and darkness.

Do you see it? Can you feel what I feel?

Do you know what I know?

The smile that falls upon the lips when we succumb to our devilish desires or the tears where we seek out God to grant us asylum in his arms are all that we have.

But this darkness is much stronger than the faith that lines every prayer - this darkness that takes hold once you grant it permission to enter your realm.

This darkness that you cannot see lingers – a melody that you cannot escape.

You do not see it, but this is a darkness that can be felt.

Now tell me, do you believe in God? What about the Devil?

—  Navin E. (a darkness that can be felt)

Owen avoided his friends like the plague since he found about Fitz and Brooke. It’s not like Fitz actually tried contacting him, Bianca had, but Owen didn’t respond to her either. He was mad at all of them, most of all his best friend. It wasn’t so much Brooke or Bianca. He understand why Bianca didn’t say anything and with his girlfriend, he didn’t see this is as her fault. Mark should have known better. After everything they been through, that Owen did for him, Fitz repays him by having the one girl Owen loves fall for him. The male took a long sip of his beer. He was already more than tipsy, but the weed he was smoking mellowed him out a lot. To the point that when he saw Brooke enter the room that he didn’t get upset. A half smile raised on his lips quickly fading when he took a hit of the bong.

Walk with Christ

Type & Edit by  Carlo Baltero

“But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.” - Galatians 5:16  - 

It’s not about us walking  toward the plans we have for us. It’s about putting God in the Center of our hearts in which the desire we have is for Him to take over our lives. By then we realize that when we pray we’re not asking God to do what we wanted for us, instead what He wanted for us. A good pastor (Ptr. Peter Tan-Chi) pointed out that “Prayer is when God changes you.” and not the other way around.


Flying on his own was slightly more terrifying than doing it with Urtica, only because Urtica had been little use in navigating the airport. Coffea was too excited to get worried about it, though. He had a small travel bag and Rhody had made sure to book a hotel nearby. It was terrifying to be in a city the size of LA, but he trusted that he wasn’t going to be allowed to get lost.

He saw her waiting for him, lounging around with model-like grace. Her eyes lit up and she waved excitedly.

“COFFEA!! Oh my Goddex, Coff!” She rushed up to him and enveloped him into a hug, giving him a kiss on his cheek.

“Lani!” he grinned. “Christus, it’s been fucking long, eh?”

She pulled away. “You look – huh, you got muscles. The cameras don’t do you justice.”

“Did you expect me to be that weedy kid forever?”

“You literally got into fights every week, Coff, I would not call you weedy.”