Humanity and Morality

The Path Towards Purity was Never so Pure

2011-12-04T08:55:00.000-08:00

The path towards righteousness was never easy.
The path towards purity was never so pure,
For the fiends were there with their utmost cruelty
And the monsters and the routes were thick with manure.
‘To give up’ turned into this beguiling allure.

But the fair Earth was not so barren as before,
And the licks of the fire almost did not touch me,
For I have felt my old mother’s warm and sweet core,
And I have seen the light that desires to save me.
To give up – I shall not, for I wish to implore.

Implore of what? Beseech of what? Pray, plead for what?
I yearn to know, I long it so, for me to see,
The reason behind the darkness, behind the wrath,
To remind the logic of this sacred journey,
But it is not the logic that will set me free.

It is not about how I crossed the narrow tracks,
It is not about how I won against mad beasts.
For they shall utter, “There is still something she lacks,”
And even if I survived, there shall be no feasts.
For they shall bellow, “There is still something she lacks!”

For if my body’s unscathed yet my soul’s tainted,
I’ll say, “What glory do I have, but foolish pride.”
It’ll be the most bitter hint I’ve ever tasted,
For this impiety will lead to shadows’ side
What of the salvation that for me has waited?

The path towards righteousness was never easy.
The atrocities should be seen to spot the light.
I have deemed I shall need a guide that shall aid me,
A shade of a just man who will repair my sight,
A shade of a good man who’ll help with all his might.

The path towards purity was never so pure,
Crimson blood and reeking sweat shall stain my being,
So the path towards good might not be as grandeur,
Yet at the end, I trust there are angels singing,
For if my soul’s safe, then bliss shall fill my being.

- December 4, 2011 9:00 P.M.

Dear Lad, You’re Shrouded in Gloomy Hue

2011-11-24T03:00:00.000-08:00

If and only if they’re willing to know you,
Can they truly understand and not fear you.
Dear lad, you do nothing but what is required,
It just so happens your fate is least desired.
In the eyes of man, you’ll never be admired.

You have brought pain to some, yet peace to others.
Some wish for you to come, while the rest shudders.
The world is divided with their view of you,
Some will accept you while some will condemn you.
Your existence is shrouded in gloomy hue.

You are not gentle like a mother’s caress,
You’ve become this thing that men wish to suppress.
And without doubt, you do what has to be done,
Like Atropos, you’re fixed and won’t be outrun.
But with your descent, living has just begun.

You have detached yourself from the likes of us.
You’ve become numb and grim because of your task.
If only you are lovely like the sun’s kiss,
The tears will be gone as if nothing’s amiss.
But what’s done is done, may there be pain or bliss.

Still, you are the key towards the great beyond;
Hence, it only matters now how we respond,
For you have done your part and you’ve done it well,
For you’re swift like a fox and now all is well,
For we live again, in this new place we’ll dwell.

My dear, dear lad, I am not afraid of you,
For somehow I know what you are going through,
One day, you’ll visit me and I’ll take your hand,
For you’ll do this under my Father’s command.
My dear lad, if only they can understand.

- November 24, 2011 5:30 A.M.

Ruse

2011-11-19T07:12:00.000-08:00

You know what’s the greatest ruse of all? Two people conceiving a plan to deceive a hundred.

If the ruse has lasted years and has caused relationships to crumble and soar, then that ruse was perfectly concocted down to the tiniest details. If the ruse has caused happiness and displeasure to individuals other than the very manipulators, then the manipulators, the actors, have mastered the art of effectively portraying the most amusing role of all – pretending to hate, to detest, being disgusted and repulsed by the person you love.

Lucas: Let me get this straight, ginago niyo kaming lahat, as in kaming lahat, from family to friends, 'cause you think it'll be the most amusing and most challenging game between you two?

Tony: Ginago is too strong as the word to describe what we did. We just tricked you in a way. But in the end, the ruse became a reality.

Lucas: Paki-explain, please lang, hindi ko ma-comprehend 'yung mga lumalabas na words mula sa bibig mo. Wait, teka, nasa state of shock pa ko. Tuloy mo after two minutes.

After two minutes.

Lucas: Alam mo, Tony, sa lahat ng kalokohang naisip mo, ito pinakabobo. Sa totoo lang. Kasi naman, sa lahat ng pwedeng pagtripan, e ralasyon niyo pa ni Katherine. Ang bobo talaga. Ang tanga tanga mo.

Tony: Akala ko, aadvisan mo ko, ’yung tipong iintindihin mo sitwasyon ko.

Lucas: Iniintindi ko nga pero kahit saan anggulo ko tignan, no offense, isang malaking katangahan talaga.

Tony: None, taken. I admit. We we’re acting like children nung ginawa namin ’to.

Lucas: Sa buong relasyon niyo, I’ve always seen you two na parang mga teenager. You think so much alike. You’re mature, yes. Pero in each other’s company..

Tony: We’re different people? ‘Yun ba? ‘Yung tipong iba ugali namin pag kaming dalawa lang? Is that what you’re insinuating?

Lucas: I’m not insinuating anything, I’m stating facts, tol. Ngayon, ayusin mo ‘tong gulong ‘to. Kasi kung ito ang root ng pag-aaway niyo. Putakte, ilang taon din ang nasayang niyo. Again, ang tanga tanga mo. But I think you already know that.

The past comes to hunt us; it’s still a shadow that follows us wherever we go. He tried to get away, to forget and move on. But she…

She can’t move on even if she tried.

For the first time in years, they were left alone on the same room, breathing the same air, feeling the same heat, suffering from the same emotions – yearning, exhaustion, pain.

Katherine: This conversation has been past due. I think it’s time that we settle this.

Tony: We don’t have to settle anything.

He walked towards the door, ever ready to leave her.

Katherine: Hey, I’m still talking to you. Have you lost your ethics when you lost your morals?

Tony: So we’re talking about ethics now? I think you’re not the one to talk, Kathy.

Katherine: Hindi kita maintindihin e. Ako na nga, 'yung nagpapakumbaba, 'yung lumalapit, ikaw naman layo ng layo. I thought we can be friends again. But I think you're too immature for that.

Tony: Do you comprehend what you’re saying? Do you really think we can be friends again, after everything that has happened between us? ‘Yung away-bati, ‘yung muntikan na namukadkad na pag-iibigan? Even when I say it out loud, it sounded so absurd that I wonder if it really did happen. When I’m with you, I can’t even trust myself, my own memories. Do you know that? Hindi ko alam kung minahal ba kita bilang kaibigan or something more.

Katherine: Are you sure it’s me, who you’re talking about and not some other girl? The last time I checked, you’re already married, Tony. And the bride wasn’t me.

He doesn’t know how to respond, somehow the world stopped. He felt his insides cringed to the certain pain he heard from her voice.

Katherine: Made you think, right? For the first time, wala kang masabi. Tumagos ba? Pwes, ‘yung kahihiyan na nararamdaman mo, kung meron man, doblehin mo, then doblehin mo pa ulet, doblehin mo pa ulet, yan ‘yung naramdaman ko nung tinulak mo ako palabas sa buhay mo. Doesn’t feel so good, does it?

Tony: I didn’t push you away. I let you go, Katherine. I made a choice. And I didn’t choose you.

Katherine: Sadista ka. Are you aware of that?

Tony: Yes. But you were too much of a masochist para lumayo mula sa akin.

Katherine: As a masochist that you say that I am, tell me was I ever an option to you? Or was I just a spare?

Tony: You were an option, pero kahit gaano kasarap makipaglaro sa’yo, natakot ako. Dahil sa sobrang pagkakatulad natin, we were bound to crash, Kathy. We’re too much alike. And if I have given my whole heart to you, what would happen to me if you decided to leave me? I can’t risk that. She was an easier option.

Katherine: You’re practical and that’s understandable. But damn it, Tony, you made a fool out of me, you played with me. Played. What a word to describe a decade of friendship. Should I say, it was lovely playing with you, shall we do it again soon? No strings attached. Ginagamit mo ba ‘yung utak mo pag kausap mo ako?

Tony: What do you want me to do, magsabi ng sorry? Lumuhod?

Katherine: No. Be civil. ‘Wag mo kong pagmukhaing tanga dahil sa lecheng pride mong ‘yan.

Tony: If I chose you, would you have accepted?

Katherine: Yes. But I guess we’re done here, right? You’ve hurt me too much today. If you plan on doing it again soon, tell me so that I can come prepared. Especially, now that my suffering seems to entertain you so much.

Tony: If you’re so willing. Then meet me tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. I want to talk to you again and again. Your suffering is the only thing left that makes me feel you still care.

Katherine: What am I? Your whore?

Tony: Tangna. Here I am, trying to sound repentant and romantic and that’s what I hear from you? Wow. Grabe, dinaig pa natin ‘yung mga lecheng soap opera na ‘yan a.

Katherine: E, gago ka kasi.

And somehow, he can’t help but smile. For some reason with the way they talk to each other, he felt as if everything was back to normal, they were still best friends having their usual banter.

Katherine: Ngingiti-ngiti ka pa? Tell me emotional punching bag ba ko sa’yo?

Tony: No. I just missed our playful banter.

Pause.

And somehow, she misses that too.

Katherine: I gotta go. I don’t have neither the time nor sanity left to still be talking to you.

Tony: Bakit hinahanap ka na ba niya? Ano na miss mo na siya at ngayon nangangati kang iwan ako?

Katherine: I don’t think it’s any of your business.

Tony: It used to. I was your best friend and I used to have a say.

Katherine: Now, you don’t.

She left him. For the first time, she was the one who left him.

Tony: I know.

There’s always that one person whom you give all of your heart, all of your soul and all of your being. Yet that person just throws them all away. There’s always that one person who you love more than you’ve ever loved yourself. Yet that person is in love with someone else.

That’s what she always thought happened to them. She loved him. She really did. Yet he didn’t choose her.

She can’t wait for him forever; wait for him to love her. That’s what a fool will do.

She was bound to love another, yet he was that one person whom she gave all of her heart, all of her soul and all of her being. Yet he threw them all away.

Her conversation with him was the most excruciating moment of her life, much more when she found out he was getting married. When he said she was just an option, she crumbled. She really did because for her, he was the only one. And to hear it from his lips, made her insides cringe and her heart constrict. It is one thing to be replaced and another to be just a freaking spare.

Katherine: Effing bastard.

Lucas: Ano?

Katherine: Wala. Nandyan ka pala. Para kang kabote, susulput-sulpot.

Lucas: Aalis ka na?

Katherine: Yeah.

Lucas: Saan punta mo?

Katherine: Will meet up with someone.

Lucas: Sino?

Katherine: Friend.

Lucas: About?

Katherine: Things.

Lucas: For what?

Katherine: Lucas, I don’t have time to play Twenty Questions.

Lucas: So, sino ba ‘yan? ‘Yan ba ‘yung bago mong “kaibigan.” I mean, kasintahan..

Katherine: (Tahimik lang, napataas ang kilay.)

Lucas: Fine, I’ll back off. Pero, Katherine, I’m happy for you. So that boy of yours, if he ever hurt you in anyway, we’re here for you. (Oops nadulas)

Katherine: Ha?

Lucas: I mean, I’m here for you.

Katherine: (Just nodded.)

She caught on with what he just said. “We.” She doubts if he’ll be there for her. After everything they’ve been through.

If only she knew that somebody’s listening on their conversation.

Tony: So, it’s true. Fucking bastard.

Lucas: Alam mo, pare, hindi ka pwedeng spy. Ang bigat ng paa mo e. I knew you were listening the whole time.

Tony: Kaya ba nadulas ka?

Lucas: Nadulas ba talaga ako? Or did I just blatantly suggested to Kathy na you still care? Hmm..

Tony: Gago.

Lucas: Slow mo rin e. Kala ko, na-gets mo agad, tss. Graduate ka pa naman sa magandang kolehiyo. Tss.

Tony: Sira ulo. Alam mo namang mabilis din ’yung pick up ni Katherine e.

Lucas: Yes, I know. Samantalang ikaw bumagal pick up mo. Is there something bothering you?

Tony: We talked.

Lucas: Talk? Kindly please define. The last time, you two talked, walang words, nagtinginan lang kayo. Which by the way, e ang childish.

Tony: We talked as in with words.

Lucas: And?

Tony: I miss her.

Lucas: As a friend?

Tony: Hindi ko alam. When it comes to her, I don’t trust myself.

Lucas: Matanda ka na and you know what’s right from wrong. Just, stop playing games, okay? The worst case scenario is if you fall in love with her all over again. And you know it.

Tony: What if I never fell out of love with her in the first place?

Lucas: Then my friend, you’re deliberately hurting two women at the same time.

Tony: But I miss her. I really really miss her. Kung kaya kong ibalik ang panahon, gagawin ko. Kung narinig mo lang ’yung sakit at kahihiyan sa boses niya. I have never seen her so vulnerable in front of me. At alam mo ’yung pinakagago sa lahat? I wanted to see her cry. Kasi, gusto kong maramdaman na mahal pa rin niya ko.

Lucas: Kung narinig mo na ‘yung sakit at kahihiyan mula sa boses niya, ‘diba dapat tama na?

Tony: Hindi naman kasi ganon kadali ‘yun e. I have loved her for twelve freaking years now. Walang switch ang feelings ng tao.

Lucas: Anong balak mo, tell her mahal mo siya? Tony, gamitin mong maigi ‘yang kokote mo. After telling her you love her. What then? Ano, ikakabit mo siya? O hihiwalan mo ‘yung asawa mo?

Tony: I need a drink.

To what extent can we hold on to our emotions? To what extent can we hold on to our foolish ideals - of unrequited love and forever? To what extent can we hold on to the pain for it’s the only emotion left?

Leo: Hey. I miss you. Bakit ngayon ka lang?

Katherine: I was caught up with work.

Leo: You look so stress, what’s wrong?

Katherine: Nothing. I guess, I just hold on to some foolish things.

Leo: Let’s order then?

Katherine: Yeah, sure.

He didn’t realize that even destiny was pushing him towards her. And yes he saw her with ‘him,’ how that man practically adores the path she walks.

Yet he can’t tear his eyes away from the sight in front of him. Because pain is the only emotion left.

Leo: You do know that I’m always here for you, right?

Katherine: I know.

Leo: And even if you still love him, I’m willing to wait, Kathy. I’ll wait for you.

Katherine: I know.

Leo: I love you. At kahit sa tuwing hahalikan kita, siya pa rin ang iniisip mo. At kahit sa tuwing yakap kita, siya pa rin ang hanap mo. Maghihintay ako hanggang mahalin mo ako.

Katherine: Why?

Leo: Because ikaw lang ang mahal ko.

Katherine: You don’t have to do this.

Leo: I don’t have to. But I want to.

And when he saw her being kissed by another man, he watched, he deliciously savored the raw pain of being replaced. Yet he knew, deep within the recesses of his heart that she still loves him.

When he saw her stood up and went towards the restroom, he followed her. He needed to make sure that in her life, he was still relevant.

Tony: That was lovely? Did he give you his heart and soul?

Katherine: What the heck are you doing here?

Tony: Oh I don’t know. I was bored.

Pain and alcohol in his system can turn him into a monstrous man.

Katherine: Are you drunk?

Tony: Not even close. So ano, napalitan mo na ba ko? Or am I too hard to be replaced?

Katherine: Just go home.

Tony: What a shame. Akala ko pa naman, I’ll be able to play with you. Tell me, is the night reserved for him already? Should’ve I taken your offer awhile ago and made an appointment.

Katherine: Tony, just go home.

Tony: No. You don’t tell me what to do. Ano, masaya ka na ba? May iba ka ng kalaro e? Mabait ba siya? Mayaman? Mas bata? Gwapo? Can he make your blood boil as fiery as I can? Can he make your insides churn with passion like I do?

Katherine: No. But he chose me. To him, I was not an effing option, I was not a freaking spare.

Tony: Do you love him?

Katherine: No.

Tony: Do you love me?

Katherine: Don’t do this.

Tony: Sabi mo sadista ako, sabi mo gago ako, sabi mo ginamit lang kita at ginawang tanga. Pero naisip mo bang minahal kita? Naisip mo na bang mahal pa rin kita?

Katherine: Aanhin ko ang pagmamahal mo, kung pinapaasa mo lang ako?

Tony: You’re right, it’s futile to still be in love with you. Alam mo akala ko, pag hindi kita pinansin, pag hindi ko sinabi ‘yung pangalan mo, pag tinanggal na kita sa buhay ko, madali kang mawawala, parang bula. Kaso hindi. Lasing man o hindi, naiisip pa rin kita, nami-miss kong sabihin ‘yung pangalan mo, hinahanap-hanap pa rin kita.

Katherine: What’s your point? Am I supposed to adore you now? And be thankful for finally loving me?

Tony: That’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been loving you for twelve years now. And each day, I think about you. I repeat, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve been in love with my best friend more than I’ve ever loved my wife. And when I said, “I do,” I was thinking of you and nobody else. Naging manhid ako sa’yo, naging gago, but you were there still. You never left my side. I was the one who left you but you’ve never left me. My point is, no you don’t have to adore me or be thankful that I’ve finally said out loud that I love you. My point is I love you. Would you please come back to me?

Katherine: No. I won’t let you hurt her as much as you’ve hurt me. Hindi ako ganon kasama o ganon ka-bitch and you know it. Even if she stole you from me, and yes ‘stole’ because you were mine, I can’t let her experience the same suffering I did. Do you realize how deep the wounds you’ve left that I don’t even want my worst of enemies to feel the same pain?

Tony: Sa lahat ng panahong pipiliin mong mag-ala-santa at ala-martir, bakit ngayon pa?

Katherine: I am acting neither like a martyr nor a saint. Try looking at this thing we have from my perspective. Hindi pwedeng pag handa ka ng mahalin ako, nandon na ‘ko, naka-stand by, ready to welcome you with open arms. That’s bull shit, Tony. At pagsawa ka nanaman sa akin, or let’s use the term, once you get fed up with me, babalikan mo na lang ‘yung asawa mo – leaving me high and dry. Other than that, I don’t want to hurt another woman. Woman? Who am I kidding, you married a child. Did you marry her to get a rise out of me?

Tony: Did it work?

Katherine: (Speechless. He was pushing her buttons. They both know it.)

Tony: She loves me, you know.

Katherine: And I don’t?

Tony: You love me. But you drive me crazy. When I’m with you, I am not sure with myself. Do you realize na pag kasama kita o malapit ka sa akin, daig ko pa ang isang ulul na aso? One minute, I’ll curse you, the next I’m willing to beg for you to come back. When I’m with you, I leave the state of sobriety. At tuwing pinaglalandakan mo ‘yang kagandahan mong ‘yan, ‘yang katawan mong ‘yang daig pa ang isang greek goddess sa harap ng mga lalaking ‘yan na walang karapatang tignan ka in the first place, I am like a mad man who desires the demise of those wretched men with their wretched eyes. And yes, I am a possessive bastard and a selfish son of a bitch. When I’m with you, I become a monstrous man.

Katherine: You’re a monster but you are not a man. If you’re a man, you would’ve stayed and fixed what was broken. Kung tunay na lalaki ka, hindi mo ko sasaktan tulad ng ginawa mo.

Tony: Can’t you give me a second chance? Can’t you take a risk with me again?

Katherine: That’s too much to ask. Do you really expect me to answer that right now?

Tony: No. But I’ll wait.

Katherine: For how long?

Tony: Until.. What is the probability of you coming back to me?

Katherine: Little to none.

Tony: Better than none at all.

Katherine: The more that we prolong this, the more we’ll regret the fact that we know each other’s existence.

Tony: Yet knowing you, changed me. Kung alam mo lang kung gaano ka ka-special, katalino, ka-witty, kabait, ka-sweet, kaganda, kaperpekto. I was so scared when I fell for you. I didn’t want to lose my best friend. Kung alam mo lang kung gaano ka kahalaga sa buhay ko at kung gaano ako katanga para pakawalan ka baka nasapak mo na ko for being so ignorant.

Katherine: Sapak? ’Yan ba talaga ang hinihingi mo ngayon? Because I’ve been really wanting to kick your balls for doing this to me all over again.

Tony: Aren’t you happy, I’ve grown some balls? You want me to become man, now I am. I suck it up all the bull shit that we’ve been doing, away-bati, cold war, I suck it all up and came to you. I man up to tell you, na mahal pa rin kita. I’ve let my guard down and now I’ve laid down all my cards. It’s up to you now.

Katherine: Bakit ba kahit nagpapakumbaba ka na, ang hangin pa rin ng dating?

Tony: (Nagkibit balikat with matching ‘I don’t know what you mean’ face) Do you really want me to answer that.

Katherine: Don’t answer that.

Tony: Katherine, before you leave, tandaan mong kahit anong gawin mo, this thing we have is inescapable. Hangga’t pangalan mo ang sinisigaw ng puso ko, hangga’t bawat hawak at halik ko’y may halaga pa rin sa’yo, kahit anong pilit ng tadhana, ng batas nga tao o diyos na ilayo ko sa akin, gagawa’t gawa ako ng paraan.

She listened, she understood but a part of her was just too tired to fight for this kind of love. When you give too much, you are bound to get tired of receiving so little. To love him is like playing a gamble. She risks so much, too much. So she tried to forget that conversation of theirs. She focused on herself and everything other than him.

But then, when he said, he’ll do everything, he meant every word.

Tony: Kung lalayuan mo ko’t parang daig ko pa ang plague, pwede galingan?

Katherine: Kung magtatagu-tago ka’t naga-asta spy, pwede galingan?

Tony: Touche.

Katherine: (eyeroll)

Tony: My point is…

Katherine: Pointless.

Tony: Hear me out. Like I said, I’m willing to wait but you don’t have to strut your stuff and let every man know you’re a woman. That’s not fair to me. It’s like your showing them what is rightfully mine.

Katherine: Selfish son of a bitch. First of all, I’m not yours.

Tony: You used to be mine. But here I am, waiting for you to be mine again.

Katherine: Again, with the arrogance.

Tony: I prefer it to be called, “self preservation.” Besides, arrogance is already innate in me. And I have a right to be arrogant if I have something to be proud of. Which in this case are quite a few. I’m one hell of a guy for you to not choose me.

She turned away from him after that statement, after those egotistical words. She didn’t look back even when she heard him cry her name. But he was incessant, persistent. And they met again and she was forced to look at him. But to look at him with regret, pain and restrained passion – that she wasn’t forced to do.

Tony: Iniiwasan mo ba ako?

Katherine: Hindi ba obvious?

Tony: I’ll ask you why but I don’t think I’ll like the answer.

Katherine: Thank god, you’re not stupid.

Tony: Kung stupido ako, mahihirapan akong mahalin ang isang babaeng katulad mo.

Katherine: ...

Tony: You want me to elaborate, don't you?

Katherine: When it comes from your lips, every comment is ambiguous. Pwede siya compliment, pwede rin siyang insulto.

Tony: Being with you is not just a matter of the flesh. Kahit papano, kailangang umaandar ang utak pag kasama ka. Hindi ka slow, your partner needs to be at par with you para hindi siya magmukhang tanga. And, this is a compliment coming from me. You're a woman of beauty, intelligence and class and I want you very much.

Katherine: Flattery won't get you anywhere, near my pants or otherwise.

Tony: Yes, you're gaddamn sexy. Pero, pwedeng 'wag mong i-flaunt masyado? Lalaki ako, Katherine. Natatakam din ako. At higit sa lahat, you know I have the tendency to be possessive of what I yearn the most.

Katherine: Makes me think of what your real intentions are regarding me. Do you want me back because you love me? O tulad ka lang ng isang batang nami-miss ang kanyang laruan nang may ibang kumuha na nito?

Tony: You're more than just a shiny toy.

Katherine: Of course. Of course. I am more than shiny. I am a woman in flesh and in blood and has a libido as well. Of course, now I realize. To you, I am a whore. Is that it?

Tony: You are not a fucking whore. And you know, that's not what I meant. Kailan ka pa naging puta pagdating sa akin? Kailan ka bumukaka para sa kung sinu-sinong lalaki? Kailan ka bumukaka para sa akin?

Katherine: Really? Then, what am I to you? Kasal ka na, suot mo pa 'yung singsing mo. And even if you have your lovely wife, you keep asking me to come back to you. Truly, I am shock that you still have the decency to court me. If people see me now, one word can describe me. Puta. Umoo man ako o humindi sa'yo. It's out there already. To you, I am a whore. Well, putangina! Maraming salamat! Fuck you very much.

Tony: Don't be hormonal, Kathy. To me, you're..

