last last night

It was just a dream. A dream that for a nanosecond, resembled reality. Or perhaps it was only me, for tirelessly waiting for a miracle, who perceived it as real. Because I wanted it to be.


So there we were. November, December, January, February. I almost cried when I saw you came. And yes, the intensity of it all. Too much passion, too much rubbing of skin. I was about to say that I love you.


But then again, it was only a dream. And you were already gone the moment I turned my head around.


You were gone. And that't the only thing that remained real.

IKAW

namimis na kita

defeat

Memories are ruthless traitors who sneak past the thick barrier of our consciousness, just when we let our guards down, to once again remind us of what have become of our old self after our defeat with love.

---

I guess there will always come a time when everything we worked so hard to forget will just start building up once again, and right then and there, we are once again consumed by the remains of the painful past.

unsent letter...

Before you mock this piece that I prepared out of the remaining energies of my brain cells, let me just defend myself in advance. You see, some people are eternally condemned to be slaves of words. To have the longing to put into writings each fiber or workings of their beautiful mind, yet would still be left unsatisfied by what seems to be a piece of rubbish that they have accomplished. It is what I call the curse for the restless. So in any case that you find flaws in this letter (because I know how you scrutinize someone else’s writings), bear in my mind that I find the flaws first. After all, I am still my worst critic. But enough with this digression. It’s just my pride, really. So there, I’ve just spent the first 118 words protecting my ego while I shouldn’t have done so. In the first place, this letter is for you and should be about you- about us.

If truth be told, I am overwhelmed by my deep feelings for you, R. Although we’ve only been together for three months, I have already grown accustomed to the mornings I wake up with you by my side. I will always treasure those moments- falling asleep with my head on your shoulder and my right arm across your chest, your voice the last thing I hear as I retire at the end of the day and the first thing I hear as morning comes. Just feeling your body next to mine (ehem, pardon the cliché), not just the physicality of it all but more importantly the feeling of sharing a part of me with someone I have come to love. Everything is so beautiful, like you just want to freeze everything and live with that moment.

Love. You often ask me why. Although I have always answered that I myself do not know the reason, I am certain on the other hand, that what I’m feeling is genuine. So true that every time I think about it, I can’t help but to be scared of the mere thought of losing you. Yes, I have been scared and I am still scared. And yet, for the past three months that we’ve been together, I have seen myself risked like I never risked in my entire life. To love is to give right? And I never doubted and will never doubt as long as it is you.

Although we are not a perfect couple, I think we could be the happiest.

---

which I will never have the heart to finish...

love is dead

She nursed another roll of hash and took a long drag as she watched the dancing lights of the city night sky. Few more minutes, she’d be in a trance, in love again, with the night. The trick is to inhale as much as you can and let the smoke stay in you, like a lover’s warmth under the sheets of blanket.

Fifth Floor, East Wing.

As they say, this is where all the magic happens. But tonight, there are no faceless couples frolicking in the dark. Just her and her unbearable sadness. It’s almost contagious.

Again, she took another long drag.

She can’t help herself not to think of the unthinkable. She has acquired this anxiety problem that’s wearing her down. Paranoia is her worst enemy. Only the sweet taste of hash could stop her from counting the number of trees, lamp posts, men in moss green polo, and even her own breathing.

It’s a signal. And she knows it, acknowledges it completely. She is once again in the brink of losing and having it all. But this time, instead of denying, she longs for it to happen. To be in the spot between sanity and madness. Her own comfort zone.

It's only after we've lost everything that we're free to do anything.

The transition. It’s a process, like a slow foreplay. And yes, euphoria is making love to the universe.

Everything once again, becomes sacred.