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Thursday, October 18, 2012

Graceless

I pirouette beautifully in front of you, a graceful ballerina in strings. Bending over backwards for a private show, in a private room, in your private thoughts. I smile and I laugh and run my fingers through your hair and let you do the same to me. We would stare at each other’s eyes until dawn breaks, until the harsh sunlight reminds you of what is and what is not. Helping you remember that, darling, I do not know how to dance, and I do not hear the same music that is playing in your head.

Truth Is

We walk around this world like rag dolls, with trails of cotton lining the wake of our paths, unknowingly looking for something to mend our tattered remains. Sometimes, quick fixes appear, but they often leave as swiftly as they arrive, burning another hole, only rarely smaller than the previous one.

Truth is, everybody in this world needs saving. And the challenge lies in finding that elusive someone to fix each other with. You found me. And now we can only watch as our stars collide.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

OD


24 hours. That is how long the effect of a two liner from you lasts in my system. The initial euphoria wears down after a while but the fuzziness, the warm, twittery feeling of that still untranslatable Tagalog word remains far longer. Like a once a day drug slowly working its way into my bloodstream and into my thoughts. Fogging up my windows of logic and reason. But then, as the hours go by, it wears off. And I am left, needing another dose.

You, On Loop


These are the fantasies worth replaying in my head a thousand of times. Like a favourite song on loop, beginning and end mashing together forming soundtrack music of hope. Where we would stare into each other’s eyes and it would be sweet and cliché and damn right beautiful. We would be oblivious of the people around and live in our own world the way I do not notice the man speaking to me now as I stare into space, an alternate reality, and you, playing in my head.

Let Our Scars Fall In Love




“We’re all seeking that special person who is right for us. But if you’ve been through enough relationships, you begin to suspect there’s no right person, just different flavors of wrong. Why is this? Because you yourself are wrong in some way, and you seek out partners who are wrong in some complementary way. But it takes a lot of living to grow fully into your own wrongness. And it isn’t until you finally run up against your deepest demons, your unsolvable problems—the ones that make you truly who you are—that we’re ready to find a lifelong mate. Only then do you finally know what you’re looking for. You’re looking for the wrong person. But not just any wrong person: the right wrong person—someone you lovingly gaze upon and think, “This is the problem I want to have.”

I will find that special person who is wrong for me in just the right way.

Let our scars fall in love.” 


-- Galway Kinnell

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Helium-Filled Balloons


Last night I dreamt of you.

We were standing inside an amusement park, a slightly dilapidated one. There were still people milling around the place and screams of excitement from roller coaster riders but I could tell that the place was old and that it reeked of quiet desperation. To attract more customers, to bring back the energy and the blossoming hope of yesterday. This sense of despair ironically made me more inclined to leave the area. But then, what were we doing there in the first place?

"Did you bring me here?" I asked.

"Yes," you answered. "I thought you look pretty with that wind-swept, just-got-off-a-ride look. And those balloons that you're holding makes you look so innocent. I love looking at you."

Friday, March 23, 2012

The Movie In Her Mind

Everybody adores a gravity defying love story, whether read from books, watched from movies or heard from the people around us. These are the ones that are met with teary-eyed lamentations and sighs of wonder. Almost always, also with jealous yearnings on how these rare unforgettable tales could hopefully happen to mundane beings and not just to scripted and powdered actors under the heat of a spotlight and a rolling camera.

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R.N. Pianist. Writer. Professional Procrastinator.

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