Katherine: I'm what?

Tony: You're my colleague. You're my best friend. You're the first woman who took my breath away and at the same time can make me laugh. We think too much alike; you're like my other half. You're the first woman I've ever loved. You make me believe in second chance. You make me wish I was a better man. You make me feel all these raw emotions - all at the same time. And when I'm with you now, I feel so stupid for hurting you, for leaving you. I do not want to lose you again, especially now when I know how to fight for you. Just when I know how much I love you.

Katherine: Hinintay kita. And right now, I can’t believe that hinihintay pa rin kita. How would I know that what you said is true? How would I know na sa pagkakataong ito, hindi ko na niloloko ang sarili ko sa paniniwalang you’ll come back to me.

Tony: Believe me because, Kathy, I already chose you.

Katherine: I do not understand.

Tony: Would you really think, I’ll come to you now with a ring on my finger. The whole time awhile ago, nung sinasabi mong may suot pa kong singsing. Did you really look at my ring finger? Katherine, I’m in love with you. And I’ve been hurting you for God knows how long. And I can’t do that anymore. Impyerno ‘yun e – na ikaw ang dahilan kung bakit nasasaktan ‘yung mahal mo. We filed for annulment a year ago that is the reason why I’m pursuing you for months now. I want you back. I miss you. And it took me years of another woman’s love in order to see the truth.

Katherine: I.. I don’t know what to say.

Tony: Just tell me you forgive me. All my past arguments were selfish at worst, self-righteous at best. And maybe, there are things that time can’t heal.

Katherine: Maybe. But the heart knows when to let go and when to hold on.

Tony: Did you hold on to me? Did you hold on to us?

Katherine: Yes. Hanggang ngayon, ikaw pa rin, ikaw lang.

Tony: Remember, when we were younger, nung mga panahon na mukha pa tayong mga nene at totoy? Someone told me that the one woman perfect for me will hate me.

Katherine: And the reason behind that would be?

Tony: The woman will hate because he has fallen in love with me in all of my bastard, self-absorbed glory. Katherine, I fell in love with you before I even know how to fight for you.

Katherine: Obviously.

Tony: Wait, mamaya ka na mag side comments. Moment ko dapat ‘to e.

Katherine: Gago. Kung moment mo ‘to, iwan kaya kita.

Tony: Sorry na. Anyway, let me finish. And now I’m older..

Katherine: Tony..

Tony: Shh. And now I’m older, mature and became the man I needed to be in order to appreciate and fight for the woman I really love. If I met you by chance, I want to thank luck. If I met you because it was destined, I want to thank fate. For I’ve met you again and again until I had the guts to hold on to you and never let you go.

Katherine: I..

Tony: You?

Katherine: I am impressed. Did you get that from the internet?

Tony: Babae, mahal na mahal kita kahit sagasaan mo ng paulit-ulit ang pagkalalaki ko. Pero, I must remind you, while you make fun of my heartfelt testimony, some women would actually dream of this moment.

Katherine: Ikaw naman ‘di mabiro. Asa ka naman, sinasagasaan ko pagkalalaki mo. E, minsan ko lang naman maramdaman presence niyan.

Tony: Are you insulting Tony Jr.?

Katherine: Do you really call your other head Tony Jr.?

Tony: Kathy.. pano na ‘yung moment natin?

Katherine: I waited for you. And I never thought that by the end of those years of hurting that we’ll come to this. And everyday, I felt depressed knowing the one man I loved didn’t love me as much as I love him. Yet today, you came back. And somehow, you coming back to me, fighting for me has eased all the pain. I love you and I forgive you, Tony.

Tony: I love you too. Would you mind being with me ‘til forever?

Katherine: “Forever?” Come on, don’t be that cheesy.

Tony: Fine. Would you mind being with me until the rest of our lives?

Katherine: ...

Tony: In good times and in bad?

Katherine: …

Tony: In sickness and in health?

Katherine: …

Tony: To love and to cherish?

Katherine: …

Tony: ‘Til death do we part?

Katherine: I won’t mind spending forever with you.

Tony: I thought you don’t want to be cheesy.

Katherine: I do. But you were always the exception to that rule?

Tony: Then, my lady, would you marry me?

Katherine: Marriage agad? Wala ng date? Wala ng engagement?

Tony: Liligawa na lang kita pag kasal na tayo.

Katherine: Then, I do. After all these years, you owe me after all.

Tony: Owe you? Kathy, ayaw ko maging under the saya. ‘Yung pakalalaki ko, isipin mo.

Katherine: Opo. I, Katherine, your soon to be second wife..

Tony: You’re not my second wife. Technically, my first wedding is null and void..

Katherine: Fine. I, Katherine, your soon to be wife promise to not make fun of your manhood under dire circumstances unless it is called upon.

Tony: I love you.

Katherine: I know. I love you too.

Tony: So, how many kids do you want?

Katherine: How many do you want?

Tony: Gusto ko ng Azkals team.

Katherine: No, you will not impregnate me every chance you get.

Tony: Joke lang. You know, I don’t like the Azkals very much.

Katherine: Asa ka naman magpapabuntis ako sa’yo ng mahigit benteng bata.

Tony: But you have beautiful, child-bearing hips. (sabay hawak sa balakang ni babae)

Katherine: I’ll cut your other head..

Tony: Two children would be nice.

Katherine: Yeah. I like that too.

Tony: What are their names?

Katherine: I want the girl to be named Audrey.

Tony: And the boy?

Katherine: Leo?

Tony: No. I will not let our child be named after your boyfriend. Ay putangina. Hindi ka pa pala single.

Katherine: Gago, we broke up.

Tony: Hay, salamat. Okay, okay. Kalmado na ko ulit. I would like to name our son, Gerard.

Katherine: Just yesterday, I want to rip you head off.

Tony: But today..

Katherine: I’m falling in love with you all over again.

Tony: A wise man once said, “If you love something set it free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.”

Katherine: You are mine as I am yours.

Tony: Forever and always.

Katherine: (raises an eyebrow)

Tony: And 'no' it's not from a Taylor Swift song? And 'yes' I meant what I said.

After that she smiled and he kissed her because he missed her, because he loves her and because he will never let her go.

That day, they believed in fairy tales – for they were two people who found their happy ending in each other’s arms. The ruse they once shared turned into hatred and hurting. But their love for one another has eased all the pain in the world for love is a wonderful thing.

Love is the only thing in this world that can break a man apart and make him whole once more. Love is the only thing in this world that can withstand pain and go beyond as forever. Love is the only thing in the world that no one can take from you.

Enchanted

2011-09-23T03:47:00.000-07:00

I can pretend time and time again that she belonged to me.

But I am not sure if I was in love with a girl or with her memory. I am not certain if I fell in love with the girl or the illusion she has left me.

She caught my eye when we were young. And I watched her dance along a crowded ballroom. I was on the other side of the room, leaning against the wall as I fidgeted with my handkerchief for my hand became too sweaty, for my fingers trembled out of anxiousness and excitement.

I was sixteen then. And she was younger by a year. I watched how she glided, how elegant her movements were. Each stroke was met with perfect precision, from the point of her toe to the tilt of her head, each movement was wonderfully executed that I know then she has enchanted me.

Her partner held her hand and spun her twice. And for the first time I saw her smile. A step back with the right, a step to the side with a left, she danced gracefully.

She was this tender flower that swayed with the wind.

She smiled again. And her smile was infectious. From afar I can see the mirth in her big doe eyes. She has lovely eyes.

I stepped forward, another step and another and another until I’m just arm’s length away from her. I tapped the shoulder of her partner and she looked at me with curious eyes for she’ll be taken by a stranger.

I bowed my head and smiled. And somehow I believed she saw kindness in my eyes. And big doe eyes looked upon auburn ones. She really does have lovely eyes.

The second time I saw her she held my hand.

She does not know me. She does not remember me. But I knew her, I remembered her for from the very moment that I saw her form, that I saw her smile, she has enchanted me.

I was twenty-four then. And she was younger by a year. And for the first time I saw her cry. I watched how she sat on the stairwell and cried her heart out. She bit her lower lip and she tried to hold back the tears with a heaving chest.

She was wearing black and I just knew someone died. She was a strong woman, too strong for her own good and once again she has enchanted me.

After a few tears, she paused, straightened her back and wept silently.

Those big doe eyes that I last saw glistened with mirth was now tainted with sadness.
I stepped forward, another step and another and another until I’m just arm’s length away from her.

With curious eyes she looked up at me. I extended my hand and gave her my handkerchief. She took my hand and I relished the feeling of the tenderness of her flesh. But I drew my hand away. I rather see her smile than see her cry. When she took the piece of cloth from me, I turned around and left.

And now I’m thirty-five. And she was younger by a year. And I watched her walked along the aisle.

As I stand in front of the altar, I watched how she floated along the carpeted floor. And yes she floated, for like a beautiful fairy clad in a virgin white dress, she graced my presence. She still looked like the girl I met so long ago, the one who danced so gracefully, the one who spun again and again until her eyes were filled with that tinge of happiness.

Her hair was longer than before chocolate curls curtained her beautiful face. She bloomed like a beautiful rose on a warm day of May.

Under the sheer veil, I saw her smile.

Her smile was infectious and I smiled back. She was closer to me now, just ten steps away.

But then I closed my eyes, as the groom stepped forward and held her hand. And I stepped to the side and bowed my head; for she took his arm and kissed his cheek and I was just a stranger to her, maybe a friend, but nothing more maybe something less.

And when my brother, placed the golden ring on her finger, my fists involuntarily closed and my nails unwillingly buried themselves on my palms.

And once again I closed my eyes, for the sight before me was too painful to see.

I can pretend that I have not fallen for this girl, for this woman. But she has enchanted me.

Redemption

2011-08-10T03:47:00.000-07:00

To the person named Elise, so that she may understand.
Elise, you don’t know me very well. You don’t know the real me. I know to myself that you won’t be able to understand my darkest thought or my most foolish ideal. So I’ll treat this as my personal diary. But I want you to treat this as a window to my soul. For in my eyes, you’ll only see a broken girl and her broken dreams and unshed tears.

I’m alone, Elise. I am in need of company. But I can’t come to you. Not yet. I’ll come to you when you can finally understand.
– 09/07/04

To the person named Elise, so that she may realize.
I envy you, Elise, for years now. You’re perfect, too perfect that I wonder if you have defied humanity at its best. Have you? Why do they always feel the dire need of comparing you to me? Should I’ve accomplished what you’ve done by this time in my life? Should I’ve gained what you’ve earned for them to see the greatness in me? But I’m not great, Elise.
– 10/04/04

To the person named Elise, so that she may sympathize.
This self-imposed isolation has driven me insane. And now, a mere touch of another being sends me reeling. But I met someone today; she was nice. She told me, “I’ll be your friend.” I’ll have a friend, Elise. But I’ve been alone for so long, that trusting another person seems too much to ask.
– 10/15/04

To the person named Elise, so that she may be informed.
I did something heinous. I feel so ashamed.
– 10/25/04

To the person named Elise, so that she may grasp what’s happening to my life.
I’ve been cursing myself. I’ve been continuously hurting myself. It’s been months since I’ve last written on this diary of mine. I’m depressed, Elise. I shouldn’t have trusted them.

They made me do it. They made me drink that filthy auburn liquid. I let the warm fluid slid down my throat. I let that filthy fluid touch my lips. And what’s so heinous about it is I drank vigorously so that I’ll get their approval. I drank so vigorously like an optimistic fool! Yet, I cannot leave them. I’ll have no one. I can’t come to you, Elise. You won’t understand. Not yet.
Tonight, I shall cry. For this is not the only vice that they have introduced to me. I’m a monstrous man now, a beast and a sinner of this inebriation. What good does it do to me, to be moved so easily?
– 03/19/05

To the person named Elise, so that she’ll be moved not with pity but with anger.
I walk every night on this darkened path with only the dim light of the moon to guide me. I close my eyes so that I will not see the atrociousness that lay before me. For the creatures of the night – yes, Elise, there are creatures of the night – they are far stronger and far more powerful that they have a control over me.

“You, you foolish you. How can you be so stupid? Do you want me to fail? Do you? If you can’t do a simple thing such as showing me your answers when I need them, then don’t bother joining us. Besides, who’ll be your friend? You have a face that only a mother can love.”

I question myself, Elise, if I really am too weak and too sick to fight, to live.
Everyday, they tell me, I’m useless, worthless and ignorant. All those bad things I did for them are ignored. But I can’t stay away. They’re the only friends I have.
I want to pull my hair out, every time they make fun of me and treat me like I’m below them. And yes, I let them, Elise. This is “living.” I can not go back to being alone. Yes, I am weak, Elise. I swallow my pride everyday. I let them kill me slowly. Last night, when I was taking a bath, I continuously rubbed myself with the luffa. I forcefully, rubbed it up and down my body, again and again until my flesh turned to this beautiful shade of crimson. I was trying to rid myself of dirt. But I can’t get rid of my wickedness, of the evil that has consumed me. I know you’re not angry at them. You’re infuriated with me because I failed to fight for myself. – 06/23/05
To the person named Elise, so that she may rebuke me.

I am tired. Awhile ago, they told me to trip the little girl outside the school. I had a choice. I made the wrong choice. I tripped the little girl, Elise. That little girl was one of the nicest persons I know (which is only a few.) Everyday that little girl will greet me in the morning and give me her most charming smile. Her tiny crooked baby teeth always showed. The little girl will always tell me, “Ate, good morning. Why aren’t you smiling? Smile, please. Before my mom died she told me to always smile. Because when I smile, the world will smile with me. Don’t you want that, ate? The world smiling with you?” So I’ll smile because the little girl’s so infectious. She gives me that tinge of hope that someday the world will smile with me.

On rainy days, this little girl will hold my hand so I won’t slip. Then she’ll playfully scold me, “Ate, be careful next time. Don’t you know, you were so close to falling awhile ago?” The little girl doesn’t know me personally. But among all the strangers, she always chose me. She picks me from the crowd and makes sure that I smile everyday. And even if it’s hard, this little girl is what makes me somewhat stronger. For this stranger cared for me, loved me in a way that my so called friends can never express.

But awhile ago, I betrayed the little girl. I tripped her and faked my laughter so that I can appease those friends of mine. The little girl cried. And she looked at me with those dark brown eyes as if asking me, why? I looked away. I betrayed her.
Elise, am I that much of a monster now? That I’ll do everything, anything that will appease their craving for human suffering? Rebuke me, Elise. I am not worthy of compassion.
- 09/27/05

To the person named Elise, so that she may freely blame me.
Elise, I’m being hunted by my cruelty. Night after night, I kept seeing those dark brown eyes of the little girl. She was crying, her chest heaving with each sob. She was hugging herself, rocking herself. She had no one. Yet I hurt her. She looked so weak, not like the little girl who makes me smile. In my dreams, she doesn’t talk. She just cries. All I hear is her agony and I did nothing. Elise, I’m a monster now. No doubt, I’m a monster now.
– 10/02/05

To the person named Elise, so that she may fathom my demons.
I fought them and I left them. I’m almost free now, Elise.

Do you know what my darkest though so far? Maybe now you’ll understand. I wanted to hurt everybody so that they’ll know how much I’m hurting. Do you know what my most foolish ideal was? Maybe now you’ll understand. Redemption.

All men have their demons. All men have their vices. I needed to break free from mine.

Elise, I came back to the little girl. She was hesitant to look at me. But I whispered, “I’m sorry for hurting you. I hurt you because I wanted their approval. But I left them. For I’ve hurt one of the people who still cared for me. And I know you care. Because, I saw you once, you’re the stranger who makes sure that I have a box of tissue on my table before breaks. How did you know I cry everyday? You’re sneaky to be able to pull that off. Thank you.” Yes, Elise. The little girl knew me very well.

And what touched my heart was, she said nothing. She looked at me, ran towards me and gave me a hug, stretching her arms to hug me tight. “Ate, don’t hurt me again, okay?” That’s what the little girl said. And I held her.
– 10/10/05

To the person named Elise, so that she may…
I chose to live, Elise. I chose to love. And now, I’ll come to you because maybe now you’ll finally understand.
– 12/31/05

Years later…

Elise went to her little sister’s room and opened the box underneath the bed to find her old journal. She was surprised to find that they were writings on the old diary. It was her sister’s penmanship. She read it and wept for if only Annie told her sooner, she could have understood.

Let Me Go

2011-07-26T05:56:00.001-07:00

He reached for the used cloth hanging on the thin wooden arm of the rocking chair. He scrubbed his soiled hands with the cotton rug. Yes, soiled – soiled with all her filth. He was tying her hair up when she started to release the contents of her little stomach – oatmeal and raisins. The stench was tolerable but it was filthy still, just like her. But she was unforgettable so he stayed with all her gruesome glory.

“Let me go, Philip.”

The voice was calm and reserved and very much sane. These were the good days. He was sitting on the chair close to her frail body as lifeless as a scare crow. She was very ill. She reached for his arm, his hairy arm with her dainty yet bony hand with those long fingers. He almost smiled with his crooked teeth.

Her fingers seemed so fragile next to his and he wondered how long it’ll take to crush that hand of hers. He can almost hear the crispy sound of snapping bones and the rawness of a blood-curdling cry. He almost laughed with his deep, dark, voice.

On bad days, she would scratch his face as she jumped up and down from her bed. He can hear the frame of the bed creaked. He would hold her shoulders as he felt her pressed her body and rubbed herself on him.

“Let me go, Philip.”

She would scream as she pressed her filthy mouth to his ear and dip the tip of her tongue to his earlobe. He can hear her breathing. She was grinding her privates with his manhood as she closed her eyes shut, moaning and swearing.

“Fuck you, fucktard. Oh, oh, oh…”

She stopped scratching his face.

“Let me go.” She screeched.

She gripped his hair and pulled the dark strands hard. He was breathing heavily almost rhythmically along with hers. He observed her distorted face and pale cracked lips.

She looked very filthy so he looked away as she continued to rub herself on him. He watched the liquid dripping from the ceiling. The foreigners upstairs must have spilled something and ignored the dirty fluid. Drip. Drip. Tick. Tock. Drip. Drip. And then she shook. She pulled his hair harder, the fine strands brutally yanked from their roots.

Her body shook violently as if electrified then she was limp, lifeless, so he carried her body and placed her on the bed as he watched her trembling lips.

He pulled her underwear to wash her filth. As quickly as he pulled the white cotton fabric down her long legs, he was welcomed with an explosion of scents – the stench of her unwashed privates and the aroma of her feminine fluids. The colorless liquid flowed freely between her thighs.

He washed her underwear right away as he beat his manhood to satisfaction. Those were the bad days.

“Philip, please.” She whispered.

He took her hand and placed her fragile fingers close to his nostrils, no scent flared. No scent that he yearned for – just earthy musk.

But five years ago, she was different, almost perfect.

Foolish

2011-07-25T05:15:00.000-07:00

You know how when you’re young, all the stories you’ve ever heard were about princesses or about happy endings and lovely romantic tales. It’s beyond my capacity to understand of how just one mistake can turn these beautiful stories to horrific ones.

I was young then and I thought I know already what is right from wrong, that I know better than what my parents know, that I’m already knowledgeable of the consequences of my actions. But I didn’t know any better. I was a child and I was foolish. Foolish.

Foolish is a word that I like using. I just love how the word effortlessly leaves my lips. It seems like I’m condoning something, someone. It made me feel brilliant. Foolish. Say it with more emotion and you’ll know what I’m talking about. Foolish. I know the word very well. I was one. I am one.

Let’s cut the introduction short. What do I mean of how beautiful stories turned to horrific ones? When your mind is pure and oh so innocent, you see the good in everything. But when you’re introduced to malice and atrocity, the good you see in everything disappears and is replaced with heinousness.

That’s the mistake I’m talking about. I let people introduce me in a world of lies and carnal desires. I should’ve known better. Should. But I couldn’t at that time. I was a child back then and I was foolish.

It just felt good when you know something that others don’t. There’s this certain thrill when you’re hiding a secret that is so bad and taboo. What a shame that when the thrill was gone, the secret stuck.

Lies and carnal desires. What does a fifteen year old girl from a Catholic school know of such things? Well, lying is a sin and so are desires of the flesh. When one lies, one abandons the truth or manipulates the truth and that is wrong because Jesus is the truth. And to think there are different kinds of lies. There is changing the truth, the act of commission. And there is leaving out details, the act of omission. And the fact that there are different kinds of lies under those categories makes one think, “I lied?,” “That was lying?”

And then, there are carnal desires, the desires of the flesh. Now this one is very much related to some of the seven deadly sins. Of course, Greed is there. Duh. Vanity is there. Duh. Envy is there. Duh. But how can one avoid those things when those are the values that are being uphold in this place we called Earth.

There are saints and there are sinners. But a part of me thinks that there is no black and white, that you can be a saint and the sinner at the same time.

When your mind is already corrupted, that makes you a sinner right? But what if, albeit the horrific thoughts, you’ve done good actions? Does that make you somehow a saint?

Devotion

2011-07-24T19:28:00.001-07:00

Devotion, Rejection, Wedding, Love

What is adultery?

He was getting married with someone of lower class, with someone with an intellect of a child. And yes, he was getting married with a child. She does not know if he did this to push her buttons or to further infuriate her but the point is he succeeded.

He was hers. She needed to remind him that.

She'll do everything in her arsenal in order to get him back. She loves him too much, to let go easily.

They were in a crowded room, filled with bland individuals with their dull lives. The air was thick and the heat was enclosing her being; she felt hot. The sun was glaring on their forms from the open windows that were strategically placed among all four walls. She caught his eye and so she smiled, that mischievous smile that resembled the cat who ate the canary. He tried to look away but he can't. Her smile was just too enchanting, too magnetic to be ignored.

He looked down, his hands clasped to one another. The air was thick and the heat was enclosing his being; he felt hot. He felt the sweat slowly trickled down his neck as the veins involuntarily constricted, as his heart pumped the blood, he felt hot. He raised his head and looked at her again. What he saw almost broke his resolve.

She opened the top three buttons of her Oxford shirt, tied her curls in a messy bun, tilted her head to he side as she slowly massaged her nape. Her eyes were close and he just watched. She bit her lower lip as she deliciously relieved the pressure from her neck. She him want to wish he was a free man. He left immediately.

They were alone once. The air was cool and the breeze was hugging her being; she felt cold. She needed his warmth. She went to him and held his hand. He neither pulled back nor denied her his love. She intertwined her fingers with his and moved closer to his his body. She pressed her chest to his and made sure, he can hear her heart beating. She pressed her lips to his neck and dropped soft kisses on his skin. She dropped his hand and reached for his face; she looked into his eyes and she saw, he still cared.

He held her hips and her gazed down on her form. The air was cool and the breeze was hugging his being; he felt cold. He missed her and so he kissed her. Her lips were soft, her tongue was smooth and her teeth were sharp as he remembered. He enjoyed the experience very much. She played with his hair as they relished this forbidden love they both yearned. She bit his lower lip as he tighten the hold of her hips, pressing her closer to him. From her lips, he trailed kisses down her neck; he licked her collarbone and dropped his hands on her bottom and felt her up. He groaned; he has never felt so good and so wanted. She moaned; she knew that what they were doing was pure lust yet he stopped.

He looked into her eyes and she saw unshed tears. He kissed her again on the lips then he left.

But the affair went on. Their desire for one another were insatiable. As their passion was fueled by their kisses and midnight rendezvous, the guilt - the supposed guilty that they were to endure deteriorated.

He married the child she hated but he went home to her. On the night of his wedding, he spent the night with her. For even if, in ink he was married to another, his heart and his soul were bound and devoted to only her.

- 8:45 P.M. 07/24/11

Wedding

2011-07-20T06:57:00.001-07:00

It was a big wedding, quite the opposite of what she imagined she’ll be having.

White petals carefully thrown along the ivory colored carpet of the center aisle, its sides adorned by bouquets of daisies. From one small post to another white cloth was interlaced. Alternately with the flowers, small white candles were lighted. The hundred of benches from either sides of the aisle were full and packed. He invited everyone. From his parents to his neighbors, even some of his old classmates. From her parents to her co-workers, even some of her teachers. Truly, it was a big wedding.

He was quite zealous, reserving the old grand church on its busiest month, June. She’ll be a June bride. She always thought she’ll be married on a December, when the weather’s cold just as she is.

The theme of this beautiful occasion was a white wedding, from the flowers to the dress of the flower girl. Even the guests were wearing white.

She was wearing this custom made sleeveless white mermaid-like gown that fit her like a glove and accentuated the femininity of her body. From her knees down to the very end of the cloth, it floated freely and she can almost feel like this mythical sea creature. The dress had this intricate design of flowers interweaved to one another. There’s this thin silk cloth tied right around below her breasts that drew attention to her beautiful figure.

She was wearing these white laced gloves that end right on her elbows and a sheer veil that partially covered her face.

They say at a wedding, the bride must have something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.

Something old, his mom gladly gave her a family heirloom, a simple diamond encrusted tiara that she has worn on her wedding. And that tiara rested peacefully atop the veil, atop her dark brown her curled to perfect locks.

Something new, her pierced ears prettified with a pristine set of tear-shaped silver dangling earrings.

Something blue, her left fourth finger was embellished with the cobalt blue diamond engagement ring her fiancé has given her. It was lovely, with smaller diamonds surrounding it like petals.

Now, something borrowed? She was wearing a borrowed white silver bracelet from an old friend. It was so simple that it will pass for a man’s. And the old friend was a man. He lent her his bracelet. He doesn’t wear it but he kept it for the memories it has went through.

Now, she’s just wondering if that old friend of hers came.

She tightened her hold of the bouquet of white daisies as the music began. As she walked at the aisle, she stared directly at the altar and there stood a man wearing a three piece and vested white suit but instead of a tie, he was wearing a pink bowtie.

He was her fiancé, her husband-to-be. And maybe this was how her love story’s supposed to end.

♣♣♣

He can’t believe that he’s wearing a three piece suit on someone else’s wedding. And it was white. He placed a black handkerchief at his breast pocket for maybe he’s a little sentimental. It was a day of mourning; it was the end of what they have. For now, she’s no longer free just like he is.

The time ticked by quite fast and he just sat on his black car waiting or simply stalling. He can’t move his feet to move out of the vehicle and be part of the audience staring in awe of her beautiful wedding.

He was dumbstruck when he received an invitation. After their cold war and sudden drift he never thought he’ll receive an invitation for her wedding. Their common friend urged him to come for somehow this maybe the closure they both needed. And he can’t quite fathom that he said, ‘yes.’

He thought it’ll be easy to watch her go. But it isn’t. As he willed his legs to move, memories of their relationship flashed through his mind like an old movie with its complex plot and its even more complicated characters.

When he checked his watch for the nth time of the day, he realized thirty minutes has passed since he arrived. That’s when he decided that he really must see her for the last time of her unmarried life.

As he entered the old church, he was greeted by one question and one answer.

“And do you, Katherine Garcia, take Leonardo Alvarez, to be your husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and promise to be faithful to him until death do you apart?” The aged priest asked gently as a smile adorned his wrinkled face.

She swallowed the lump on her throat and whispered, “I do.”

The moment those two words left her lips he was already out of the church, out of her life. He took a cigarette from his pocket and a lighter. Yes, now he was smoking. It became his vice. For the nicotine soothed him at times of great depression. He never knew she, sealing the deal, will be a depression of his.

♣♣♣

Christian sighed as he watched her said, “I do.” He was happy for her but somehow he felt a broken presence entered the vicinity. He turned his head to face the dark mahogany doors and was surprise when he saw him.

He left immediately with his precise and fast pace and left the church. Christian was their common friend, the same friend who convinced him to come.

He looked back at the bride and how her eyes stared directly at the groom’s hazel ones. Then he looked back at his friend, the one with the white suit, with a black handkerchief on his breast pocket, the man who bolted out of the grand wedding the moment the bride said, “I do.”

He walked briskly and followed Tony to his car.

“Hey! Tony!” He yelled. Tony was fidgeting something in his hand, he was lighting his cigarette.

And he has to wonder when he developed such habit. He was walking faster now towards his car, ignoring the call of his name.

“Hey! I’m talking to you.” Christian yelled ten paces behind.

Tony closed his eyes for a second as the toxic started to take affect. His lungs were filled with the smoke and somehow the hazy feeling made him numb.

“What?” He said almost too softly.

“I never thought you’d come.” He said, finally arriving to the spot next to him.

“So did I, but here I am.” He replied, taking another drag from the cigarette. He unlocked his car and opened the door when he was interrupted once again.

“Are you happy for her?” Christian asked, he was really curious for Tony and the bride used to be such wonderful friends.

The stick fell from his fingers as the question sunk in. He stepped on the stick to stop the small light it still ignited.

“What do you think?” He asked, still not facing his friend. He opened the door not waiting for a response and turned on the engine immediately. He can’t stay at the same proximity as her. It was too depressing.

Christian watched as the black car sped away. In such haste, he saw the tire markings on the gravel. He just sighed and decided to go back to the wedding. They used to be such wonderful friends to one another. He can’t remember when everything became so damn complicated.

♣♣♣

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride.” The priest smiled warmly at the couple in front of him with a hand movement to emphasize that they really can kiss now.

He was more than willing to do it. He carefully unveiled his bride and was greeted by a simple smile. With his palm, placed gently on her face, he leaned down and gave her a soft kiss.

She closed her eyes as she felt his lips on hers and when he let her go, she let him held her tight as they smiled in front all of the guests.

The moment they faced their audience, she can’t help but try to find a particular someone. Hundreds of guest applauded and she can’t see that familiar face, that familiar friend.

Aside from the simple gold wedding ring on her finger, she saw that familiar white silver bracelet hanging effortlessly on her wrist. She looked again for him.

But when the cameras clicked and the flashes glinted that’s when she realized he never came.

The air was filled with the aroma of flesh flowers and the subtle aura of disappointment.

He intertwined his fingers with hers as the photographer asked for the official wedding picture of the bride and groom. She looked at him and noted the difference of their features, the difference between her husband and her friend.

He placed a feather-light kiss on her forehead and whispered, “I love you.”

She closed her eyes and the camera clicked.

♣♣♣

He swiftly turned to the left as he heard the honking of the different drivers directed at him. He sped through the highway not bothering to even look at the signs or lights. He was itching to get away from her as fast as possible.

“I do.”

She looked so beautiful in her pretty white dress. She looked like a princess. He remembered when those words were directed at him.
Years ago, she let her guard down. She didn’t look like a princess back then just a damsel in distress. She looked vulnerable that night as she confessed everything.

“I do. I do love you.” She whispered and he heard every word.

As he fastened the pace of his car, those two words kept repeating on his head like a broken record.

Flashes of memory rushed in his mind. The past and the present interweaved to each other in this delicious cacophony of depression and regrets.

“I do.” She was wearing a veil that barely covered the magnificence of her features.

“I do. I do love you.” She looked so weak with a broken smile.

“I do.” She wasn’t looking at him.

“I do. I do love you.” She held onto him.

“I do.” She chose a different man.

His mind became hazy with thoughts of her.

♣♣♣

“Well, Mr. Know-It-All, a big ‘fuck you’ coming your way.” She shouted at him as she turned around and left him.

He doesn’t know how it feels to be turned away. He was one of her closest friends and he simply ignored her, didn’t believe her.

All she asked from him was loyalty. She needed it and even that he can not give. What more with what she wanted.

She felt like she was living in hell the moment she saw the judgment in his eyes. They were friends and that relationship grew to something more.

She felt herself falling for him, deeper each day. She felt the deep pounding of her heart when she was in close proximity to him, when their hands touched coincidentally. She felt the light chill that run through her spine when he playfully put his arm around her shoulder. She felt the warmth that covered her being when he whispered compliments to her ear.

He made her laugh. He made her cry. He made her want to live. He made her want to die.

He made her feel these strong emotions, she has never felt before.

Sanity

2011-07-20T03:25:00.000-07:00

Sanity Salvage Confusion Death

What is sanity?

All he wanted was to slit his wrist, to slash his throat, to end his worthless life. He was on the verge of insanity. He was loosing his grip on reality. He knew, himself, that he will never be salvaged.

He saw the angels cheer for his death. He saw the demons lament for his soul. He believed hell’s fire will be gentle to him, will be too kind to him. And instead of burns and scars, he’ll receive hell’s caresses and kisses. He believed heaven will tear him apart. He has foreseen the angels playing the harp as his blood formed puddles on the pristine, ivory floor. The angles continued to sing as he crawled for his salvation and by the time they had reached their awaited crescendo, he’s done. He was frightened of heaven and that he was sure of.

He sat on his throne like the god he thought he was. He waited for the people to kiss his feet and wash them with their tears. He believed he was the Incarnated Son of God. The people said he was crazy.

He laid on his bed, caressing his stomach like the virgin he though he was. He waited for an angel to declare he will bear a son, the Savior of the World. And he called himself Mary. He sang the Magnificat as he created scars on his bare arms. The people said he was hopeless.

He stood on the edge of a building. He opened his arms and spread them like wings. He waited for the light on a cold January night. He believed he was the dove of Christ, the Holy Spirit. He jumped that night and let the cool air hugged him. The people said he was confused.

Long ago, he lost his sanity; that day, he lost his life.

- 1:20 pm 02/16/10

Bound

2011-06-02T02:23:00.000-07:00

You have taken away my freedom to speak, my power to act. That’s how powerful you are.

Do you know that?

I doubt you do.

You are my guilty pleasure. And I vow to keep my affections for you in private, in all eternity. I shall not speak of you anymore, not anymore. I shall seal my lips for they’re the reason I am drowning in this inhumane pit of embarrassment and self-loathe. Thus my lips are the reason why I now suffer, not you.

I can never blame you.

“Quench my thirst, my beloved. Let my tongue touch thy golden cup. And my taste buds caress the sweetness of thy love.

Fill my hunger, my beloved. Let my mouth feel the warmness of thy flesh. And my being relish the bitterness of thy pity.”

I had you only for the passion you have kept ablaze. I blame you only for the certain “enchantment” that surrounds you.

You are not perfect and through my naked eyes, I see all your imperfections. But these imperfections are what have bound my soul to your soul, my heart to your heart, my flesh to your flesh. What have bound me to you.

Things We Break

2011-01-04T06:44:00.000-08:00

How do you express yourself when somehow you feel as if you’re alone? How do you move on when you don’t even know how everything fell apart? How do you wipe your tears when you can’t even shed a single one?

She was looking out on the ledge as she watched those teenagers play their sports. She was young once.

But not young anymore, not young enough to be allowed to commit to such mistakes.

She should’ve learned, right? But she never did.

She tied her hair in a loose bun as she studied her finger nails under the bright treacherous sun. She felt the light breeze hugged her form. She wished she learned.

She heard precise and heavy steps but she did not turn her head to the rude perpetrator that has chosen to disturb her solemnity, her own reflection. She rarely does this. For sometimes she just doesn’t think at all.

For when she thinks, she thinks of him. And that’s too much of a burden.

Then the foot steps stopped and she heard nothing more. But she felt that eerie feeling of having another presence in the room that her body is quite familiar with. She chose to not look. She chose to not walk away. She chose to stay.

Then she heard the gush of water from a certain distance from the nearby fountain and somehow without even noticing it, she dug her nails into her palm, out of agitation maybe? She asked him to go away. For the nth time he didn’t listen.

She closed her eyes as she bowed down and waited until he leaves. She knew his presence quite well. She knew it was him. But the mere seconds seemed to take much longer in her mind.

Then, he just had to break the comforting yet distressing silence. He knew that they can never go back to being ‘normal.’ But he just ‘needed’ to freaking try. Out of guilt possibly? For breaking her.

Breaking? Her life wasn’t a soap opera. But he turned it to one, the cliché of falling in love.

“Good day isn’t it?” His voice was familiar, too cruelly familiar. It was neither soothing, nor velvety. It was neither deep nor high pitched. It was just a voice. Yet a voice she grew liking.

She didn’t say anything, she just bit her lip and dug deeper. Maybe if one focused on physical pain, one will not feel the torment of such sorrow.

She heard him sigh and the water continued to gush so slowly, so excruciatingly dawdling.

“I – I saw what you posted in your Facebook account.” He was stuttering. For somehow, he doesn’t know what to say.

What do you say to the girl you left for another? What do you say to the girl who have faith in you and loved you? I’m sorry? It’s not enough.

“Was it about me?” He sounded weak and hopeful. She didn’t flinch; she just tried her best to ignore him. It’s funny how technology can bite you in the ass.

And the air was filled with such tension as the water continued to flow. How gradual the water fell into his cup.

“Not everything is about you.” Her voice was quite strange for it wasn’t direct and succinct as before. Yet it seemed softer. And he wondered if this was the same girl he left.

“But what if, what if it’s about you?” Somehow he felt a strong pang to his chest and a kick to his gut. The water continued to follow, drip by drip falling into his cup. He needed her to say it again. For maybe the sound of the water falling has caused him to imagine an illusion to be true.

She wished those words never escaped her lips, for saying it out loud somehow makes it true. She never learned. She wished she had.

“Then, I...” His jaw twitched. He doesn’t know what to say. But he knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to hug her and make all the pain go away.

“You what?” She’s just whispering now. This it their secret. And she can’t let anybody know about it, know about how easily her knees can give away when they first kissed.

“Then, I, I would’ve been a man.” He reached for his dark brown hair and combed it out of distress. His lips seemed to want to talk but no words were coming out. He had never seen her like this.

He held the cards now and she has nothing more to give.

Her nails dug deeper into her flesh as she looked away. Why just now?

“And what would a man would have done?” She asked like a child would. She wondered what if he didn’t leave her.

She heard his cup fell and the water spilled all over the floor. Again, she did not flinch even if she felt the floor turning slippery. She easily didn’t care.

“A man would’ve picked up the broken pieces and fixed it.” He bent down as he picked each broken fragment of his cup. If only he can do that with her heart.

She felt him moved behind her yet she didn’t bother to look at him, look at him bent on the floor. What a sight to behold, she can easily imagine it as his downfall.

“But what if, he’s too late?” Then her nails drew blood, being buried too deep to her raw flesh. She lost control and she has to admit that.

She turned around and bent on her knees to help him pick up the shattered pieces, ever careful not to bump into him. Her pants were soaked from the water but she can effortlessly ignore such material things. Because it’s about him. It has always been about him.

She extended her hand to him where the pieces lay and waited for him to take them all. His hand brushed hers and she wondered when her feelings for him will go away. And then he answered. He had always surprised her.

“Then it was his fucking fault and he blames himself for it.” And he placed his hand on top of hers and let it lingered. He just wanted to say, he also haven’t figured out how to let her go too.

He heard her gasped and he wondered when his feelings for her will go away. He still cared about her. He took the pieces from her hands and watched her pull away.

When did their relationship become so complicated? It used to be easy. Love was supposed to be easy.

And then she stood and brushed the invisible creases on her clothes and walked away. She thought she’ll stay. But she simply can’t.

“I’ll ask you to stay but then I wondered if you will.” He said as he stood up and place what was left of his cup on the ledge.

Five steps.

It took five steps for him to ask her to stay.

She have walked five steps away from him before he asked her to stay.

Five words.

It took five words for her to fall apart.

He said five words to her for her to fall apart.

‘We can’t be together anymore.’ He has said that to her and it cut deep. The wound was so deep that it has not even started to heal. It just grew deeper and more painful. And she took all the pain.

“Will you?” He bowed his head, his hair falling over his eyes. Then he heard her footsteps and saw her shoes on the floor where his eyes were fixed.

He looked up and saw her face. She looked so weak. It was the first time he saw her ‘this’ vulnerable.

“I would have asked you to stay but I wondered if you will.” She whispered to him. She looked away as she felt her emotions eat her whole.

She used his words to express how she fought the urge to ask him to stay with her and be with her. And she knew he understood. She took deep breaths to contain herself.

“I would have stayed.” He said with such sincerity as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers and held her in his arms and just let her fall apart.

He’ll be there to catch her and mend her just like what he promised a few years ago.

She pressed her face to the crook of his neck and then she cried her heart out as she pounded her fist to his chest and gripped his shirt tightly. And she can feel his hand gently caressing her back to soothe her.

He heard her sob so helplessly. He wondered why he left her in the first place.

He can feel her nose pressed on his neck and her tears cover his flesh and he closed his eyes and imagined it wasn’t his fault that she cried. He left butterfly kisses on her hair, if he can just easily take away all the pain.

But he has no power over emotions, feelings, affections, passions. He has no power over those things. But he knew the cause of her pain. It was him. And the longer he stayed the weaker she will be.

But then she whispered between sobs, “What took you so long?” Her tight grip turned into a soft touch. Maybe he was too much of a fool before.

Yet she continued to cry and he felt her eyelashes tickling his neck, tickling his insides as she clung to him and depended on him. He felt guilty. And as soon as she shook in his arms in utter pain, the guilt started to consume him.

“It took me long enough, to understand how much I’ve hurt you.” He pressed his hand at the small of her back as he closed his eyes as he felt her heart beat next to his.

But good things must come to an end. He felt her slightly push him and looked away. “I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened.” She quickly said, as she wiped what was left of the tears and entered the comfort room nearby.

He doesn’t understand the sudden change of attitude. Until he heard another man’s voice and it made sense.

“Dexter, welcome back.” He said to the man who’s timing was so impeccable, he would have applauded for his return.

The intruder walked towards him with a knowing glint in his eyes. “It’s good to be back. I mean, I would have never missed this day, Tony.” And the intruder’s eyed the broken pieces of the cup on the ledge, on the wet floor and finally on the door where she just went into.

“Stay away from her. You know better.” Dexter said as he nonchalantly walked towards the fountain and filled his thirst.

He just looked at this ‘invader,’ drinking so languidly. He felt his fists clenched uncontrollably at his sides.

The interloper wiped his lips and said to him, “You had your chance. I deserve mine.” Then he nodded to him and all he can feel was anger and guilt and hate and jealousy as his friend waited outside of the comfort room and leaned against the wall.

Dexter was looking at him as if daring him to stay. But he promised her once, he’ll mend her and that’s one promise he’ll keep. But then, what James said was true, he knew better and he had his chance. The longer he stayed the weaker she will be.

And he wanted to remember her as the strong woman she really is. So he walked away…

Again.

She came out of the comfort room, gaze – empty, eyes – dark almost lonely and her smile – there was no smile at all. She looked at the hallway there was no presence of him, no Tony, non, nada, nothing. But then she was greeted by a warm smile, a warm hug and warm kiss on her cheek.

“Katherine, I missed you.” Dexter said as he continued to hug her, not letting go. She almost wished, it was Tony, almost.

But Dexter was not Tony, not him.

“Am I supposed to say I missed you too?” She asked him as he let go of her. And besides, they always have their witty banter.

“Well, that’s the polite thing to do, right? The two of them walked along the hallway. But she missed him because he cared. Dexter went away because of her. If only, she could have insisted to her heart that some risks are not worth taking for.

She stayed silent as they continued to walk. He nudged her as his laughter filled the air. “Or have you lost your manners when I was away?” He nudged her again but this time he let his hand brushed against hers.

She stopped and when he noticed, he stopped too. She looked at him. “What if I did?” With one eyebrow raised, she challenged him. He never backed down.

“I would pull you closer to me and teach you myself.” He was looking into her eyes as if she was the only one in the world that matters. “But I must tell you, I’m very thorough.” He smirked at her as he lightly pulled her to start walking once more.

“I would have asked you how thorough but I guess I wouldn’t like your answer.” She smirked back at him as she fastened her pace and swayed her hips naturally. When she’s with Dexter they always play a chasing game. And naturally, she was being chased after.

He stood there dumbfounded. He has only been with in her in less than ten minutes and he can’t help but fell in love with her all over again after she chose to break his heart. He shook his head and smiled as he watched her form strutted down the hallway.

He followed her. He won’t let her go, not this time – and maybe, just maybe, not ever.

“If you walked a little ‘more’ faster than you are now, I’d say you want me to chase you.” He called to her as he walked swiftly to reach her. He took large steps in order to catch up with her.

As soon as she heard what he just said, she stopped in her tracks and turned her back to look at him. He certainly has changed. And right now, she can see him walking quickly towards her almost like breeze walking. She can’t help but smile and laugh. Dexter has always been the kind of guy who’ll make you feel you’re the only thing in this world that is of great importance.

Tony was that kind of guy too – was. She wasn’t certain he still is after all that has happened between them.

“Will you?” Again, she raised her eyebrow as she crossed her arms across her chest and waited for him to reach her.

He smiled at her as he mirrored her actions. He crossed his arms across his chest and regulated his fast rate and when he was just five steps away from her, he dropped his hands to his sides and placed them inside his pockets.

“If you ask me to or even if you don’t, I will.” She felt he was void of arrogance or self-satisfaction. It was more.

“If you’re trying to flatter me so that I would be nice to you, it’s not working.” She smirked as she turned her back once more and walked away.

Soon enough, he’ll follow for he wanted her that much. When she was with Tony, she was the one who followed him, who chased to after him. And sometimes a girl just wants to feel wanted and needed and yearned after. And maybe Dexter can give her that. She deserved it.

“Are you sure it’s not working?” He shouted at her as he stood there watching her every move. She was perfect. She was lovely. Why can’t some see it? He can.

She doesn’t stopped walking as she smiled to herself. She raised her hand up and signaled him a ‘thumbs up.’ Yes, she was sure although, his comments made her smile. Yes, he can make her smile too.

Two hours later, Dexter was watching her alone and restless. He missed her. He really did. She was more beautiful now than she was before. Yet her beauty was not the one that attracted him to her. It’s her intelligence, her unique charm and charisma, her sharp tongue and her dark eyes that seemed so enigmatic.

He changed for her, to be a better man, to be a real man and he was doing that by fighting for her.

“Hey.” He reached for her shoulder and waited for her smile. She didn’t disappoint. She is so lovely when she smiles.

“Hey.” She said back with a smile. “If you’re here to pester me, it’s not really working. I’m already immune to all your tactics, Dexter.” She was laughing as she said that. He took a seat next to her as they watch the field of green with all the people playing.

He was young once too. When he was young, he used to play games. But now, he was just one player in this paradox called love.

“Define immune.” He mused as he rubbed his forefinger and thumb at his chin like a curious child.

“Exempted, excepted, not liable…” She was waiting for him to stop her but he didn’t. He was just smiling, clearly entertained at her knowledge of the word. “… absolved, excused…” She raised her eyebrow as he shifted in his seat and seated at it with his legs on top of the chair crossed to one another, ‘Indian style.’ “… insusceptible. Tell me when to stop.” She smiled as he crossed his arms like a petulant child. “… invulnerable, safe…”

“You can stop now, Miss-smarty-pants. Are you sure you are, ‘immune?” He used his index fingers and middle fingers and he air quoted the word ‘immune.’ “I mean you are playing along with one of my tactics right now.” He smiled as he lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

She rolled her eyes as she tried to hide her smile. “I’m just sharing knowledge to the less fortunate ones.” She leaned in to her seat as she crossed her legs which were not left unnoticed by dear old, Dexter.

“By less fortunate, is that me?” He looked at her as he bashed his eyelashes towards her. She just looked so adorable when she was being teased.

“No shit, Sherlock.” She acted surprise and close her agape mouth in mockery. Once more as she can’t help but smile as he continued to bash his eyelashes like a little girl. “And stop that, you’re like a little girl… or are you one?” She began, to tap her finger tips on her lap and again such little things she does was seen by him.

“Little girl?” His eyebrows furrowed as he acted like ‘The Hulk’ and showed her his biceps and triceps with poses to boot.

She laughed and nodded. “Yes, like a little girl.” She placed a stray lock of her behind her ears as she closed her eyes for awhile and leaned into the chair.

“Are you sleepy?” He asked as he watched how her eyelashes fell on her smooth cheeks and how her cheekbones were so regal and distinct and her lips; quite pale and thin yet it fit her so beautifully.

“Not really. I’m just tired I guess.” She whispered as she opened her eyes once more.

“You should smile more often. You look lovely when you do.” He said as he looked into her eyes. He’s not holding back now. He was willing taking all risks just to express how much he feels about her.

“What have you eaten and you became so cheesy and corny?” She asked him curiously as her lips curved into a smile.

“Cheesecake and corn shake?” He raised his eyebrows in a repetitive action as he smiled smugly.

She leaned into him and whispered to his ear. “Your taste is so impeccable.”

He leaned into her and whispered back. “I do try.”

And the two of them erupted into laughter. He can make her smile, he can make her laugh. But Tony can do that too. But Tony made her cry, but Tony made her broken. But Dexter was no Tony. And Tony was not Dexter.

But then by the end of the day when she went home, went to bed, she dreamt of him. Not Dexter. Him. Tony.

She dreamt of a familiar memory. It was the two of them playing Basketball.

They were running around the court, just him and her. The score was tie and the time was running out. She got the ball and run as she dribbled to shoot it at her side of the ring when he caught up with her. He was blocking her as she dribbled and got ready to shoot when he puckered his lips and whispered to get her attention. “Can I have a kiss?” He was smirking.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she tried to understand what he just said and as she did so, he took the ball from her and shot it himself. The time run out and he won by one point. She scoffed as he bowed to her like a performance has just been done. She was so pissed that he just cheated.

“You’re such a cheater. It’s like you’re giving me crap.” She bit at him as she turned around and walked away from him.

He walked towards her. “It’s just a game, Kathy.” He was laughing as he followed her on the court. “And ‘bestie,’ I’m not giving you crap. I just gave you an overwhelming performance.”

She scoffed once more and shouted at him without looking at his him. “Don’t ‘bestie’ me, cheater.”

“How about ‘baby,’ baby?” He smirked as he heard her hissed at him.

“Sometimes you’re such an ass. I can’t believe I’m friends with you.” She continued to walk as she shouted to him her reply.

“Na-uh. You’re not friends with me. You’re ‘best friends’ with me. And you take my crap, no matter how shitty I am.” He said confidently as he walked behind her. He heard nothing but a string of curses directed at him. Along with the lines, “Bastard.”

He just laughed. “So, you like ‘baby’?” He asked with voice so hopeful.

“Not talking to you.” She said in a sing-song tone as she rolled her eyes.

“Yes you are talking to me.” He replied in a sing-song tone also. “Baby.”

“Ugh. I’m leaving.” She said as she stomped out of the court. But her gait was halted when she heart him grunted and groaned.

When she turned her back, the next thing she saw was him on the floor holding his ankle as he shouted in what she can see as pain.

She rushed immediately to him and touched his ankle. “Are you alright, what happened?” She asked with concern etched in her voice.

“Yes, Kathy, I feel great. Oh, I just lied on the floor screaming ‘cause I think it’s fun.” He said sarcastically as he shouted in pain once more.

“Ugh, bastard, bastard, bastard.” She screamed at him, each time she screeched the word, ‘bastard,’ she hit him in the arm as hard as she can.

“Ouch, love me much?” He shouted at her as he clutched his ankle and groaned in anguish.

“You’re the one half prostrated on the floor and you’re being a huge ass.” She scolded at him as she hit his arm once more.

“Are you just going to hit me or help me? I know you like to play rough, Kathy. But I never knew ‘this’ rough.” He smirked as he groaned at unbearable state of his ankle.

She bit her lower lip as she squeezed his right arm and dug her nails. “Jerk.”

“Come on, bestie. Just bitch on me later, I’m injured here.” He groaned at the piercing pain as he tried his best to use the puppy dog eyes strategy.

She scoffed at him and laughed at his version of puppy dog eyes.

“What?” He asked. “Do you want me to call you, ‘baby?’ All you have to do is ask.” He smirked as he tried his best to defend himself from her hitting his arms.

Then she stopped hitting him and crossed her arms against her chest and smirked herself. “You know what, I can just leave you there, if I want to.”

Then she saw his face tensed up. “Please, help me, bestie.” He was biting his lower lip as groaned in pain.

She stood up and extended her hands to him. “The things I’ll do for you.” She said as she rolled her eyes. “But until we get to the clinic, you shut up.”

“I’ll be a good boy.” He smirked.

“You sure don’t look like one.” She pulled him up as they both struggled for their balance.

He placed his arm around her shoulders as they walked out of the court.

“You know about you liking rough. We can do it later when I’m all bandaged up.” He whispered lowly to her ear. He just loved teasing her.

“Shut up or I’ll cut your balls, Tony.” She said in an agitated tone.

Tony, placed his fingers to his mouth and imaginarily zipped his mouth like a zipper, locked it and threw the key in the air.

“Better.” She said, as she held his waist and as he clutch on her shoulders and they walked towards the clinic.

The silence was broken when Tony started to hum a tune which sounded familiar to her.

“Are you humming an elevator tune?” She asked him in

He smiled as he continued to hum the tune. And as the minutes ticked by the tune started to sound annoying.

“Will you stop humming, if I allowed you to speak?” She asked completely annoyed.

He smirked as he nodded.

“Go, speak.” She said in frustration. She rather hear his innuendoes than hear the elevator tune again and again, almost endlessly.

“God, how I missed my voice. Didn’t you miss it? Do you think the girls will appreciate my sports-related-injury?” He asked curiously.

“You are such an ego-maniac.” She rolled her eyes.

“An ego-maniac you care about.” He said smugly.

She looked at him and they just looked at each other’s eyes when once again, Tony tripped and he brought her to the ground. They fell on the field with the two of them clutching each other’s arms.

They’re just staring at each other’s face, eyes, nose and lips. He was lying on the ground while she was on top of him.

And that’s when she woke up and the dream ended. She knew what happened after they stared at each other’s eyes. She thanked her subconscious for stopping her dream from reminding her of what happened after falling to him and after falling for him.

The sound of her ringing doorbell woke her up to her senses. Looking at the watch on her bedside table, she realized that it was just past midnight. The ringing didn’t stop. And she wondered who it could possibly be. Her chest was still heaving for the dream has left her breathless.

For the fact that her memories with him never disappeared scared her, for she have always thought that soon enough he will forget him. But so far, he has always been at the back of her mind, haunting every fiber of her being.

She wore her silk robe over her night gown that just rested delicately at her knees and wore her slippers as she stepped down the stairs. By the time, she reached the first floor, she heard pounding no the door.

Ever careful, she looked into the peephole and saw a drenched-looking Tony. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips were parted as if he was having difficulty breathing. His face was flushed and his hair disheveled. His shirt rumpled and his pants creased.

She opened the door only to watch him fall to her for it seemed that he was leaning over the wooden thing for support all along. It was at his fall that lead her to carry half his weight as she placed his arm around her neck. She can barely make out the slurred words coming from his pursed lips.

“Katherine.” He whispered as he clutched her forearm.

She can’t look at his face for she was too scared to see his drunken state so she just looked down at the floor. He was dragging his feet on the floor and there he saw that he wore each shoe on the wrong foot. She can’t help but be amused. But each shoe was tied with a perfect knot.

“Katherine, I… I’m sorry.” His right hand dropped from clutching her arm down to holding her right waist.

She does not speak for she does not know what to say to a man who chose to lose all his logic and lucidity for a night.

She stared at his face closely and watched how his lips trembled when he spoke of her name. But then, she saw how suddenly his body started to shiver along with his lips.

“Will y-y-you f-forgive m-me?” He was struggling to speak fluently but then he failed. “I’m f-f-fucking wry-wrong, Kathy. I m-m-messed up. I h-hurt you. And l-left you. I’m a f-f-fucking b-bastard.” He was babbling as his hands flew on the air making hand gestured. After, his poor excuse for asking forgiveness, he laid his head on the sofa and banged his head as he crossed his arms and stroke his arms. Then, he rubbed his palms to one another and pressed each palm to each of his cheeks.

She reached for his forehead and felt the heat emanating from his forehead. She withdrew her hand and went to the bathroom to get a bucket of water, fresh cloths, a blanket and a towel for him.

When she returned, he was shivering frenziedly as his whole body burned up. “Heeey, d-do y-you h-hate me? ‘Cause I h-hate myself, Kathy.” He whispered as his bit his lip to stop it from trembling.

He looked like a child lost and alone. She wanted to take care of him, needed to make sure he was fine.

She daintily unbuttoned his shirt and flinched at how warm his body is. The bronze hue of his bare torso contrasted greatly to her pale hand and she can’t help but let her fingers stroke his toned chest.

She took the cloth lying beside her and placed it in the bucket and squeezed it afterwards to rid the excess water. She placed the cloth on his forehead. She took another cloth and did the same one with the first, after squeezing the excess water; she began to stroke his scorching body as she watched every contour of his face.

He opened his eyes and saw her form taking care of him. He can’t help but smile. “I-I m-miss y-you.” He whispered as he reached for her hand and placed it on top of his heart. He felt his heart beat even if her hand was between his hand and chest. So he knew she felt his heart beat too.

He felt a sudden throbbing in his head like a hammer was pounding at this skull until it cut open into two. He closed his eyes as he let his fingers grasped harder to the hold of her hand as he pressed her palm next to his heart.

She felt the beating of his heart, the moment when he said ‘I miss you,’ of how the beating of his heart was fast and hard and how it stabilized the moment he closed his eyes. She missed him too. If only he knew, how fast her heart beat when she was close to him.

She pulled her hand away from his hold and moved his body on the sofa so that he was lying on his back with pillows around his form. She placed a blanket over his body as she checked his temperature once more, happy to see that it dropped to normal.

She went upstairs to get a blanket and a pillow for herself. She can’t leave him alone. She needed to make sure that he’ll be fine. The moment she reached her room, she saw her phone vibrating. She received a text and opened it without looking who the sender was. She climbed down the stairs with one hand holding her phone while the other a blanket and a pillow. She sat, next to the sofa where Tony laid. He looked so calm.

She read the text and was surprised to see who the sender was. It was Dexter.

‘Hey, I’m guessing you’re still awake.’

Somehow, she can’t help but smile for she had never thought he knew her so well. She typed quickly on the qwerty phone and sent to him her reply.

‘No. I’m not. In fact, I’m in dreamland right now.’

Within seconds, she received his reply.

‘Am I with you in dreamland? I think I am. :”>’

She sat with her legs lying on one arm of the solo sofa as she placed the pillow behind her as she found a comfortable position.

‘What made you think you are? :-L’

She texted back as she tapped her nails on her thigh waiting for his reply.

‘’Cause even your subconscious mind can’t get enough of me. ;)’

She scoffed as she shook her head with his pompous remark.

‘Oh yeah, ‘cause I kill you off in my dreams. >:)’

She smiled as she clicked ‘Send.’ She was satisfied with her comeback.

‘And give life to me again when you miss me. Come on, Katherine, cut me some slack here. :( :))’

She read his text and found it amusing for maybe Dexter has ran out of witty remarks.

‘What if I don’t want to? :-p’

She bit her lower lip for clearly she was entertained with their banter.

‘Then I guess I’ll have to make you. ;)’

As soon as she read his reply, she can’t help but smirk.

‘Challenge accepted.’

She closed her eyes for awhile and allowed herself to just rest and she did. But then she heard a groan which alerted her senses. She stood up immediately; the plan for any sleep has been forgotten. She dropped her phone on the sofa as she went to his sleeping form.

He was twitching in his sleep and groaning as if he was having a nightmare. She can see his face cringed in what she can observe as pain and she observed of how his fists clenched on the blanket at his sides as he bit his lip to stop himself from screaming.

She can’t look away and she can’t just ignore him when all she saw was pain. She leaned forward to him and shook his shoulders trying to wake him up to his reverie. She lightly slapped his cheeks but when he opened his eyes with the look of fright and sadness, her finger tips involuntarily caressed his cheeks as if to say, ‘It’s going to be okay.’

They stared at each other’s eyes, no one dared to look away. Then somehow, she saw his dark brown eyes glistening with tears yet she knew he’ll hold back. He was clutching at her hips as if to hold on to her. She saw him swallow the lump on his throat as the veins in his neck throbbed.

She can not pinpoint the emotion exposed by his dark orbs. She used to know him so well. But day by day he was turning into this mystery.

He leaned forward to her and pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes as if that action was enough, as if that action was the only action that they can do.

She closed her eyes too as she felt his hands encircled her waist. She traced the square of his jaw, his earlobe, and the end tips of his hair and daintily placed her arms around his neck.

She didn’t know what happened but that was one of the most intimate moments in their lives shared to another person. She felt wetness upon her brow and realized that maybe those were the tears he tried to hold back.

He pulled her towards her into an embrace as he buried his head at the crook of her neck. She held him as she gently stroked his hair and pressed her lips at his head. And he silently sobbed.

“I’m afraid to lose you and leave you.” He whispered as she felt his hands grip her waist tightly. And she thought maybe he was afraid to let her go.

“But I tried.” He confessed as he continued to cry in her arms. He pressed his lips to her neck, at her warm flesh and smelled her scent. He missed the way she smelled. Even the little things matter now. He used to not care to the little things.

He looked up and saw the confusion in her eyes. “And I failed.” He said as he reached for the tendrils of hair that was curtaining her face. He placed the tresses of hair at the back of her ear and closed his eyes once more and pressed his forehead next to hers.

Then they just held each other, ever vulnerable than they can ever be. And involuntarily, his lips met hers; with eyes closed they met once more. It was gentler than their first kiss, her first kiss. It was gentler than their last kiss. It was gentler than the first kiss they had on the ledge. It was much softer.

It was so soft like butterfly kisses so light. He was holding her cheek as his other hand encircled her waist. Her lips were soft and delicate. It reminded him of the taste of fresh grapes and chilled champagne. She was just so fine like a rose.

He felt her teeth grazed his lip, the kiss was gentle but the passion was not any less. Their bodies pressed to one another as their lips met in this rendezvous affair. She opened her lips and let his tongue caressed hers. His moist mouth engulfing hers, his velvety tongue danced with hers.

She let her hands fall down his chest as she traced the smoothness of his skin. She felt the warmth emanating from his body and cold sweat that was starting to form on his brow. Then he lightly pushed her down the couch, with his body above hers, their lips still entwined.

He placed his hands on either side of her and placed all his weight there, not wanting to crush her form. While she placed her hands on his shoulders as she let the tip of her nails drag themselves down his back sending this renewed sensation to his body.

But then when he started to trail kisses down her neck, reality kicked in. This was not how it was supposed to be. She closed her eyes and counted to three.

One.

His kisses were gentle.

Two.

His kisses were lovely.

Three.

His kisses can leave her empty.

She lightly pushed him away, stood up even if her knees were weakened because of his kisses. She looked down as she pressed the creases in her night gown. She closed the bathrobe that has somewhat opened and tied it tightly and with calculated voice she spoke. “Good night.”

It was like she was a robot that had this switch underneath that can easily be turned on or off. But she wasn’t, she was just a good actress, too good that sometimes she believed in her own pretenses.

He doesn’t know what to do. Was he rejected? Was he forgotten? Was he chosen to be ignored?

He watched her form walked away. He used to be the one who does that.

“Katherine.” His voice was husky and deep and tired.

She looked back at him, with glistening brown eyes. He wondered if he was always the one who broke her heart.

But then, the moment after she closed her eyes and opened them again for him to see, he was left with an almost empty gaze and just a questioning bewilderment.

“I…” He tried to say as he stood up from the couch.

She just stared at him with her swollen lips. And that empty gaze has weakened his resolve. Tomorrow is another day.

“I… nothing.” He sighed as turned around and sat on the sofa once more as she walked away from him.

She climbed the stairs with a steady pace and when she reached the top she stopped. She touched her lips. “I…” She whispered but she shook her head. This can’t happen again.

“I… nothing.” She whispered as she entered her room and shut the door behind her.

To say that the morning after was uncomfortable was an understatement. She was thinking of him all night long, even in her dreams he was there.

The idea was he was under her roof, living in her house, breathing in the same place as she. He was half naked in her living room. He was sleeping downstairs. That’s all she can think about.

By the time she was able to sleep, in her dreams he was there. He was the swimming coach in her first dream. He was the driver in the second. He was her dance partner in the third. Even her subconscious mind wanted him.

She shook her head as she buttoned her white long sleeved blouse from bottom to top. She looked at herself in the mirror as she combed one last time her long ebony tresses for the morning. She wore her shoes as she breathed in then out. She was trying to calm her nerves. And when she thought she was ready, she went downstairs to talk to him.

The moment she went downstairs, she saw him just coming out from the bathroom near the laundry room. One white towel around his waist and the other placed on his shoulder. Her mouth was left agape for it was one thing to be half naked and it’s another with just one piece of clothing before one goes commando.

She blinked twice before she rationalized things without him noticing her presence.

She cleared her throat and that was what got her his attention. He was surprised to see her but then he did nothing to cover any expanse of skin for he doesn’t mind.

“Good morning, Katherine.” He smiled at her as he looked at her form clad in slacks and a white top. “You look lovely.” If anything, she just looked simply beautiful with a hint of elegance and an aura of being a classical beauty.

She nodded her head at him as she slightly fidgeted with her charm bracelet. “Feel free to use the laundry room if you want to change.”

“Want? So if I don’t want to, I can stay like this?” He smirked at her as he pointed at the white cloth around his pelvis. He asked her with one eyebrow raised.

She tilted her head to the right as she watched his form. “Yes, I kind of prefer that you cover your flesh for it hurts my eyes.” She said at him as she turned around away from his pompousness.

“Are you sure it does? It’s free to look…” She felt heat rising to her cheeks as she shook her head from left to right. “But you can’t touch.” That was the final straw of his self-absorbed ‘loveliness.’

She extended her right hand to the right and lifted her middle finger. And all she heard next was a deep chuckle from him and the shutting of the door.

If she was too dense and too numb, she would have felt as if all the pain of tomorrow was gone and they’re back to being ‘normal.’ But it’s not easy although he tried. He always tries yet he always fails.

The effort was very much appreciated but it’s not easy to go back to the past when no hearts were yet broken.

Thoughts of ‘what if’ and ‘why’ roamed her mind until her doorbell rang and shook her out of her trance; she went to the door as she bit her lower lip. It was one of her mannerisms when she was deep in thought.

The moment she opened the door, she was greeted with a warm smile, a cup of Starbucks coffee and a bag of croissants.

“Good morning, Katherine.” Dexter said as he showed her the treats her bought for their breakfast tryst.

She smiled at him for buying her breakfast and his chosen color for his polo. He was wearing pink and she can’t help but smile.

“You look…” She started to say as she scrutinized him from head to toe. “…gay.” She laughed as she took the coffee from him and let him enter her house as thoughts of another man left her mind.

“I prefer metrosexual.” He said as he went to the counter near the dining room where he placed the croissants. She followed him while holding the cups of coffee.

“Sure.” She said smiling. He turned around to face her, to reach for the cups so that he could place them in the counter while looking at her eyes.

“While you, you look…” He stared at the fullness of her lips and deepness of her gaze. “…comely.” She was beautiful, she really was.

“’Comely,’ you speak like a poet, Dexter.” She muttered as heat rose to her cheeks. She felt flattered especially with the way he looked at her. His gaze has a tinge of admiration with a trace of desire and wonder. She knew he liked her but she doesn’t know to what extent.

“But you look, ‘comely.’ And it’s not me to blame but your genes.” He smiled as he opened the bags of sweet pastry. She went to get some plates and utensils as she rolled her eyes with his argument.

“I’m guessing you blame my parents too.” She said as she sat opposite to him across the counter.

“Oh yes, I blame them for each passing one hell of a chromosome to you.” He said as he drunk from his coffee cup.

She took a bite of her croissant as she watched him gulp his drink.

“So you don’t like my DNA?” She said as she dropped her croissant to the plate and places her elbows on top of the counter while placing her chin on top her palms as she stared at him.

He chuckled at the sight of her. “You look like a petulant child who got a time off.”

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t like my genes, what am I suppose to do?”

“Oh I don’t know. Defend your honor or something?” He smiled as he reached for her croissant but she quickly slapped his hand.

“Oww.” He exclaimed as he patted his hand.

“Don’t you have your own croissant? And by honor you mean, my genes?” She smiled.

“Yeah. Can I have a bite, pretty please?” He gave her a shot of his puppy dog eyes.

“But you’re not pretty?” She said laughing.

“Ouch.” He feigned hurt as he placed a hand on his chest right across his heart. “You know…” He was breathing heavily, to accentuate his performance. “…my left lung has two lobes and ten segments while my right lung has three lobes and ten segments.” He looked down at his croissant as he sighed. “Thus, my left lung is smaller than my right to give space for my heart.” He looked up at her with pouting lips. “Which you just broke.”

She reached for his cheeks with her right hand. “Alright, baby.” She said mockingly as she patted his cheek hard. “You can have a bite of my croissant now.” She laughed at his acting.

He smiled smugly as he took a bite of her croissant and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Tastes good.” He said as he continuously chewed.

They were staring at each others’ eyes, smiling like fools lost in their little world when the door from the laundry room opened and a man came out buttoning his polo.

“Hey, Kathy, about awhile ago. I’m sorry for being cocky.” He said unaware of the other presence in the room. When he looked up at where she was, he saw Dexter.

Oh.

The whole time she was eating with Dexter, laughing, teasing, being with him, she has forgotten the man who has been dressed with nothing but a white towel awhile ago. Somehow she felt a pang of guilt. She bit her lower lip, trying to think of a rational thing to say. She wanted to explain herself to both men. But it’s not as if, she was obliged to do so.

But she felt guilty that Tony saw her with Dexter after a few minutes talking to him. But she felt guilty that Dexter saw Tony in her house as she spent time with him.

There was an awkward silence. But the silence seemed deafening. She swallowed the lump that has formed on her throat as she stared at her finger nails as if they’re the only thing that mattered.

Dexter gripped his fork tightly as he pounded its end continuously to the croissant on his plate. He was looking at Tony directly as he thought of the possible scenarios that might have happened before he came. Did he just sleep over? And if he did, where? Or did something ‘more’ had happened?

Tony tried to brush the creases on his polo as he watched with angered and curious eyes of this newfound being in the room. Just a few minutes ago, he was alone with her, no stranger, no enemy, no antagonist to ruin the play. He was the Romeo to her Juliet. And no one was supposed to ruin that ideal – not even his old friend.

Percy Bysshe Shelley once said, ‘Soul meets soul on lover’s lips.’

Lucidity of the Sea

2010-12-07T04:11:00.000-08:00

Waves crash against the bed of gloomy hue.
And I wonder if I should sail away
As I stand tall watching the spates of blue
Or stand still on the soft tanned sand and stay
But which way is better, I can not say.

If I chose to ride the wobbly brown boat
Will I survive Poseidon’s mighty sea?
As I travel its length of sparkling coat
I wonder and ponder, what will it be?
For the sea, it’s too big for you and me

If I chose to stay on the shore so rich,
What will my dainty fingers feel and touch?
Will I ever learn, to you I beseech,
Such wisdom and knowledge as great as such?
In all my young, raw flesh, I ask, how much?

There I stood with my chin up to the sky
For I’ve passed the roaring waves of the night
And through the rough stones I thrived as I try.
With blood and tears, I behold such lovely sight –
Me, free as a bird, captain of my life.

But all these are lost if I chose to stay
Be cared for, on the sand so soft and safe.
Thus, waves crash against the bed of blue paint
On the spates, I grasped now, I’m truly chafed
But which way is better, I can now say.

A Toast To My Slumber

2010-11-07T09:17:00.000-08:00

There will come a time when I’ll be able to write once more, when my poetic tongue has been cut, when my elegiac body has been drained, when my second to nothing of a soul has been delivered.

That is the time when I will write once more. Write not like a fool who pretends to know what he does not know. Write not like a wise man who knows what he does not know.

I shall write as if I do not belong in this world. I shall write as if I was a mere observer to this life, to my life, to yours. For I may have loved or been loved. For I may have hated or been hated. All these raw emotions are of no use to me now.

There will come a time when I would say, I’ve created the piece that will exude my very core.

But I have no core.

But I have a soul.

But I have nothing.

Someday I will write that one piece I would be proud of, that one piece I’ll take to my grave as I rot in ghastly abandon.

Someday I will write that one piece I would be ashamed of, that one piece that will expose me of my worth yet hide me from my previous idiocy.

Someday.

Not today.

Today I shall cherish yesterday and smile for tomorrow but I will frown for that ‘someday,’ because that moment shall mark the end of my glorious days. But my glorious days are not of glory or astounding beauty but of failure and atrociousness so vivid that you’ll find it magnificent.

And wonder of how I fall that way I fall, of how I lose the way I lose, of how I breathe the way I breathe when I should have taken no breath at all.

After which, another surge of blood will flow through me and it will flourish. It won’t be glorious. It won’t be beautiful. But it would be quite filling.

But again on that day, I say, my name will be forgotten yet my soul will thrive, will grow like it was a freshly youth void of neither knowledge nor emotion, a blank slate.

Yes, yes, it will be magnificent like my glorious days.

If and only if I have written that one piece can my soul find peace; then afterwards I can close my eyes, seal my lips, fold my hands and lay down to sleep. To a slumber of forever, I shall make a toast to that in my dreams.

Oh, how I miss…

Oh, how I wish…

Oh, how I grieve for my lost innocence and satisfaction.

One day, I shall write that one piece and on that day, I say, I shall lay in my coffin in peace.

- 1:07 A.M. November 8, 2010

Quite Interesting

2010-10-19T09:45:00.001-07:00

The world shook. The world crashed. The world died. But I wasn’t there, never was.

And so I closed my eyes and let my body be swayed with the raw emotion that oozed from my being. Oozed. Exuded. Words coming out from foolish lips, so don’t believe, don’t listen, don’t breathe. But then the fool has his own redemption, I have my own. Fool I was not. Fool I will be.

I shook. I crashed. I died. But the whole world wasn’t there, never was.

And so I smiled and let the world see how ecstatic I was for her abandonment. Oh boy, was she kind and oh so sweet, just like a mother to her newborn babe. Sweet. Wholesome. Words coming out from foul lips, so don’t believe, don’t listen, don’t breathe. But then the devil has his own intent and motives, I have my own. Foul I was not. Foul I will be.

So I’ll lament for days and grieve for years and cry for my pride and my senselessness. After which, I’ll be satisfied, is that it? No. There is more.

So there was this woman with, hmmm. She was, hmmm. Can I use the word, ‘perfect.’ But she is a mortal with flaws more than you or me. But she was ‘perfect.’ Alas, when a fool becomes damned and becomes all the more foolish, truly redemption has left his side. But hey, she was, hmmm.

‘Impeccable,’ free from all the sins of the world. But she was never holy, maybe sometimes, maybe by name but not always. Then what is she?

Hmmm.

So she’s quite interesting, isn’t it?

The sole focus of my romantic, idealistic mind is she. For my whole world is she. For she is the whole world to me.

Hmmm.

Senseless isn’t it?

She has a tale you see, filled with sorrow and pity and declaration of rebellion for the sake of her dignity. But she did not move, she did not fight but she proclaimed, she affirmed. But she did not fight, she did not move. Proclamations and affirmations have fallen to deaf, unworthy ears.

I’ve watched her from afar and saw how she has delicately, slowly and imprudently fallen to her lover’s ludicrous trap. So I found her flaw. Her flaw was him. My flaw was her.

An endless cycle for idiotic mortals who have lost their morals.

I envy no man and I would not start now. Truly, it’s interesting to watch her burn. I’ll be honest; I was sadistic enough to watch her get hurt; yet masochistic enough to feel the pain with her, for her.

Awhile ago, did I say ‘lover?’ The man who hurt her was her lover. And here I thought a lover is for love.

So she’s quite interesting, isn’t it?

I call her a fool but so am I.

Fool.

Fool.

Foolish fool.

Maybe one more time.

Fool.

Just a little more.

Fool.

I think I’m quite contented. Now, let’s start from the beginning.

The first time I saw her, I was caught of guard for she was the kind that takes your breathe away. Cliché isn’t it? But it is true. And days passed by, but she never lost her touch. I was never out of infatuation with her. Without knowing it, she had me begging for more. And that is how I met him, her ‘him.’ And no shit Sherlock. He was hers. She was his.

Consequently I untangled my soul from my body. And that is how I got to here. For I can not be an upright man in order to fulfill the need, the hunger of my flesh and yes, that theory of mine is right. That night I said goodbye and good day to my principles and ethics. Until now, I never see them again, feel them or even execute them. Like I said, I untangled myself from my very core. And it was great.

I watched her every move, every glance, every breath she take as much as I can. And I ended up enjoying the show within my reach, hurting for a scenario I don’t belong to.

I saw her cry with silent cries and invisible tears. Tell me, did she cry or did I?

He hurt her you see, left her and used her again repeatedly. I knew she wanted to stop, to halt this irrational war dedicated to bruised egos. But he did not listen, he did not care.

She loved him you see, held him and cared for him ceaselessly. That is why, my guts is filled with anger especially reserved for him.

She sat there, alone. But he just had to bring his ‘friend’ and give her a little show. If I was there then surely I’ve cursed out to the air he breathes, but I wasn’t. But still I can imagine the emotional torment he has blessed her.

It does not end there. He provoked her, continuously passing by her, first one to snap loses. She snapped. He didn’t. Can you blame her? I don’t.

But somehow I do; for she was weak to the touch when she was with him, vulnerable, easy to penetrate, annihilate and destroy. I blame her for being human.

She left and that’s when I saw her. She walked in a determined and quick pace. I saw the façade deliberately waned and all was left was a woman scorned.

I heard them talked once. I envied how the conversation started. It started with a kiss, quite sinful, isn’t it? Told you, she wasn’t holy.

Or maybe she was and he wasn’t. Hmmm. I’ll give her the benefit of a doubt. Or I won’t pull the wool over my eyes and believe what I want to believe concerning the beauty of all that is her.

Let’s go back to their conversation, shall we?

He kissed her. The kiss was neither sweet nor gentle. It was rough and raw. And she let him. They did it behind closed doors, behind prying eyes. Yet I saw them and I saw the way she looked at him. She loves him still.

He said, “I miss you,” as he held her hips and pressed her to him, lips still interweaved with one another. They looked into each others eyes and it almost looked like a fairytale. But then their story was not for little girls. She knew it. He knew it. They both knew it.

But no one said, they knew. No one affirmed what is true. For it will break the illusion for everyone.

She responded with a kiss, much fiery than his as her fingers burry themselves to his dark hair. His hands falling slightly down to her bottom feeling her up. She retorted by biting his lower lip as he groaned for the sudden emergence of pain. She placed one leg around his waist as he pressed her to the wall, his lips latched on the smooth flesh of her neck.

Quite the conversation, isn’t it? If only one could’ve seen how passionate they were. One may have given them an applause for long forgotten was Romeo and Juliet and their ill-fated love. Their love was different than any other love, for pain and pleasure, hatred and affection, suffering and bliss becomes one when it comes to them.

But he destroyed her, more ways than one. But he repeatedly hurt her, quite the inhumane monster he is. But he left her for someone who was not even worthy of comparison.

And all I can say is, such stupidity for someone who had it all. And by all, I mean her.

Such stupidity for someone who had her.

The world shook. The world crashed. The world died. But she wasn’t there, never was.

And so she closed her eyes and let her body be swayed with the raw emotion that oozed from her being. Oozed. Exuded. Words coming out from ignorant lips, so don’t believe, don’t listen, don’t breathe. But then the ignorant has his own redemption, she has her own. Ignorant she was not. Ignorant she will be.

She shook. She crashed. She died. But the whole world wasn’t there, never was.

And so she smiled and let the world see how ecstatic she was for her abandonment. Oh boy, was she kind and oh so sweet, just like a mother to her newborn babe. Sweet. Wholesome. Words coming out from numb lips, so don’t believe, don’t listen, don’t breathe. But then the dead has his own intent and motives, she has her own. Numb she was not. Numb she will be.

So this woman, hmmm.

She’s quite interesting, isn’t it?

- October 20, 2010 12:35 A.M.

Compassion, Anyone?

2010-09-29T00:49:00.000-07:00

When you have done a thousand of horrible things and when you have no quality worth respecting for, the moment you take air, breathe air, you do realize you are damned.

Ask for salvation, you must be a fool, an idiot to believe in such a poor ideal. Ask for compassion, you must be hopeful, an inutile to think you are worthy of any love.

I have done a lot of heinous things, so heinous I have forgotten how to love myself. I can not please everybody but I wonder now, is it better for the people to love you or for the people to fear you?

I have stopped striving for them to love me. But now I so effortlessly elicit fear from their bodies.

When I was young, stupid, weak and naïve, I saw the “bad guys” or the antagonists but I never hated them. I’ve always seen them as humans; may they have weapons of destruction, sharp tongues that can make the protagonist cry. They were human to me.

And now I’m older, no longer a child. I never believed in happy endings. They were never true. They were filled lies.

Everybody lied. Have I ever lied? No.

I just lied of course. I lied more than a hundred times to everybody else.

So would you love me now?

Thought so.

- August 24, 2010

8/23

Drunkenly Sober

2010-09-26T05:00:00.000-07:00

It was dark and solemn. It was my party but then all the guests left, except her. So now she’s across from me, holding her liquor quite well compared to any women I knew. Her hair was down and she looked fresh from the runway. She wore a simple blouse and a skirt yet for me she looked magnificent. She was leaning against the couch with her legs crossed, one hand holding the glass filled with alcoholic bliss. I can look at her for hours. That image of hers will be forever burnt in my memory.

But then she saw me looking and I felt so embarrassed around her because she’s like a masterpiece da Vinci painted, a work of art that all men wanted to see; for she was like Mona Lisa with that enigmatic smile yet she was different.

I swirled the glass as I criticized the amber liquid dancing with the ice. The amber liquid looked so precious inside the glass; it looked tranquil, quite serene, quite gentle, quite simple, quite elegant; quite beautiful. But then somehow in the middle I lifted my head and looked at her. Her dark chocolate eyes curtained by those soft eyelashes. Her dark chocolate eyes that act as windows of her soul. That was never true for me, for even if I looked deep in those dark orbs, I could never tell who she really was; for she was an enigma that can not be easily understand.

I left the glass on the coffee table, stood from where I sat and went towards her. I knelt on the floor in one knee as I gazed intently to her eyes. At first she was caught of guard to my sudden action but then I was always the one who liked giving surprises.

“You’re beautiful, very, very beautiful.” I smiled as the words left my lips.

So now I wondered which one was beautiful, for all was a blur in my horrid mind, the fluid that can take a man’s rationality for a short while or the face of the woman in front of me that can take a man’s heart – no, a man’s soul – no, a man’s lucidity – no, everything the man has – yes, without doubt yes; a face of the woman that can make a man forget who he is in a long, long while.

Along with my own ignorance of myself was my questionable struggle with my faith. For with just a mere smile from her can make me stop praising my own gods, with a mere touch from her can make me stop believing in my own principles. For even in my drunken state, I can say in full conviction how she is the epitome of all that is beautiful.

“You’re drunk, very, very drunk.” She was smiling, quite amused at my current state, maybe or how the way I slurred my words. But still she was beautiful and even if she laughed at me, how can I be angry? She always had a different way to make me happy.

May I be sober, may I be drunk, hath not the heart desires? Hath not the heart yearn for fondness and pleasures? Doth not the heart yield for love? For the heart is the same heart whether a man is sober, whether a man is drunk. For the heart still beats the same blood whether a man is sober, whether a man is drunk.

“Yet in my drunken state, I can still think of the many ways I can love you.” And then I heard her laugh. Truly, I should be thrilled for when she laughs, I can hear the universe sang in glee. But then what I say is true. Sober or not, drunk or not, I can still think of the many ways I can love her.

“You’re a childish fool when you’re drunk.” She reached for my face as she tried to pat my cheeks to sobriety. As if a mere pat can put me back to my sanity after losing it. It will not be enough. For when I lose my true state of sobriety, it was because I have gotten drunk of this so called ‘feelings’ for her.

‘Tis the foolishness that I am so proud of yet it does matter for I became a fool because of her.

I stood from where I knelt, sat beside her on my couch, leaned to my side as I once again cherish her undeniable beauty. I took the glass away from her and took her hand and pressed it to my chest, to my heart.

“I may be young yet I know quite well what love is. One can not deny how much I adore you, every fiber of your being.” I traced circles upon her palm with my thumb; her skin was so smooth, so soft. “Every inch of your skin, every corner of your soul.” Something changed within those dark chocolate eyes, they became softer and I felt my heart melt, I felt my heart pound.

“You make my blood boil, my insides churn, my manhood ache. You do all these things to me without even trying.” As my other hand held hers, I reached for her face with the other. I let my palm subtly caress her face yet I stopped because I can’t, I shouldn’t, for she was not mine. “It was as if, if you touch me now, you’ll hear a moan escaping from my throat as my body flinch by your first touch.” I felt her let go of my hand as she reached for the forgotten glass of liquor.

She does not look at me. I reached for her hand once more, placed it to my lips and whispered, “Who are you that you hold such control over my body?”

She stood up and faced her back at me. She drunk the alcohol so flawlessly but I know how the liquid will first burn her throat then give warmth to her body. I know the feeling quite well.

“You’re going to regret this by morning. And you’ll be so embarrassed.” Her voice was filled with false mirth. I knew to my heart how serious the words I have spoken.

“A man drunk is quite honest than he is sober.” I stood up and reached for her shoulder but then I was still drunk and can not fully control my body, so I fell to the couch, pulling her down with me. She turned around and so now I can feel her body pressed against mine. If this is not heaven then what is?

“Tell me, did you lure me to you the first time I saw you?” She was silent and I was silent too. I can stay like this forever, holding her close against me; I can do this forever, for it felt so easy.

I held the small of her back as my other hand relinquished the feel of her face. Naturally no men can easily touch her for she does not like it. But she let me and so maybe I’m different compared to any men.

“Let me have you tonight, let me kiss you once, touch you once, have you once. And forever will my soul rest in peace.”

I may have said my final wishes before my death. And if I had it all, I will happily welcome death face to face and seal the pact with my own blood.

She leaned into me and closed the distance with her lips. Her lips were soft and warm and inviting, her kisses were gentle, passionate and loving.

Of my sober state and false intoxication, of my growing hope and false despair, of my sane soul and false inebriation, I had a taste of heaven and answered were all my prayers.

- September 26, 2010 7:00 P.M.

How the Imbeciles Play

2010-09-22T08:41:00.000-07:00

“Because saying she’s beautiful out loud is not enough. It does not give justification to her level of perfection. How can any man defile such excellence, such faultlessness? If they have touched her skin and not wince or were not left in awe then surely those people are lucky; for it means that her spell has not haunted them, has not bound them in an endless euphoria of addicting heroin. But what of the poor souls who have their mouths hanging on her every word, mouths salivating, saliva drooling, quite astonished really. Like an imbecile trapped inside a tiny room filled with Shakespeare’s words and Pythagoras’ theorems.”

He took a large in take of breath as he felt his fingers gripped the notebook tighter than before. His voice dry and hoarse and all the more rough, for his own writings have made a huge impact on him.

“Wouldn’t the imbecile lose his sanity inside the cage where his intelligence does not even reach the mere standard of the room itself. I must be running around in circles. For when I think about her, I am an imbecile losing what’s left of him, losing his own sanity and as the seconds ticked by, little by little losing his sanctity. And so the imbecile becomes a sinner, committing sins that will leave him in eternal damnation, immoral really, quite heinous, atrocious; for she can bring out the monster inside of me, the beast that is so hungry for flesh, her flesh of course. And so the imbecile becomes a sinner and the sinner becomes a monster, a beast of his own fantasy.”

He closed his mouth as the words fall to deaf ears. He was standing in front of her as he read from the thin pages of the old notebook he kept for all time’s sake. His fingers began to shake as he fidgeted with them with one another. She was sitting on her seat, her long legs crossed, her back pressed against the chair.

From where he stood, he can see every contour of her body, every curve. He can even imagine the expanse of skin covered by the cotton clothing. The cotton blouse was quite smooth to the touch. He has touched it once, accidentally of course. But then he has touched her skin once, on purpose really. The smoothness of the cotton does not compare.

Her lips were pursed, burrows furrowed, fingers twirling the strands of her that have fallen from the carefully coiffed bun. She looked beautiful really. He studied history a lot, from Asia to Europe, from the ancient times to the current events. And by now, he knew quite well who Aphrodite is. She’s the goddess of beauty. But when he looked at her, effortlessly flawless, Aphrodite began to lose her touch. Aphrodite does not compare.

And then she tilted her head to the side and her enticing neck started to tempt his weak resolve. He used to be a man and now he turned into a beast. Oh, the evolution of his soul is quite entertaining to watch, now is it?

Sweat started to form on his brow as he walked towards the seat across from her. Each step he took was calculated even the pace was rehearsed for he believed that when he is with her, he must be the best man he can ever be. She deserved the best more than anyone he can imagined.

And when he said the best, he meant it. He saw her lips curl into a smile, those lips so pink, so full like a freshly bloomed pale rose on a warm Sunday morning.

“Did it hit a little too close to home?” Her voice sounded teasing. If only she knew how she made him feel. She started to touch the pendant of her necklace, a habit she does when she’s thinking.

He guessed she doesn’t know how every action she makes has a corresponding powerful and much greater reaction from him. A mere smile can leave him breathless, a mere touch can leave him enticed, a mere hug can leave him paralyzed and when his fortunate, a mere kiss can leave him yearning for more.

He sat in front of her and pushed the chair even closer towards her. He can never get enough of her. And so from the beast, he became an addict. Although the difference is she is he’s different kind of heroin.

“Yes it did.” His voice was serious; of course it is, for what he said was true.

“And so the imbecile becomes a sinner, committing sins that will leave him in eternal damnation, immoral really, quite heinous, atrocious; for she can bring out the monster inside of me, the beast that is so hungry for flesh, her flesh of course. And so the imbecile becomes a sinner and the sinner becomes a monster, a beast of his own fantasy.” His heart beat at a quicker rate, pounding rather fast and hard. His blood boiling; warm, red, blood flowed through his veins.

He knew the words by heart. He proclaimed those words by heart. He said those words as succinct as he can to make a point. It’s quite torturous really for a man to say or do something and wait for what is to come. And so he closed his eyes for a second; a second to think, a second more to feel and a second more to heal.

“And now that he’s a beast, what happens next?” She was entertained and so was he. For her smile was quite magnificent, quite magnetic and quite mesmerizing.

He thought about her question as thoroughly as he can. But then he has no answer for he was still a beast yearning for a taste of her flesh, for he was still an enthusiast addicted to her.

He shook his head from side to side as he smiled on her perfect form

She smiled.

He smiled.

The play ended with a smile.

- 11: 40 P.M. September 22, 2010

Thief

2010-08-24T03:51:00.000-07:00

Death is like a thief,

Who robs you of your life;

Who robs you of your hopes;

The biggest strife of your life.

If only it is gentle like a mother’s touch,

If only it is lovely like the kiss of the sun,

Maybe it’ll be easier,

Maybe it’ll be fair,

Maybe it’ll be humane.

But still it’s like a thief,

Who robs you of your rights;

Who robs you of your dreams.

Yes, it is like a thief,

Swift like a fox,

Poisonous like a snake,

More tragic than Shakespeare’s epic tales.

- June 28, 2010 12:00 P.M.

Burnt

2010-08-20T07:58:00.000-07:00

She screamed and screamed and screamed. Then there was blood, there was crimson, there was scarlet, there was red.

But then her lips were always beautiful even if they were tainted of blood that was not hers.

"Hello, beautiful. I've been a hundred years too late." He walked slowly towards her, firm, calculated steps.

"Yet it feels like you've never been gone." She hissed at him as fangs made themselves known. Her fangs were sharp yet he enjoyed playing with them with his tongue when they kiss. Then blood would trickle down his lips and she will lick it off.

Almost instantly the wound would heal but start with blood and they would end it with insatiable lust.

"It's been a long time, Ma Cherie." His voice was soft, his eyes filled with melancholy lust. Lust. It had always been lust. That insatiable lust that made them want more, made their bodies crave, made their souls be damned.

"You burnt me." Her voice was neither sad nor broken, neither tormented nor hurt. It sounded satisfied.

"I love the way you burned yet now I wonder; where are the scars, sweetheart?" Her skin covered with satin from where he stood, she has not seized to amaze him. Her bow, scarlet lips, always pouted yet always looked so tempting.

She retracted her fangs as she went towards him. Long auburn tresses curtained her fox-like face. He missed her scent, scent so sweet, he wet his lips. She smelt of vanilla and almonds.

"Do you want to see the scars?" She fidgeted the choker of her necklace. He ended up mesmerized at the expanse of skin revealed by the dress.

He traced with his finger tips her collarbone slowly trailing his way downwards as he looked at her dark hazel eyes. She smirked as she bit her lower lip.

"Yes." His voice sounded hoarse. He tried to restrain the carnal thoughts that started to roam around his mind but she had always given life to his inner beast.

She turned around as she went back to the victim sprawled on the carpeted floor she had just drained.

"Do you want to burn her as well?" He saw her merciless fangs once more.

- August 20, 2010

Ignorance is Bliss

2010-08-17T09:53:00.000-07:00

She is incredible. If there is one person I’ll adore, it would be her. One can find oneself easily adoring her. One can find oneself easily loving her. But one would find it hard to fight for her. For she is tender yet sharp like a rose covered with hundreds of thorns. She is bright, almost untouchable; too magnificent for the human eyes to behold.

I wonder how her voice sounds like when she speaks of my name, for she is perfect like a goddess, mysterious like a nymph, irresistible like a minx. I wonder now, why only now did I see such perfection. She has defied humanity at its best.

This maybe an unhealthy obsession when she has clouded my mind with endless images of her smile; this maybe a strong infatuation when my eyes always lingered a little too long than necessary when I look at her; but what I know is I can’t take my eyes off of her.

There is something in her smile that makes me shiver, something in her being that makes me lose my composure. She is too perfect. Until now, I have not seen any trace of flaw for maybe it is possible that a wool has been laid to cover my eyes and now all I see is an image of a faultless beauty.

I’ll be damned if I never see her face again. Tell me to hold her hand, without doubt I’ll take it. Tell me to kneel in front of her, without hesitation I’ll do it. Tell me to forget her, without reservation I’ll hissed at you for how dare you to ask me to kill myself.

I may sound too dramatic, too melodramatic; theatrical perhaps, but my body is restless, so are my mind and my soul. I’m a writer. I write what I want to write. I write what I need to write. I may use the ink of my pen for melancholy reasons or maybe to uplift my spirit. But right now, I rather use that ink to say how much I like…? I can not use the word ‘like.’ How much I love…? I can not use the word ‘love.’

I maybe shallow, I maybe deep. I do not like her. I do not love her. ‘Like’ is too shallow. ‘Love’ is too deep. But my whole mind is so wrapped up around her. I’ll eat and I think about her. I’ll speak and I think about her. I’ll sleep and I think about her. I’ll write and she’ll always be in my mind.

She has taken over my identity. There’s just something in her smile that leaves me breathless.

She does not know how much she has affected me. But that does not stop me from admiring her beauty. I’m an admirer, far, far away. Too far, maybe. But I rather be far from her than lose her completely.

She’s like water. I try so hard to catch it but after a few seconds would I only realize the spaces between my fingers. The water would slowly escape from my hold. Just like her. In my dreams, I may have caught her already. In my dreams, I may have had her already. But in reality, the ever so present spaces, the ever so present truth, is that I will never fully have her.

I may have a chance to look at her. I may have a chance to hear her voice. I may have a chance to touch her but I know she’ll never be mine. I may have a chance but a chance does not give you certainty. It’s a probability, never a foregone conclusion.

Her hair as dark as ebony, her eyes as deep as the ocean, her lips as pink as a fully bloomed rose on a warm May afternoon, they always leave me breathless.

Ignorance is bliss. If only I’m not knowledgeable of what is true and what is real. Then maybe I can pretend, I can believe that still I have a chance. I was never meant to have her and I blame fate for being too cruel.

- 12:40 A.M. August 18, 2010

Free

2010-07-25T01:01:00.000-07:00

All of us want to be free
Yet we’re chained because we chose not to see
All of us want to be free
Yet only a few chose to stand up and see

All of us our chained one way or another
Yet only a few has gotten free
All of us have used our conscience matter after matter
Yet sometimes some fail like me.

Some of us believe in second chances
Some wanted it while some needed it
Some of us give importance to their conscience
Some obeyed it while some forgot it

All of us are human, in bones and in flesh
Our conscience will put our sore spirits to rest
At first I thought, how can you be certain
I realize now, for it is written

For God is the source of the voice within us
The father who loves his children very much
And I hope its strong resolve will last
For doing the good, is every human’s task

All of us want to be free
Have faith do the good if you want to be
Our conscience will act as a key
If we truly want-need- to be free

It Would Be Great

2010-07-19T04:06:00.000-07:00

He closed his eyes as he relished the feel of his finger tips brushed against her body. It was always his guilty pleasure yet a pleasure he can not entertain for touching her always seemed like a dream. For there are boundaries that he can not break, boundaries he can not violate. For there is a thin line between admiration and lust, and as the days past, as the nights drew to a halt, he was crossing the line, and the ever so innocent admiration turned into a perverse lust.

For she was still young, still a tender flower under his penetrating gaze, and yet he can’t stop himself for as her beauty glistened under the shining sun, he was reminded of how cruel fate was to him. For if maybe, he was born the same time as hers then maybe he can freely hold her hand without judgment or doubt from anyone, and maybe he can call her name with awe lacing his voice for the truth was he loved the way her name fall from his lips, “Bianca”

And yet, when he called her, something still lacked for a part of him wished, a part of him hoped that the next time he called her, she would smile at him and call him by his given name, not with the word ‘sir’ or ‘mr’ but his given name. For if she said it, then maybe he can imagine that they have escaped from the endless torment reality was bringing to his soul. For the truth was when he wished for love to catch his being, he never realized that his heart will yearned for her.

For she was young, too young yet she was beautiful, yet she was amazing and magnificent and sometimes she just took his breath way; ever since the day he told her that she was beautiful with her hair down, the image that she was a woman not just a naïve child never left his memory.

For everyday, he’ll see her face, he’ll watch for her smile and he can dream that he was a teenage boy again. And maybe if he just dreamed hard enough, wished hard enough, cupid with grant him his wish that he may experience just one day with her, a day where he was at a same age as hers; for it would be the only way to balance out the natural order of things.

Chances are, time would fade and his memories in her mind would fade, but before everything went to a blur, before everything became just figments of her imagination, he wished to hold her hand, kiss her lips for if he has done those things, he can proudly say, that he held her once, kiss her once and that one time was enough for him to hold onto her forever.

“Sir?” Her voice was soft and gentle and enough for him to melt under her gaze. And so he savored the way she called his name yet he wished, that she would just called him, ‘Mark.’

And when he turned around to look into her eyes, he saw his dream and his hopes in her dark brown orbs. For maybe today was not the right time. For maybe after a few years, he’d be able to call her name with that tinge of awe lacing his voice. For he does admire her much more than a teacher would to his student, much more than a friend would to another. He admires her as much as a lover would to his flame.

And so he wished as the winds moved against their bodies that when the time was right, he’d be able to close the short distance between the two of them and feel her lips move against his, as her beating heart beat next to his, for if that happens he can proudly say that he has kissed her and she has kissed him back. And it would make his world cease to exist and it would be wonderful, it would be great.

- 7:00 P.M. July 19, 2010

Help Me Fly Away

2010-07-09T22:38:00.000-07:00

Give me wings and maybe I’ll learn how to fly.

Give me courage and maybe I’ll learn how to fight.

Give me love and maybe I’ll learn how to live.

Give me faith and maybe I’ll learn how to believe.

For what is a man without a beating heart?

For what is a man without a soaring soul?

For what am I without you by my side?

For what am I without hope and love in my life?

Dead.

Give me a pen and maybe I’ll learn how to write.

Give me your eyes and maybe I’ll learn how to see.

Give me your heart and maybe I’ll learn how to love.

Give me all of you and maybe I’ll fly like a dove.

For where is a human who forgot how to love?

For where is a human who forgot how to believe?

For where is a man who took his own life?

For where am I if life left my side?

Hell.

I Solemnly Swear

2010-07-09T22:36:00.000-07:00

Of dark eyes and empty gazes,
I’ve been mesmerized ever since.

Of ebony hair and midnight dazes,
I feel gut wrenching bliss.

Of sunny days of Sunday mornings,
My soul yearns for it’s core.

Of silent nights of Friday evenings,
My senses yearn for her more.

As afternoon turn to solemn nights,
I watch the sun go down and rest.

As midnights turn to early sights,
I dream of her with a heaving chest.

Of trembling fingers I truly swear,
Infatuation is all I have for her.

Yet my insides involuntarily quivers,
For I’m not certain, I’m not sure.

Of broken promise and tainted rose,
I’ll redeem myself from this reverie.

Of forced circumstance and foolish hope,
I’ll resurrect back to life my sanctity.

1:05 P.M. July 10, 2010

Fate Said

2010-07-09T22:34:00.000-07:00

When my letters have faded
When my roses have wilted
When the melody of my songs have been forgotten
One thing will last, that, I believe
For I’ve promised you, eternal bliss
For I’ve promised you, unconquerable faith
For I’ve promised you our love will last
It will last throughout the years, throughout the centuries
Even if our mortal bodies have long been buried
Even if our tormented souls have long left the earth
Our memories will forever live
Our love will forever grow
Our love shall be envied by everyone
For it is strong yet vulnerable
For it is pure yet tainted
For it is, us who shared it
You, who has a voice of an angel
You, who has a touch a nymph
And me, who has a hold of a blacksmith
Me, who’ll love you more than Cupid ever will
For he has struck me with his bow and arrow
And destiny worked with him hand and hand
Fate said we’re meant to be together
And forever we will last.

11:00 AM
June 6, 2010

Teach Me How to Fly

2010-06-12T07:59:00.000-07:00

‘For heaven will be forever far away and happiness has taken its toll. And life has left her body and love has left her soul.’

Give me wings and maybe I’ll learn how to fly.

He spread her arms like a dove as he looked into her eyes, watching as the soft doe color darkened as the seconds passed by.

“Spread your legs, love.” He murmured with voice so soft that she let herself loose and vulnerable and open and fragile.

Soft bodies lied on the cotton sheets under the moon and the stars. Souls hovering beings in candle lit room filled with rose petals, wretched hope and diminishing sanity.

Give me courage and maybe I’ll learn how to fight.

She blinked once, twice for she was not sure of what was to come. She sat up straight, covered her breasts with one hand, the other pushing him away. For chastity was important. For purity was celebrated. For after this she’ll feel dirt lingering on her form after a dozen baths, a dozen scrubs. The dirt will still be there.

“This is not right.” She was looking away, avoiding her gaze from their naked bodies and their bare souls. Her insides shook and turned cold and confused as if her body pleaded with her to stop. She moved away from him, away from his eyes, from his touch, from his flesh. It was too real.

She covered her body with the thin sheets.

Give me love and maybe I’ll learn how to live.

He reached for her, let the warmth of his hand touched her shaking form.

“I want this. Don’t you want this to happen?” His voice was soft and soothing. His touch was warm and inviting. She leaned to his touch and closed her eyes as she felt him leaned forward. She can smell his scent. He smelt of cigars and alcohol and strong perfume. Yet her senses yearn to taste him, feel him, have him.

“Do you really love me?” Her voice was weak and trusting. Her touch was desperate and hoping.

She needed this. She needed him. It was a reason enough to live by.

Give me faith and maybe I’ll learn how to believe.

“Don’t you believe me?” He kissed her cheek. Her body used to be so chaste, untouched.

She felt his lips caress her collar bone, his hands carefully removing the sheets from her body, the barrier from the sacrifice.

“I believe you.” That night she’ll sacrifice herself to him. For what are vows if they are not worth to live for?

For what is a man without a beating heart?

When he pounded into her, she screamed and whimpered. Her insides twisted in pain at the first thrust. She felt blood oozed from her insides. She felt her own heart beat quicken it’s usual pace and throbbed louder than before.

She placed her hand on his chest, wanting to know if they feel the same. Yet when she looked into his face, it was as if he does not care. Pupils dilate, mouth slightly agape, he does not care about her. And somehow she felt nothing of his heart.

It was no longer beating. It was no longer beating for her.

Horrified of the new information she has gained, she screamed as he pounded for the last time. Her sanity screamed, ‘Go, move away’ yet her body stayed. Her body stayed to be enslaved by the pleasure debauchery has given to her.

For what is a man without a soaring soul?

She screamed for the last time. She screamed for her impurity. She screamed for her loss. She screamed for her sanity as she felt her body shook as indulgence riveted her to the core. She forgot to scream for her soul.

He pulled himself out. She felt used. It was as if she was nothing but a thing, used to gain pleasure, used to gain something.

What was left of her soul? Nothing was enough to make it livid, to make it alive.

She covered herself for she does not praise or admire her nakedness. She was not foolish. But she felt foolish.

For what am I without you at my side?

She laid there, her body still aching. She knew he was beside her, he was physically there. And still, it was if he was not.

They lay there for a few minutes. She felt him move and when she saw him, he was standing up, putting his clothes back on and leaving her side.

But he left her the moment he started to not care.

What is she now, she does not know. She’s not aware.

For what am I without hope and love in my life?

She sacrificed herself for nothing. After which, hope and love left her life. She hugged her body tightly. She was afraid to be alone, to not feel needed, loved.

She felt unshed tears threatening to fall. She held it in. For maybe, he’ll stay, he’ll not go.

He wore his pants so eagerly and so leisurely as if she was not there, sprawled naked on his rented bed, in this rented room. He buttoned his shirt as if love was not present at all. It was casual. She has been a part of a routine.

Yet she held those tears in for maybe there was still hope.

But now how can she hope, if she knew, she’s only pretending to herself.

Dead.

One word, one syllable, four simple letters, that’s what she is.

She sat up, still holding the sheets over her body, trying her best to cover some flesh that were exposed so long ago, that were continuously used one hour ago.

She opened her mouth to speak yet no words escaped her lips.

She felt dead.

Give me a pen and maybe I’ll learn how to write.

She willed herself to speak. After a few seconds of thinking of what to say, words came out of her lips.

“Where are you going?” Her voice was pleading. Yet she does not care. How can he leave now?

“I’m going to leave, love.” He smiled. Yet she does not understand why. She was close to tears, her body angry with itself. While he was smiling, so elated and proud. Is there something she missed about making love?

“Why?” She clearly did not comprehend the words that he has said.

“Do I need to teach you everything about sex?” He laughed a throaty laugh. It was the opposite of the gentle voice she used to hear.

Give me your eyes and maybe I’ll learn how to see.

“Don’t you understand? This relationship will not last, sweetheart. It was a spur of the moment.” He was shaking his head as is she was some fool.

And she was.

When he started to speak, it dawned to her that she was wrong. She now saw, the error of her ways. She now saw what he knew all along. He was the master who taught her what regrets felt like.

She saw the truth. Yet she can not understand. What had she done wrong, to feel such pain and hurt?

No one can answer that question but him. Yet she was afraid to ask. For maybe his answer will only thrust deeper the dagger that has contacted her chest, making the pain a lot more irreparable.

Give me your heart and maybe I’ll learn how to love.

“I thought you said, you gave your heart to me. And that’s when I love you. Did it mean nothing?” Her voice did not sound angry. It sounded hurt and grieving.

She taught she knew what love was when he came to her life.

She clutched the sheets harder as if her life depended on it. If she let go of the sheets, it was as if she has let go of her life, of control, of her sanity.

She thought she was brilliant when he told those words to her, making her feel that love was in her life and all of her life’s purpose was complete. But what of now? Now that, the cold truth was she was a fool.

No heart was given to her. No true love between two was really there. She played in a foolish game where all players were fools.

Give me all of you and maybe I’ll fly like a dove.

He leaned into her and kissed her cheek. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He was smirking. He was happy. He was satisfied.

She can’t let him go, not now.

She held his shoulders, pulling him to her, letting go of the cotton sheets as she held onto him. She felt bare, her breasts exposed to the cold breeze yet she held onto him.

“Please stay.” And maybe there was still hope. She tried to soar for maybe there was a chance that she can fix this mess that she has succumbed into. Like a dove that symbolizes peace and purity and love.

“I can’t, sweetheart. That’s not how this works.” She tried to argue but he did not listen, he did not care.

He pulled her hands away from his body as if now she was nothing but an old broken toy. Then he left. And she started to whimper.

For where is a human who forgot how to love?

She wept and wiped those tears with the back of her hands. She was naked now, no cotton sheets to cover her. She felt tainted and unclean.

Her body covered in sweat, her face drenched in tears. Her hair was such in disarray. Her body blemished with sinful lust and sorrow.

She was once like a doll, so pretty and innocent, so clean and glad. But now, she does not feel like a human. For humans have dignity. And they still know how to love. They may be in earth or in purgatory for what they had done or what they have been doing. But still they know how to love.

What of her? She got hurt. And her feelings were trampled upon like a piece of trash. She clenched her fists, making sure that her sharp nails dig themselves into her skin. She wanted that physical pain. She wanted to see that dark scarlet liquid oozing from her skin, to make sure she’s still alive; alive to live, alive to love.

She lost respect of herself. She lost that love she honored herself every day. She lost her dignity by staying on his rented bed filled with their fluids, their sweat and her blood. She smelt of manly musk and sex. She felt dirty, dirty like a harlot after a dozen visitors a night.

It was better if she knew nothing of love, if she never felt it in the first place.

For where is a human who forgot how to believe?

She felt the blood trickling down her palms; she let them stain the already scarred sheets. Then she wiped her hands dry. She covered herself once more of the cloth and walked towards the bathroom. It was funny how sore she felt outside and inside.

She can handle physical pain, the excruciating pain that you’ve been stretched and was used as a hole and continuously pounded upon, the awful pain to know and to feel that in the morning her palms will be filled with tiny wounds that were made solely by her.

But she can’t handle emotional pain.

She was once that girl who believed in love and the happy feelings it brought. But as she tried to walk as normally as she can while holding the blanket over her body, she knew now, that it was hard to believe in any of the ideals she had as a child.

Because when she believed, at the end she felt tortured and cheated. Because she can’t trust anyone now but herself. He thought her that.

For where is a man who took his own life?

The tiles were cold as she took careful steps. She felt sticky. She wanted to wash herself. She needed to wash herself, to rid of his touch, of his kiss that lingered even when he already left.

She reached the bathroom and washed her hands first with the mediocre soap with no appealing scent. She scrubbed her hands clean as she winced for the wounds. She looked up to the mirror and judged herself.

She was disgusted at her reflection. She let go of the cloth that covered her torso. She gazed at her firms breasts, at her flat stomach, at her swollen privates. She was appalled at her appearance.

Believing in love does not suffice living life. She has nothing to live for. It was such a cliché to say that. But what is there to live for? World peace? Hardly. God’s mercy? Maybe. Plain love? Never.

It was not enough. She was left with no reason to hold onto in living. She used to be so hopeful, so optimistic. But learning first hand how to lose her dignity and love at the same time was enough reason for her to grow weary and afraid of breathing.

For where am I if life left my side?

She was in college when their teacher asked them if it’s better dying alive or living dead. She said it was a thousand times better to leave the earth knowing you live your life at its best. And that she was happy that she was always bubbly and hopeful.

But now, she was the latter, a living dead. Might as well end a life not worth saving.

But first, she’ll destroy her health then end her life some other day. She was never a planner. But she’ll plan her death perfectly, but this was neither the place, nor the time to do so.

She knelt down next to the porcelain bowl, pushed her hair away from her face and leaned into it. She pushed two fingers down her throat as she felt herself gagged. She pushed down the fingers deeper. She felt vomit rising. That’s when she purged her lunch that day. She continued to throw up, wanting to feel empty, so empty.

It was better this way. It was better than taking her life in a matter of seconds, than slitting her throat or her wrist as she bled to death for a few minutes or hours. It was better that she let life deteriorate from her body as excruciatingly slow and painful as possible.

For maybe, if she felt so much pain, she’ll still feel human, she’ll still feel sane.

Hell.

For heaven will be forever far away and happiness has taken its toll. And life has left her body and love has left her soul.

10:39 P.M. June 12, 2010

Some Things Don't Change

2010-04-18T10:21:00.001-07:00

“I miss you.” She said hugging him. She just got off the plane fresh from another world. Her hair may have changed; her wardrobe may have altered; her perspective may have revolutionized but her feelings for him stayed the same.

He still has the same smile and the same hazel caramel eyes and the same morning stubble. And he still is the same boy she fell for nine years ago.

It has been awhile since she last saw him. She was a child and he was her ‘big brother’, a big brother, not her real big brother. He was her big brother’s best friend. And as if automatically she became his ‘little sister.’

He was the boy that ate with them during traditional family Sunday brunch. He was the boy that would play cross word puzzles under the old oak tree outside their two-storey house. He was the boy that would play basketball with his brother and all the girls cheered for him and swooned over him and he would smile at them. He was the boy who became her baby sitter when her nanny or her older brother was too busy to care. He was the boy who tucked her to bed and told her all these funny stories, adventure chronicles and most of all fairy tales.

And sometimes he would kiss her forehead and she felt someone cared. She would feel her heart pounding a little bit harder and she can feel it slowed down. She would smile as she can feel waves of warmness and coldness and they’re two different things yet the feeling made her feel alive.

He smelt of spring and after morning shave and manly musk. And she remembered the first time she hugged him.

She was twelve and he was seventeen. And there was a storm and she felt so alone and scared. The loud thunder woke her up like big guns were fired and she doesn’t know where to go. Amid the darkness, she has no where to go. All she can see were flashes of light outside her window that would electrocute anyone who blocked their way. And she was afraid of lightning and thunder and her head was screaming ‘Save yourself’ and she’s too much of a coward to face anything.

She closed her eyes as she felt the warm tears fell down her cheeks. She tried to close herself from the world, to forget the fear. But as the roaring sound of thunder broke her solace, as the anguish that lightning brought burned her eyes from seeing its mighty torment, she shivered and shook to tears.

And again she closed her eyes, until she felt someone hugged her from the back and covered her ears with his palms. She looked up with tear stained eyes and she saw him. He smiled and he nodded his head. It was as if he understood. And he did.

One year later, she was thirteen; the boys were hanging out in their living room and it rained. She covered her ears as she felt the rage of the storm. Ever since he covered her ears from that moment on she’ll remember him and does what he did. She saw him, he covered his ears and he shut his eyes.

“What is he doing?” A friend of his brother asked.

“He’s scared of the storm.” Her brother muttered. “Who wants to watch Indiana Jones?” Her brother smirked as he held the DVD in his hand with triumph.

On that day she realized, he covered her ears to protect her from the storm and let his own ears hear all the scary things she heard before. He was sweet and thoughtful and she can’t forget the memory.

“How was your flight?” He smiled at her as she reminisced of the past. He has the softest voice yet he was the strongest man she has ever known. He was a man that others won’t easily comprehend.

He would let bullies hurt him. And they would call him a wimp. But the moment those bullies hurt her, he would defend her. And does everything he can to make her happy.

She was thirteen and he was eighteen. He was in college and he’s doing good. He was a member of the basketball team and the chess club. And she was in high school and she was average albeit beautiful. She always thought he was soft when people laughed at him and he would not show his anger even though it was hurtful. He would stay silent and walk away.

He was an only child and his mother left him and his father for another man. And everyone knew it. And he’s father doesn’t care and became emotionally detached. He was financially secured but he doesn’t have a family. He was popular and some people just wanted to see him crumble even just for awhile.

They would say, ‘He was gay.’ or ‘He was weak,’ or ‘His mom was a whore,’ or ‘His dad was a thief,’ and sometimes ‘His family was a big sham.’ He would not say anything. He would just leave. And she thought back then, maybe he was soft.

Two years later, she was fifteen; something happened in her high school days that she can’t fail to recall. She spilled juice to the most popular girl in her batch then suddenly high school became hell. She would be teased by those amateur girls and sometimes to the extent of humiliating her in front of everyone. And as soon as she got home, she would cry. It was as if with one mistake, she became the popular girls’ favorite toy that they would make fun of.

He heard about the rumors that she has lice or she has body odor from her brother. And he was told that she would cry about it. He knew all those rumors were false. He believed she doesn’t deserve them.

One night, she was seated on the couch watching television and he sat beside her.

“Is something bothering you?” He muttered as he took the remote from her.

“We can talk about it. I don’t judge.” He smiled.

She told him everything about those mean girls and the insults and the rumors and the tears. And she just had to ask him the reason why he doesn’t defend himself, if he’s weak or he was just too much of a coward to say anything.

And he told her something that made her stronger. He has a different way of defending himself.

“They don’t know me. And they don’t have the right to tell me who I am. I’m not gay. I’m not weak. My parents aren’t a whore and a thief. They’re just lost people who can’t find their way.” He wore a sad smile after that.

“They don’t know you. You don’t have lice or body odor although you snore when you sleep.” He joked as he messed up her hair.

“Hey.” He always knew how to make light of things and the ‘snoring comment’ made her laugh. She took a throw pillow and threw it at his face.

“That’s for telling me I snore.” She said before he pinched both her cheeks.

“And you’re strong. And not shallow like those other girls. Understood? You don’t fight because you can’t defend yourself. You don’t fight because you’re better than them.” She nodded her head and he let go of her cheeks.

Some may think that when he gave her advice, it didn’t mean he was defending her. But for her, when he gave that advice, he defended her when he believed in her, when he believed that she was strong enough to fight everything.

He smiled at her again and he stood up. With his back turned away from her, he laughed.

“You really do snore.” And when he turned around, he winked at her.

“The flight has been tiring. So how have you been?” She asked him. Aging has done him good. He looked tired with the half moons under his eyes. He looked manlier when she felt his hands. His hands were softer back then. Maybe because, he aged and with him being a workaholic and being the kind man he was, it didn’t shock her that his hands were a little bit calloused.

Her brother said, he would work in their company for hours. Then afterwards he would go home and write some literary pieces like short stories or poetries that would inspire people. He never got a hand with computers. He was traditional, with the paper and the pen. And again he would work for hours. And when he’s satisfied he would sleep. And do the same thing again and again. At weekends he would go down town and volunteer. He would help build houses for the homeless. He would build those houses and make them homes.

He was the kindest boy she has ever known.

She was fourteen and he was nineteen. He was interning that summer for his father and she was bored with her vacation. He would run errands, photocopy some papers, send some mails or get coffee for the boss. She would just sleep and eat and use the computer. She was too lazy to move, yet she was too bored to sleep.

He would work eight hours a day. After the work he would go to their house, he practically lived there and her family welcomed him. It was as if their house, their home was his home too.

Everyday, he’d get her something special after his job. She appreciated every single one of those things because it came from him.

“I’m bored. How’s you intern thing?” She asked as she laid on the couch her face pressed on the sofa itself. She was lying at her front, chest pressed to the leather seat.

“It was same old, same bore.” He laughed as he went to the kitchen to get a bowl.

Two minutes later he came back and went to the coffee table and placed a bowl full of strawberries.

“Hungry?” He asked as he took one strawberry and bit from it.

Almost immediately, she flipped over and looked at what he’s talking about and she saw the food.

“For me?” She asked sarcastically as she sat straight on the sofa.

“Yes for you.” He took another strawberry and handed it to her.

“Seriously?” Sometimes she was not just used to the fact that he was always nice to her.

“Seriously.” He placed the strawberry to her lips. She opened her lips and he dropped the strawberry to her mouth.

Sometimes he would buy her food, from chocolates to fruits, from teas to shakes. And sometimes he would buy her trinkets for her charm bracelet or ribbons for her hair. And she would always thank him and he would always smile at her.

When she was bored that summer, she always thought of what it would feel to intertwine her fingers with his or the feel of his palm pressed to hers. It was always a thought. She has known him for awhile, for years and sometimes their fingers would brush with each other. But she has never held his hand for more than ten seconds. It was always an idea. She hasn’t had the chance of holding his hand for a long time.

Three years later, she was seventeen; she was going to a dance. Her hair was pulled up in a French Twist; tendrils of her auburn hair fell to the sides of her face. She wore a light shade of eye shadow since her eyes themselves brought magnificence already. She wore her lips nude, only coating them with lip gloss. She was wearing a midnight blue tube dress, with a ribbon around the waist and with just the right length, below the knees. The dress complimented her fair complexion and the beauty of the dress made her even more radiant.

The only problem was the moment she went down the stairs, her date called her up and told her he can’t make it. And unexpectedly, the dance she had waited for two years became a disaster.

She was speechless and numb. She can’t move, she can’t tear her eyes away from the glass window. He and her brother were seated on the sofa watching some James Bond Classics when he saw her walked down the stairs. She was beautiful and breathtaking and perfect.

But then her eyes lost sparkle, she was not moving, it was like watching a car crashed, from the car’s fast speed, it lost control and it hit the wall or a post and it crashed. He saw her eyes started to become glassy. He nudged her brother to the shoulder and just like him; her brother was shocked too with the sudden change of disposition.

“Sis, is there something wrong?” Her brother asked wearily. Her sister looked great but the attitude and the face expression were not so great.

“My date left me. I don’t have a date.” Her brow eyes were big and watery and he can imagine that she was about to cry. She started to move and she begun pacing back and forth in the foyer.

She started to snap her fingers again and again; it was a mannerism of her when she got nervous and right now she wanted to pull out her hair because everything was becoming a tragic tale of disappointments and a big ruin of plans.

“Ohh.” That’s all her brother can say. That’s all her brother can do. But he can help her.

“Hold on.” He said immediately as he went to his house. He was her neighbor after all.

She just stood there. She doesn’t really know what to do but stare blankly at the space in front of her. Her brain was screaming at her to do something but her feet wouldn’t even lift themselves from the floor.

Fifteen minutes later, fifteen minutes of pacing and snapping and holding her tears, he knocked on the door. She opened the door and saw him. He was wearing a navy suit with midnight blue tie that matched her dress beautifully. His hair was combed back like classical actors from the black and white era. He looked like a prince with his shiny hair, dreamy caramel eyes, with his aquiline nose, with his pearly white teeth and his Armani clad body. He looked so perfect. And he would be her date.

Heat started to fill her cheeks, her fingers stopped snapping; her feet started fidgeting on the ground. She bit her lower lip. He was always nice to her. He was always kind to her.

Her brother saw the scene and he smiled. He’s a little irritated that his best friend chose his little sister over him and James Bond but he was so happy that her sister was in good hands, was with good company. He was happy that her sister’s dream fairy tale of a dance will be coming true. He let it go for he’s too pleased for his sister and his best friend.

They were late for the dance but then again, they were fashionably late. The moment she walked in on the room with him, she felt as if there was no other person but the two of them.

“Would you like to dance, milady?” He asked like a chivalrous prince he was. He even bowed like a knight would to a princess.

She let him lead her to dance floor. She was too flushed to say anything, she was too happy to be with him. The instant her skin touched his, when her palm was pressed to his and their fingers started to intertwine, everything became magical. His hands were soft and gentle. His hands were bigger then hers but when her dainty fingers were being held by his, everything fit perfectly.

It was a slow song, an old classic love song. The rhythm was soothing and she can’t help but press her forehead to his chest. He let go of her hands and then he pressed his palms to the small of her back. And then she let her arms wrapped themselves around his neck.

“Thank you.” She whispered as their bodies swayed to the music.

She looked up to look at his dreamy eyes. They were twinkling like stars. She was intoxicated with his eyes, with his smile, with the way his body fitted effortlessly with hers.

“You look beautiful.” He leaned down and placed a soft kiss to her lips.

The night was so perfect. The night with him was so wonderful like a fairy tale.

“Well everything has been great with the company. Foreign investors have helped a lot with the company’s publicity. I’ve been good.” He grinned.

He placed her suitcases at the back seat of his car and opened the door for her. When he was seated on the driver’s seat and their seat belts have been buckled, he drove like he used too when they were younger.

She was fifteen and he was twenty. He just graduated and she was having another boring summer. One day, he asked her brother and her if they wanted to go to their vacation house in the country. Her brother immediately favored the idea. She was bored so she joined them.

He placed all their suitcases at the back seat of his car. All three of them were seated in front. He was the driver and she was seated between him and her brother.

“Any road trip songs?” She asked as she checked her nails.

“Yeah, we can totally use that. I mean the vacation house is still five hours away. Right?” Her brother asked as he drunk from his bottle of water.

“What?” She was shocked to say the least. She was to sit five hours in a road trip with her brother and her brother’s best friend whom was really nice and kind to her.

“Correction, four hours.” He laughed with the shock expression that has graced her features.

Her brother smirked at her as he looked for some tapes in the glove compartment.

“Oldies.” Her brother said as he sorted out the mixtapes that he can only presume where his best friend’s dad’s.

“Let’s see there are Beatles, America and Beach Boys.” Her brother grinned as he read the names of the old singers of their parents’ time.

“Just great.” She sighed as she closed her eyes and thought of something to say that made sense.

“How about Beatles?” He suggested as he drove down the highway. Her brother played the tape on the car’s stereo and the song ‘Yesterday’ played. The song seemed so soft with the mellow melody. The lyrics were so clear that somehow they understood the song by heart. Maybe the whole song doesn’t really relate to them but some parts just pierce through their souls.

Some words were true that they can’t be ignored. And in a way, they were speechless because some words that were sung by the singer were hanging in their head and they stuck. And somehow it hit a little too close to home.

The music swayed and danced with the air that moved around them. Words were left unspoken for maybe the song has engulfed them. The song maybe about a boy and a girl who played love like a game but when the song was dissected and severed to different parts, somehow the song related to them. Somehow the song arose the haunting of their past. And somehow the song impaled them and now they have let their guards down. And maybe if they were little softer they would have been too broken to move, too shattered to breathe, too damaged to live.

“Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be, there's a shadow hanging over me…” The lyrics echoed inside her brother’s head. Maybe her brother was weak because it was true, there was indeed a shadow hanging over him, a secret that was drilling his conscience. Her brother was gay. And before, he would be strong enough to admit it but as time passed by suddenly he was not half the man he used to be, he became weak and confused and too vulnerable.

“Why she had to go I don't know, she wouldn't say…” The lyrics haunted his being. Then suddenly he became the boy that wanted his mother. What he knew was that his mother left him and his father for another man. Yet why she had to go can he neither justify; nor can he understand. And before, he would be strong enough to let the past go and focus on the present but as the song ricocheted at the back of his head, he can’t let it go. It was a burden the he knew he’ll clung onto even if it was bearing him down; because he wanted to understand.

“Love was such an easy game to play. Now I need a place to hide away…” The lyrics were so engaging that one way or another she felt like she was a fish that was hooked and now was being reeled in. She liked him because he was just too nice and too sweet and too much of the she wanted and needed. And maybe it was just a game. But then she thought there was a big chance she was in love albeit the feelings may not be reciprocated. She was too scared to treat what she felt for him as real for maybe all of this was just a fantasy to her and a game to him. Love maybe easy game to play but she was an amateur to it and so she can’t play, she won’t play. It’s too big of a risk; it’s too big of a gamble. She just needed to hide away the feelings, to pretend they’re gone and everything would be fine.

And then they were silent. They barely talked and every now and then either her brother or him or her would click the replay button and no one bothered to object. Because somehow in an ironic way the more they hear the song, the more they knew themselves, the more they understood the people they tried to forget they were.

Four years later, she was nineteen; she was in another country with new people, with different company. One night he called. She can hear the way he slurred his words. She can hear the pain beneath his laughs. He was trying so hard to sound happy. She was in an apartment she shared with a roommate. She was in a different nation where she studied college and he was there at home being the man he was supposed to be, being the successor his father wanted him to be.

He was drunk and maybe a little sober. And she can hear a familiar tune in the background. He was listening in a song and was drinking himself to sleep.

“Am I weak?” He whispered and without warning everything came crushing down. She remembered their road trip, the song, the weaknesses and the silence. And she can imagine him crying.

He hasn’t told her about his mommy issues. But she knew. She knew he hadn’t let go.

“No.” And she can’t let go too. She can’t let go of her feelings for him.

Both of them can hear each other breathing from the other line. No one spoke. They sat there in silence. Maybe because the mere fact that the other was just a phone call away, that they were not alone was enough consolation for the quaking souls inside them; because silence with him, with her, was always comforting.

She was away from home yet when she heard his voice, she felt at home. He was at home although she was away and the house he visited was not a ‘home’ to him without her.

She missed him. He missed her.

“I miss you too.” He said as he drove the car. She was seated beside him after being away from her for four years. She was still beautiful but now her hair was shorter and she wore clothes that truly tell she was now a woman. She may have looked different but when she hugged him awhile ago, she was still the same girl she knew who was scared of storms and hated bullies. She was still the same girl that he held on the dance floor and fitted so perfectly against his body.

“How have you been?” He looked at her face, the side of her cheek before he focused on the road once more.

She was sixteen and he was twenty-one. She was eating cereals alone in the dining room. Both of her parents were doctors and both of them were at the hospital. Her brother was in the living room watching television. And he just entered the dining room to eat breakfast with her.

It was his thing. He would eat at their house and he was more than welcomed to stay because her parents treated him like their own son. He was family.

She was thinking about college, of how she wanted to get a scholarship and study in a different country, to try something different.

“Was college fun?” She asked as she bit the crunchy biscuits soaked in milk.

“Thinking about college applications?” He asked as he took the carton of milk from the fridge.

“Something like that.” She greedily drunk the milk from the bowl. She loved the sweet taste of milk in the morning.

“You shouldn’t worry about that. You’re a smart girl. You can handle anything.” He spilled the cereals to his bowl and poured a huge amount of milk. He loved milk. He drunk milk in the morning and before he went to sleep.

“Thanks for the compliment.” She said as she paced around the counter. She was thinking about all the scholarships that can be attained by her for college.

“Do you think I can get like a scholarship for College?” She asked as she looked at him eat his cereal.

“Scholarship here or scholarship in another country?” He knew how her mind worked.

“Another country?” She stated but it sounded more of a question because one way or another she was not used to move away from home.

“You’re thinking about that now? You have a year to think about applications and scholarships.” If she was indeed granted of a scholarship in another country then he’s happy for her but he was not used to not see her eating breakfast every Saturday morning.

“Yes but I like to think about my future.” She laughed as she sat again at her seat across the table from where he was seated.

Her brother came from the living room with the car keys in one hand.

“Sis, bro, I just got a call from the boss. Looks like I’m busy this Saturday.” Her brother addressed her and him before walking out of the house.

“Do you want to go to an ice cream shop?” He asked as he emptied his bowl of cereals.

“Sure, just let me get my jacket.” She stood up and went to her room to get her jacket.

He was bored, she was bored, might as well use the free time they have.

Five years later, she was twenty-one, he was driving the car and they were silent for a while.

“Do you want to go to an ice cream shop?” He asked as he turned to the left. He missed her company. When he was with her, he can let his guard down. He can be whoever he wanted to be.

“Sure. They say ice cream is made up of milk. I love milk.” She remembered the Saturday mornings they would eat ice cream together.

“I love milk too.” He parked the car and opened the door like the gentleman he was.

When they were seated at the corner and have given there orders, they just looked into each other’s eyes.

“So how’s the wedding?” It hurt her to ask him about his upcoming marriage to another woman.

One month ago she received a letter from her brother telling her that his father forced him to agree to a marriage the he never wanted for the sake of the company’s tie to another company. His father arranged a marriage for him with an investor’s daughter. She was invited. And it hurt her because she always imagined she would be married to him.

“You do know I waited for you, right?” His voice cracked at the end of the question. His eyes were filled with hope. He has never said he loved her but he knew she felt it. And he felt that she loved him too.

They may have not expressed it with words but they both felt it.

“Do you want to get married to her?” She asked as she started to fidget with her nails. She can’t look at his face for she’s too scared of the possibility that he’ll say ‘Yes.’
“No.” He whispered.

He could have run away and lived a whole new life away from his father, away from his betrothed wife. But he stayed because he waited for her to come back. He can’t even reconsider the thought of being free without her beside him, the thought of being alive without her to live it with.

She looked up at him. He stared at her eyes and he can almost see her soul. She was too precious to let go. Both of them fighting for their love would be an epic tale, an epic journey.

“Some things don’t change.” He held her hand and let their fingers intertwine once more. “Like how I feel about you.” He smiled and took her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“You haven’t let go?” She just had to ask. Because him saying, ‘Yes, I never let go of you’ was enough for her to fight for what they were.

Both of them fighting for their love would be a tragic writer’s guilty pleasure, a talented lyricist’s muse and satisfaction.

“Yes I never let go.” She believed him because when a tear fell down his cheek, it made everything so real and so true.

And made fighting for their love, all the more worth it.

- April 2010

Unlikely

2010-04-13T06:35:00.000-07:00

“I killed him.”

Three simple words that contained three simple syllables; yet they were three simple words that can unlock and unsolved a murder; yet they were three simple syllables that could burry one’s reputation to the grave.

All he wanted was her. All she wanted was him. Yet they were too soft, too gentle, and too fragile. It was better if they have never loved at all. Their tender bodies can not withstand the inevitable brokenness to come.

It would be easy if everything were soothing kisses and an endless bliss. But that was not the case.

“Why did you kill him?” The man in a black suit growled like a lion would to a lamb.

She was prostrated to the ground, her tears cleansed the soiled floor; her chocolate tresses wiped up the dirt on the ground where she laid. Her pure breasts pressed upon the tainted surface. She was locked up on that prison for weeks now.

Her chaste face was now mixed will dry tears and dry blood. She looked so raw. She never complained.

As the stench of the soiled room that was once filled with carcass of lambs and goats clung to her body, she let the tears fall. Her dress was torn. They can only guess that she tore it apart out of desperation, out of plea. She has given up her dignity; she has succumbed to the opportunity that humiliation has brought. She has exhumed the soil where her body shall be buried.

“Because I can.” She said coldly. It was this moment when her mouth doesn’t match her eyes. Her eyes were like glass. Crystallized goblets that were so transparent; they were filled with tears. If he didn’t know the motive behind the crime, if he didn’t know the stench behind this foul room, if he didn’t know the tears behind her eyes; she would’ve looked pitiful.

But he knew. She was a cold-hearted killer. She slashed the throat of a man, of a human being and lit him on fire like fireworks under the pale lone moon.

“And I’ll do it again if I need to.” She whispered so vehemently. He felt as if he was looking at a monster. But when she looked away and all he can see was her pale cheek, her structured jaw, her high cheek bone. She doesn’t look like a ruthless beast.

She looked like a princess, trapped in a dungeon, guarded by dragons and was waiting for her prince to save her.

But she can’t be salvaged.

Everyone knew that, even her.

- 04/13/10

I Understand You

2010-04-10T10:46:00.001-07:00

Both of them understood each other. They would say some words and speak them out loud but only they knew the real meaning of those words. She was a girl with big doe eyes and pouted lips and she enjoyed playing with him. He was a boy with a toothy grin and light brown eyes and he enjoyed playing with her. They’ve been friends for a long time that they didn’t even remember how they first met. The only thing they knew was they’ve been together even before they can say the word, ‘Santa.’

The adults said they’ve been together ever since they wore diapers. All they can say was they’ve been together for a long time. Their parents said they’ve been together since they were inside their mommies’ tummies. All they can say was they’ve been together ever since they were alive. Their friends said they were inseparable. All they can say was they complete each other.

“Do you believe in Santa Claus?” She whispered to his ear under the Christmas tree, as tendrils of chestnut locks fell down upon her darling face.

I believe in Santa Claus.

He smiled with a toothy grin, as he looked at her big doe eyes sparkling like little stars. “Nope.” He pulled her hair and started to run away from her. He enjoyed playing with her.

Yes, I believe in Santa Claus.

“You are so mean.” She screamed at his running form. She ran after him, laughing as he tripped over a present. She enjoyed playing with him.

I know you like Santa.

“Yes I am.” He said as he blew his bangs from his eyes. He laughed at her as she immediately ran towards him. He fell down the marbled floor as he rubbed his soar knee. He enjoyed laughing with her.

You know I like Santa.

“Need some help, bully?” She extended her hand for him to grab for support. He looked at her hand as if he was reconsidering taking it. She laughed at him as he tried to hold on to her hand and quickly withdrawing it back. But at the end, he finally took her hand and she helped him stand up.

We both like Santa.

They were both seven year olds who lived in the world of princesses, dragons and Santa Claus. They were both seven year olds who believed in heroes and fairy godmothers. They were both seven year olds who knew nothing of true love. They were both seven year olds who don’t realize the special bond they have with each other.

He knew her well. He knew when she was sad or when she was happy. He knew the meaning behind her very actions. When she’s sad she would watch her favorite movies and invite him to watch them with her with vanilla ice cream filled spoons. When she’s happy she would bake brownies or little cupcakes and invite him to taste her pastries.

Some people found it hard to know what she wanted or what she needed. But for him she was like an open book.

She called him one week after her parents filed for divorce.

“Can you come over?” She whispered as she fidgeted with her nails. She was having a hard time and she trusted no one but him.

I need you.

“Of course.” He said over the phone. He waited for her call. He knew it was about time that she needed someone, especially now.

I’m always here for you.

“Maybe we can watch some movies.” Her voice was so husky. Her throat must be dry.

I need someone to talk to.

“Your favorites?” He asked trying to lighten up the conversation. He laughed it was always her who decided on everything. It was always her.

You can talk to me.

“Uhuh. I have ice cream.” She grinned. He knew her well.

Can you stay for the night?

“Then I’ll stay for dinner.” He went out of the house and asked the driver to take him to her place.

Yes.

As soon as he entered her room, she flung herself to him and hugged him close to her. She began to cry. She hugged him, arms around his waist as she pressed her face to his chest. He can feel her tears poured down. He hugged her as he softly caressed her back. He placed his chin on top of her head. She was always his friend and it disheartened him that he can’t take away the pain she was feeling.

Her parents were splitting up. She was torn between the two. Both were filing for custody and she doesn’t know who to choose from. He looked at her eyes, they were puffy and sore. It seemed she had cried herself to sleep these past few days. Her lips were swollen and her hair a mess.

She looked away. He can’t stop looking at her. She was always prim and proper. She was always the girl with the softest locks, no curls out of place. She was always the girl who wore pristine clothes, no wrinkles in sight. But right now she was confused and disarrayed and tangled in a heap of chaos.

He came towards her and placed his palms on either side of her cheeks and with his two thumbs; he wiped those tears from her sad doe eyes. Even an insolent man would be kind enough to wipe her tears away. That was the certain enchantment her doe eyes held.

They were both fourteen year olds who lived in the world of insecurities, dramas and identity crisis. They were both fourteen year olds who believed on the importance of summer breaks and hectic weeks. They were both fourteen year olds who knew the meaning of puppy love. They were both fourteen year olds who were realizing the special bond they have with each other.

She knew him well. She knew when he was celebrating or when he was lamenting. She knew the meaning behind his every action. When he celebrated for a success, he would ask her if she wanted to go buy sweets with him, like chocolates. He loved chocolate ice cream. She loved vanilla. When he lamented for a disaster that has caused him distress, he would call her up and asked her to go to a road trip with him. She always ended up saying ‘yes.’

Some people found it hard to know what he loved or what he hated. But for her, he was like an open book.

He called her one week after his girlfriend broke up with him.

“Let’s go to the country side.” He said eagerly over the phone. They were fresh graduates. He was twenty-one and she just turned twenty-one.

I have a problem.

“Hmm, let me think about it.” She said jokingly. She doesn’t have any plans. Although her aunt asked her if she wanted to apply to the fashion magazine she was working on. Her aunt was the managing editor, she can pull some strings. But that can wait. He can’t.

Then tell me.

“Pick you up in 5 minutes?” He said smiling from ear to ear. She was always there for him. He was free the whole year around. He has already done his part of the job with the family business.

I need you.

“How come? I haven’t even said, ‘yes’ yet.” She laughed as she threw clothes after clothes into her suitcase.

I know.

“Ding.” And by that time, the doorbell rang. She got an apartment after the graduation. It was one of her parents’ gifts to her after breaking their family. She ran towards the doorbell and opened the door.

“Ready to go?” He said softly, too softly.

Help me.

“Let me just get my suitcase.” She said as she closed her phone. He looked weak, as if he had not eaten properly or slept for the right number of hours. He looked so pale like he was sick. She tried to smile a little. She saw him smiled back, a little grin, a little weary.

I’ll do anything for you.

They walked towards his pickup in silence. He was holding her suitcase and she was holding his hand. He squeezed her hand.

She knew he doesn’t cry but he squeezes her hand during the time when he wanted to pour everything out. She looked up at him and saw him smiling at her. She missed his old smile the one that was filled with secrets and adventures. Now, all he can see from his smile was pain. And if it was possible, she would take all his pain to see him smile again, the smile that made her smile.

She looked at him and he doesn’t look away. He placed her suitcase on the backseat. As soon as he turned around, she hugged him. Her chest pressed to his. He needed a hug. He pressed his face on her shoulder; her long locks were like velvety silk cloth brushing his tears away. She felt the hot tears streamed. She caressed his back with a circular rhythmic pattern, to soothe him, to calm him down.

They were both twenty-one year olds who lived in the world of ex-lovers, new jobs and a great friendship. They were both twenty-one year olds who believed in having fun and living life. They were both twenty-one year olds who had a taste of love. They were both twenty-one year olds who were cherishing their special bond.

They knew each other well. They knew when the other was sad or when the other was lamenting. They knew when the other was happy or when the other was celebrating. They knew the meaning of each other’s actions, of each other’s tears, of each other’s smiles. They knew each other well.

Some people found it hard to know what they love or what they hate. Some people found it hard to know what they want or what they need. But for them, it was too easy. They knew each other so well that they knew each other much more than they knew themselves.

She called him one day after she was told that the company wanted her to represent them to another branch of the magazine, in another country.

“Hey, guess what.” She said excitedly over the phone. It was an honor.

I have good news.

“What?” He laughed at how fast she spoke. He never got tired of hearing her voice.

Surprise me.

“They chose me to represent the company.” She declared with all confidence. She started to check the kitchen cabinets, trying to find the right ingredients. She took the flour out.

I’m so excited.

“Congratulations.” He said as his ears perked up. When she’s happy, there were always sweet pastries. He smiled as freshly baked brownies clouded his mind.

I’m excited for you.

“Come over. I’m baking.” She opened the refrigerator and took some eggs and some butter.

I know you like my brownies.

“I think I have a meeting.” He joked. He loved playing with her head.

Hell yes. I love her brownies.

“Alright.” She smirked. She knew he was playing with her.

No whip cream for you then.

“Hey, I’m just joking. Be there in 30 minutes?” She knew him too well.

I love whip cream.

He came over right away. She answered the door wearing an apron. She smiled at him. He was just in time. She was about to pour the brownie batter into the dish. He was smiling like an idiot. He always loved pastries. They went to the kitchen smiling.

He dipped his finger on the brownie batter and licked it dry before she can stop him. It was so sweet and he loved the taste. She slapped his hand away. He laughed at her strictness when it came to her baking. He dipped his finger for the second time but this time he raised his brownie batter soaked finger and smeared a smudge on her nose.

She was competitive, he knew that. She dipped her index and middle finger from the left and right hand to the brownie batter and smiled childishly at him. He mouthed, ‘no.’ She never followed his instructions or his pleas. She lifted her arms and smeared both of his cheeks of the sugary chocolate liquid with her index and middle fingers. Now, he looked like one of the native Indians with a face paint only his were made of chocolate.

She laughed at how silly he looked. He laughed at how endearing she looked. And when he was about to act out on his revenge, he saw something in her eyes. Those big doe eyes were sparkling. He looked at her lips; they were pink and full and in a certain degree intoxicating to look at.

She looked into his eyes; they were a lighter shade of brown than hers. Those almond-shaped eyes were dancing with a certain mischief. She saw him, looked at her lips and she can’t help to look at his. His lips were thin albeit pale and in a certain degree mysterious to look at.

And on that day, on that exact moment, in that certain place. She leaned in, he leaned in and their lips met for the first time. It was so gentle like soft feathers. It was so light like butterfly wings. It was so sweet like succulent honey. It was so warm like freshly baked brownies.

The kiss was perfect. And so were both of them for each other.

She smiled and he smiled.

They were perfect for each other.

They were both twenty-eight year olds who lived in the world of fashion, cars and lovers. They were both twenty-eight year olds who believed of the essence of maturity and morality. They were both twenty-eighty year olds who experienced true love. They were both twenty-eight year olds who loved every moment they have with each other.

They knew each other well. They knew when the other was at cloud nine or when the other was falling apart. They knew when the other was having a sweet dream or when the other was suffering from a nightmare. They knew the meaning behind every word they have spoken from each other, like they have a certain language that no one else understood but them. They held a certain connection, a certain understanding that no one else can go beyond of.

Some people found it hard to dissect the meaning behind their words. Some people found it hard to analyze every action that they do. But for them, it was too easy. It was as if they live in this world were they’re the only people and when they’re together they just complement each other, like two pieces of a puzzle.

He called her one hour after buying a ring from a jewelry store.

“Open your door.” He grinned. They’ve been dating for seven years now. It was about time.

I have a surprise for you.

“Why?” She laughed at his playfulness. She never got tired of his antics. He always made her smile.

Another surprise?

She saw a big basket of Christmas goodies. There was a small box like a present. There was a Christmas tree shaped cookie. There was a Santa Claus stuffed toy. There was a picture of them when they were seven; they were under a Christmas tree and she was holding his hand. And a pink card that said, ‘Walk ten steps forward.’

“Walk, sweetheart.” He whispered. He knew she saw the card. He can feel it.

We both like Santa.

She walked ten steps forward. But the time she stopped she was on the sidewalk.

“Then?” She asked inquisitively like a child.

What else?

“Turn to your right.” He whispered.

Yes.

She saw a small basket, much smaller than the one with the Christmas goodies. There was a silver necklace that has a small trinket shaped like a tear. There was a DVD of The Notebook, her favorite movie. There was a picture of them when they were fourteen; they were on her bed, smiling after she just cried. And a pink card that said, ‘Walk twenty steps forward.’

“Too far?” She asked playfully. She loved his surprises.

Uhuh.

She walked twenty steps forward. But the time she stopped she saw a bike on the sidewalk.

“You remember that bike?” He asked her. His voice was filled of happiness as he reminisced to the memories he had with her.

You rode that bike.

“Yes.” She saw a basket near the bike.

I never forget.

There was the car key of his pickup. There was a charm bracelet with trinkets of suitcases and backpacks. There was a picture of them when they were twenty-one; they were riding a bike on the country side. And a pink card that said, ‘Ride that bike and go to the garden.’

“Come on. Ride it.” He encouraged as he looked at the velvet box he was holding.

I’ll do anything for you.

She rode the bike and went to the garden she used to go to when she has problems. He always accompanied her when she went there. And they’ll sit there for hours in silence. Because being with each other was enough.

She stopped when she saw the garden. The moment her feet landed on the fresh cut grass. She saw another basket but there was still no trace of him yet.

“Another basket?” She smiled. All those baskets were filled with plenty of memories. And all of them were memories she had with him.

You love me, don’t you?

“You know, how special you are to me.” He said as he swallowed a lump he felt in his throat. He was excited and anxious and overjoyed that he felt wave after wave of emotion washed him.

You know, I love you.

There was indeed a basket. There was the certificate she received from the company for representing them. There was the spatula she used in baking her brownies. There was a box of freshly baked brownies. There were two stuffed toys, one was a girl and the other was a boy and they were smiling. There was a picture of them when they were twenty-eight; her nose was smeared with chocolate and he looked like a native Indian with his chocolate face paint. It was a picture after the kiss. And there was a pink card that said, ‘I’m in the Gazebo.’

“You’re too sweet.” She whispered. She felt warmth enclosed her heart. She felt she was the luckiest woman in the world when she was with him. He was perfect.

I love whip cream.

“I’m waiting for you.” He whispered. Every moment he had with her was always intimate and every single time he kissed her, he can’t help but smile. She was perfect.

I have loved you for more than thirty years.

She saw him. He was holding a velvet box. She can only presume it was ring, a wedding ring. A tear fell from her doe eyes. When he was with her, everything seems so magical.

“I love you.” He said as he went to her and dropped the lightest of kiss upon her lips.

More than anything in this world.

“I love you too.” She whispered as they looked into each others’ eyes.

More than anything in this world.

“Would you marry me?” He asked as he knelt on one knee. He opened the small box and exposed a glistening diamond ring.

I believe in forever.

“Yes.” She said as she kissed him once more.

Me too.

They were both thirty-five year olds who lived in the world of reality, fairy tales and happy endings. They were both thirty-five year olds who believed in marriage and pure love. They were both thirty-five year olds who vowed to be with each other forever. They were both thirty-five year olds who have loved each other even before they knew how to say the phrase, ‘I love you.’

- April 2010

Twice in Love

2010-04-09T10:09:00.000-07:00

What if you fell in love twice in your young life? Neither of the two were a mere infatuation. Neither of the two became a happy ending. Will you love again or spare yourself from heartaches? Spare your heart, so you can love yourself once more, more than you’ll ever love another creature in the world.

But self-love will only make you happy for just a short while, make you feel satisfied, make you feel contented, make you feel worthy and dignified for just a few hours. For love is much deeper than loving one’s self. For love is much stronger than defending one’s honor. For love is much more real than any fairy tales combined.

It does not take an imbecile or a genius to feel loved or be in love. It takes a selfless man, to lay down his own happiness, his own pleasure for another, might as well call it priceless. For sacrifices are like bleeding; you’ll bleed like you’ve never bled before. But still you won’t cover that wound since the blood you have lost shall be used for the sake of the person you love.

Bearing pain for another cannot be outweighed or compared to anything. That’s why it’s priceless, always was, always will be.

On June of 2009, she met the most beautiful man she has ever seen in her thirteen years living in this world.

He was too feminine for her taste, too petite for a man that she would have a crush on yet he was too perfect. Perfect in a sense that she has treated this man as her knight in shining armor. He has a fair complexion, with a structured jaw, glassy brown eyes, an aquiline nose and pale thin lips. She would see him smile. And she tried her best not to smile back.

Even if she liked this man, even if she spoke what was in her mind, it was too idiotic to think that the feelings she has for him will be requited. Because the truth was, he doesn’t even know that a person, like her exists.

What if you fell in love twice in your young life? Both were wrong. Both were secrets, secrets that were so heinous even the Catholic Church will not allow absolution. Yet they were secrets that were intertwined with a certain passion.

The two were love affairs that were somehow wrong with a tinge of justification to her hasty actions.

The first one was with a man, ten years her senior. The wrongness of such love between two individuals, though one was a man and the other was a woman was that they were born onto two different decades and maybe if destiny just obliged on letting her have her happy ending, somehow she can be with him. But she can’t.

The second one was with a girl, same age as hers. The wrongness of such love between two individuals, though both of which were in the right age with each other, though both were born on the right time, was that they were both born with the same gender. If life wasn’t so complicated and let her have the happiness she deserved, somehow she can love her in front of everyone. But she can’t.

The two were love affairs that were somehow right with a tinge of lost moral in her hasty actions.

On June of 2010, she met the prettiest girl she has ever laid eyes on in this planet called Earth.

She was too girly for her taste, too toned for her liking yet she was too perfect. Perfect in a sense that she was hurting that she wasn’t a boy. For maybe, if she was a boy, she could have swept her off her feet and treated her like a princess that she was, assuming that she was her prince charming. She has a fair complexion, with long raven locks, big doe eyes, with a perfect little nose and pink, full lips. She would see her smile and she has sworn that she saw her smile back.

Even if she liked this girl, even if she spoke what was in her mind, it was too idiotic to think that the feelings she has for her will be requited. Because the truth was even if she knew she existed, it doesn’t mean that she would bend her morality just to love her back.

What if you fell in love twice in your young life? Both were lovely. Both were magnificent. Both lifted her soul and brought bliss to her heart. But neither of the two was long lived. Neither of the two ended beautifully. Neither of the two was the perfect love story.

She was not Juliet when she lost him.

She was not Romeo when she lost her.

She was the girl who once had a selfless heart, who laid down her own happiness, her own pleasure for another. And had her heart broken twice in her young life.

It does not take an imbecile or a genius to know what love is. It takes a person strong enough to risk his once shattered heart to love again even if the possibility of hurting is half of the time, is fifty-fifty, a big possibility. For loving is like betting, you’ll bet all you have in the chance of receiving twice the amount you bet for, or much more than that. But when the time comes and you have nothing left in your pocket, when you have nothing left to give or when your heart is too spent and exhausted to love, you don’t give up. You tried your best to save up or mend what is broken.

What if you fell in love twice in your young life?

She thought to herself as much as losing those poignant memories sounded so tempting. The mere fact that she was still holding on to her memories with them meant that she can never forget them. For they hold a part of her that she can never take back, her heart.

“Please leave.” He whispered softly. It was the most hurtful words she heard from him.

“You said, you’ll wait for me, that we can be together when I’m already a senior.” She pleaded to him, like a lowly woman with no dignity left. “You said, you’ll wait.”

She tried to assure herself that he’ll still wait for her. A year ago, he didn’t know her name. But now, she’s begging him to say her name along the lines of ‘I love you.’

“And I will.” He whispered as he tried to regain his composure. He was always so calm under stress, his manner known for his nonchalance, his face almost devoid with any emotion. He frequently smiled at anybody. But he always smiled at her.

“Don’t make it harder than it is now.” He muttered, almost inaudible. But she knew him. He closed his eyes as he gripped the bar railings along the large window where he was facing.

He was sane, smart and logistical. It’s common sense that you don’t get to have an affair with any of your students. It was unethical.

But she was not an average student. She was so much more. “Please leave.” Much, much more.

She scoffed --- an unladylike manner that she rarely does. “And here I thought you love me.” She said with as much confidence as she could muster.

And somehow she just had to ask. “Am I that stupid?” It wasn’t a question. She doesn’t need an answer from his lips. She was always a masochist.

She was like a moth that was very fascinated with the brightness of the sun as she ignored the facts that the sun may burn her, just like he was burning her now. She was too enthralled with his soothing voice and his charming ways and his endearing smile that she risked herself. She was so close to him that she has allowed herself to trust him. The sorrowful tale was that the more she trusted him, the more she gave him the ammunition to break her.

“We can’t do this anymore.” She sighed heavily, her back turned towards her. She was too ashamed to tell her that she was weak and too frail to fight for them. She was vulnerable but she herself knew that shortcomings radiate from her body.

“Why?” She asked knowing full well that she just needed to hear the answer from her lips.

“You know how traditional and strict my family is. They will disown me if they knew.” She said as tears started to cascade down her cheeks.

She knew she was hurting. Maybe she was a sadist. She wanted to force the words out of her mouth, to tell her ‘It’s over.”

“You don’t need to remind me about that piece of information.” She whispered as emotionless as possible. Her throat seemed dry. Her hands seemed numb. Her body seemed to cringe in the insides.

“You don’t understand.” She started to weep bitterly. It was hard to let someone go, someone so important and caring and will love you for who you are. But she was a Catholic, bred to be traditional in every way. Her parents wanted to see her walk down the aisle as her groom stood along the altar, not another woman.

She was emotional, genuine and faithful. It’s common sense that you don’t get to have an affair with your classmate of the same gender. It was immoral.

“You’re right I don’t.” She said with as much dignity as she can.

She was like a bee that was so enticed with the fragrance and splendor of a flower that she has taken more than what the other can give. Just like how much she was taking from her now. She was too lured with her trusting smile and her cheery voice and her splendid beauty that she loved her too much. She was so close to her that she has managed to become the most important part of her life. The sorrowful tale was that the more she let her trust her, the more she became more possessive of her.

“You’re a good teacher.” It was a compliment that she has practiced to tell him in front of the mirror for months now --- a compliment that started everything. The moment the words left her mouth, heat started to rise to her cheeks, her face flushed with a new emotion she has never felt before.

“You’re a good student.” He said too eagerly. It was the first time he smiled at her. And she felt as if butterflies started to dance in front her. She felt as if she found her very own romantic and epic tale.

“You’re good looking too.” Those words escaped her lips. She saw him grin. And if it was possible her cheeks blushed in a darker shade of crimson. And they said fairy tales were for little girls. The moment she looked deep into his eyes, she knew then, she wasn’t so little anymore. This was not a fairy tale. This was her falling in love.

It was a distant memory now. But every once in awhile she will play that scene over and over again in her mind as she captured the fullness that young love has given to her once hollowed soul.

“Are you new?” She asked smiling to a new classmate. She was pretty and she can’t help not talking to her for the first time. She gave her one of her sweetest smiles --- a smile that started everything. The moment the words left her mouth, excitement started to flow in her veins, her eyes sparkled with an emotion she once felt before.

“Yes I am.” She said enthusiastically. It was the first time she met somehow who was so eager to meet her. And she felt really good as if warm butter started to slide along her heart, the warmth was so engaging. She felt as if she found her own tender and sweet solace.

“Need a friend?” She can’t help but ask. She saw her beam. And if it was possible she felt the warmth envelope her whole body and ease started to encase her being. And they said fairytales were not for relationships of the same gender. The moment she saw her soul through her big doe eyes, she knew then, this was something special. This was not immorality. This was her falling in love again.

“That would be lovely.” And by that time, they linked their arms to each other knowing full well that they have a mutual understanding, a mutual grasp of what they were starting to form.

It was a distant memory now. But every once in awhile she would play that scene over and over again in her mind as she captured the fullness of loving once more to her once broken heart.

What if you fell in love twice in your young life?

She imagined Shakespeare loving every fiber of her being. For tragedy was always on her side. In her waking hours, she has loved and she was hurt. In her dreams, she was loved and she was hurt.

Then again, there was no such thing as a perfect happy ending from the very beginning.

What if you fell in love twice in your young life?

What if you got your heart broken twice in your young life?

At the end of the day, you’ll still love like you’ve never loved before.

- April 2010

Bliss of Agony

2010-04-09T10:05:00.000-07:00

Heaven.

He was beautiful with golden hair and bright blue eyes and a smile that can melt a hundred hearts. He was gentle and sweet and delicate like a freshly bloomed rose on a sunny mid May afternoon. He was fair-skinned with soft, tender flesh. His beautiful face was adorned with his rosy cheeks, his pink, thin lips and his warm smile. People said he lived in heaven with his soft-spoken words and mellow actions. People said he was an angel as he played his violin to a gratifying crescendo. Or when his fingers touched the keys of a piano and turned notes to the most loving melody of angels singing a serenade. He was the epitome of heaven.

Hell.

He was devilishly handsome with dark, auburn hair and dark coppery red eyes and a smile that can send the most pure of virgins to the most sinister punishments in perdition. He was rough and bitter and sharp like thorns that wrapped themselves around chaste roses on a gloomy mid May night. He was fair-skinned with lean, toned body. His striking face was embellished with his high cheek bones, his pale, lips and his dangerous smirk. People said he suffered in hell with his tactless words and forceful actions. People said he was an enigma as he walked along the covered pathway with his head down and his wrist filled with scars. Or when he tilted his head and pain started to linger in his eyes and you could almost see when he tried to open his mouth and closed it immediately. As if anything that would leave his mouth was perilous venom. He was the epitome of hell.

They met on a cold, winter night.

He just finished his concerto, as his ivory scarf wrapped itself around his neck. He wore his suit, all pristine and perfect, no wrinkle in sight. He held a bouquet of flowers given by his various admirers and he walked with his head up, facing the chilly winter breeze.

He just finished his escapade with an untouched damsel, as his ebony scarf wrapped itself around his neck. He wore his suit; all soiled and flawed, all imperfections in sight. He held a cigarette and he placed the stick of death onto his lips; stick of death sold by his various providers and he walked with his head up, facing the chilly winter breeze.

Blue eyes met auburn ones. Pure soul encountered corrupted spirit. Life filled with glee met life filled with sorrow. On that night, their souls became one. His dark spirit drained out the life in his light soul. His dim being depleted the brightness in his vivid existence.

It was on that night, that heaven healed the scars of hell, as his hands stroked his bare skin. It was on that night, that heaven cured the sorrows of hell, as his lips dropped soft kisses on his naked chest. It was on that night, that heaven mended the brokenness of hell, as he received his thrust and moaned out his name.

It was on that night he became his salvation.

- 11:45 pm 02/18/10

Write

2010-04-09T09:54:00.001-07:00

Write Scream Fool Brilliant

What is foolishness?

He wrote to redeem what was left of him. He screamed to save his sanity. He crawled to save his life.

He was an educated man with a soaring soul. He was a foolish man with a fading heart. He used to adore himself, to praise his every success. But there came the time when self-love was not enough. But there came the time when he crossed the thin line between brilliance and foolishness.

He wrote to regain what was left of his dignity. He screamed to save his ego. He crawled to save his name.

He believed he was perfect. Everyone believed he was foolish. He thought he was smart and incomparable. Everyone thought he was foolish and ordinary. He knew foolishness can not be seen in his own dictionary. People knew, everyone knew, foolishness was creeping into his veins, he just hasn’t known yet.

He wrote like the brooding novelist he was. He screamed like an insolent child he is. He crawled like a foolish man that he will be.

He loved himself; he adored himself; he supported himself. He tried to ignore the fact that brilliance was an ideal he couldn’t have.

But that didn’t stop him for trying. He would ignore his limitations, pay no heed to his weaknesses, burry his insecurities, for he can’t face all of them. What a brilliant fool he has become.

- 1:40 pm 04/07/10

Light

2010-04-09T09:42:00.001-07:00

Light Hope Strength Dead

Where is the light?

She believed she has no purpose in life. She was given feathers to step on, roses to lie on, silk to cover herself with. She was the perfect mistress, with attentive servants to call for her every whim.

She believed she was dead. She never knew the meaning of life. She never knew the feeling of life. She never knew the feeling of simple happiness. People lived and died. They came and went. She envied them.

She knew she was a weak fool with a dying soul. Her life never had vigor. She has clung to her sire for a long time that she can never let go anymore.

She had faith in hope. She wished to be free; to feel what her life was really meant for. She was fed with a silver spoon, her hair tied with dozens of laced ribbons; everything that has touched her skin was either royal or noble.

She never felt light hit her or gave warmth to her body. She was imprisoned on the darkest of nights and brightest of days. Yet she can never whimper. Whimpers were for the weak. Yet she hid so brilliantly under her magnificently crafted façade.

The wonders of wearing a mask, she can be whoever she wanted to become. She can be the princess, they wanted her to be. She can smile with tightened lips. She can talk with liveliness in her voice. She can dance with such air of happiness. She can almost believe her own acting – almost.

Her heart continued beating, her blood continued racing but her soul stopped believing.

- 1:30 pm 03/02/10

Nocturnal

2010-04-09T09:23:00.000-07:00

Nocturnal Bereft Chestnut Mirrored

What is self love?

She walked down the hallway as she let her fingertips explore the curve of her neck. She tilted her head to the right as she parted her lips. Another nocturnal visit to a beloved.

She let her elegant fingers traced her collarbone, the length of her throat as a soft moan escaped her pale lips. She had waited for this. A healing for her bereft heart.

She turned the knob and saw her sleeping form. She wore a shirt, three sizes bigger for her. And she knew that’s all she was wearing for that night, one translucent cotton shirt. Her chestnut curls lying delicately on a pillow; she was such a delicate little flower.

She locked the door and walked towards her lover. She knelt down beside the bed and saw her reflection upon the hung mirror behind the bed. She can see the same chestnut curls, the same bright blue eyes and the same smirk gracing her face and hers.

She lifted the cotton sheets and saw the expanse of her body. She dropped a kiss on her cheek, on her neck, on her lips, on her breasts as the thin clothing became a barrier between her lips and the fullness of her bosom.

She let her hands travel her milky white thighs. Her thumbs were tracing circles on her inner thighs. Again she looked upon the mirror. She has awakened. They shared a kiss.

Their relationship was simple. They mirrored each other. They shared a special kind of love – love for oneself.

- 3:10 pm 03/01/10

Irony

2010-04-09T03:55:00.001-07:00

Irony Selflessness Emotion Grateful

Why give?

He created her, the solemnity of her face, the radiance of her body and the grandeur of her identity. He gave her clothing. He gave her shelter. He gave her a name. She was his child, his spawn. She was his.

The irony of it all was that she gave him a heart. He was the creator and yet he was given a heart by the very thing he had given life. She was breathtaking. He based her form from all his fantasies of the perfect woman. He remembered the first time he saw her, touched her, heard her voice. It was so amazingly raw. She was half-baked.

Her body was covered with scars. It wasn’t perfect. Her flesh was not so soft as now. Her voice was a little husky. Before she spoke the simplest of words. But now she became so fluent, so perfect.

Only a foolish man would ignore a woman like her.

She gave him a heart. He knew what it felt to love and to be jealous when men started to think of her with such malice.

She gave him emotions. He used to believe, the more you love, the more you get enchanted to love. And the more you lose focus, the more you’ll forget who you are. That happened to him. He became so enchanted and in love with a creature he had made that he forgot to be himself.

He became a follower of her. He became a lovesick fool. He became a martyr, of this one-sided love.

She was grateful for what he had done for her. He had given her everything she had ever wanted. Yet she couldn’t give what he wanted, needed – her.

- 10:00 am 02/23/10

Broken

2010-04-09T03:17:00.000-07:00

Broken Vulnerable Weak Inhumane

Why hurt?

He started to drain her body. He started to forget she’s human. He started to ignore her pleas, her whimpers. He started to hate the fact that he used to be in love with her.

He was always a fool, a broken fool. He asked for her love. He asked her hand in marriage. He asked her to be with him forever. “Forever,” a word used in fairytales and happy endings. He never understood it.

He was a vulnerable fool. He followed her around. He became a complete servant. He was treated like a fool. Yet he kissed the path she walked on. Yet he kissed the trail that dry tears have left on her damp cheeks. Yet he stayed with her even if she started to grope his flesh and started taking advantage of him.

She cheated, he stayed. She lied, he believed. She destroyed him, he let her. She broke his heart, he offered it back. He was weak and even if she exploited him, he wouldn’t care less because he had always loved her. He loved her so much that he was blinded to realize her real intentions.

She asked for the love of another man. She married another man. She asked that man to be with her forever. He never understood her. He wept that night and he cursed her. He wished that the world would swallow her alive. He promised himself he would give justice to his broken heart.

He broke into her house. He pulled the trigger to her husband’s head. He strangled her and repeatedly slapped her soulless face. The moment life deteriorated from her body, he was finish. Her love for him was cruel. He made sure her death would be as inhumane as possible. He promised his heart…

- 8:20 pm 02/22/10

Magnificence

2010-04-09T02:52:00.000-07:00

Magnificence Art Life Imperfection

What is average?

The first time she saw the Mona Lisa, she saw no magnificence, no splendor. It was plain. It was average. Mona Lisa’s smile, her smile was neither the best smile she has ever seen, nor was it the worst. The fullness of the flesh, the curve of her lips; it wasn’t perfect. But it was still art so she presumed it was not mediocre.

She believed mediocre meant not good, not bad. It reminded her of herself. She was not perfect. She saw women with voluptuous bodies, with silky black hair, with tall and attractive body structures. It does not mean they were perfect.

Life was mysterious and somewhat a bed of roses and of thorns. Human beings were always different among each other. She, herself, was different. And just like Mona Lisa, she was neither the best nor the worst. In fact, she was average.

She looked upon her reflection. She looked upon the dark shade of blue above her form. She looked down the earthly brown soil below her. She saw the fresh green leaves that dance beside her. She saw the bright shade of crimson that had tainted the hands of her kind. She saw the blinding yellow that the son bestowed upon the Earth. She saw the pitch black glimpse of the night sky that has covered her when she slept. Now, she realized art imitated life. Life was not mediocre. Life was filled with magnificence.

And she was part of life. Even if imperfection ran through her blood streams. Even if imperfection oozed out of her. She was not average and so was everybody else. That day she concluded, art was so much like life, the only difference was life was much, much more magnificent.

- 3:15 pm 02/18/10

Unethical

2010-04-09T02:30:00.000-07:00

Unethical Questionable Passion Reasoning

Who will teach her now?

She was eight years his junior. She was young and sweet, beautiful and vulnerable, witty and mischievous and she has never fall in love. She was a young flower, delicate and fresh and had never been touched. She was smart and mature. Yet he can’t admire her, yet he can’t love her. He was her teacher. It was very unethical of him to cross the line.

She always took his attention. She recited and smiled and talked to him every once in a while. And sometimes he would catch her smiling as heat rose to her cheeks; she was blushing. She was tall and magnificently poised. Yet when he looked at her, his intentions were always questionable.

She was perfect for him. But he can’t look at her the way he wanted too. Sooner or later, she’ll know the truth. It was only a matter of time before his secret was revealed.

He was full of life and happiness when he entered her classroom. She has a certain smile that was so contagious. He can’t help himself but to smile too. She looked more beautiful when she wore her hair down and he told her.

He was passionate whenever he taught but when he saw her look at him, it seemed to dawn on him that he will be more passionate when she let him love her.

He was afraid to fall for her. She was young and beautiful, she could always choose someone younger, someone better. He knew he was not good enough.

He blamed himself for losing control. He blamed himself for falling in love. He blamed his reasoning because loving her was not the same of her loving him back.

- 1:25 pm 02/17/10

Immorality

2010-04-09T02:05:00.000-07:00

Immorality Fate Hurt Taboo

Why love?

He grew up with her. He fell in love with her. And he will love her still when he dies. She was a minx with her sultry smile and her teasing touch. She looked so innocent when she wore her hair down. She looked so chaste when she hugged her little teddy bear. He knew her and he knew that there was a temptress under those cartoon pajamas and pigtail tresses of hair. She was a temptress in disguise. He was attracted to her. He was a man and he can’t help himself.

The first time he touched her as her brother, she was a child, a baby holding her little stuffed toy and his eyes were filled with fraternal love. The first time he touched her as a man, as her lover, she was a young lady, she was a woman with needs and passion and his eyes were filled with lust and awe.

Every kiss, every touch, every moan, every thrust was always wonderful, was always magical, was always perfect but all the more immoral and tabooed. Making love with her at night as the pale moonlight touched their naked bodies, as their fingers intertwined under his cotton sheets, as their legs were tangled in the most delicious way. They were always hiding.

As he let his lips travel the length of her body, as passion radiated from her soul, she arched her back to meet his every kiss. He believed he was always in paradise when he was with her. When she moaned his name, when she looked into his eyes, when she pressed his head on her chest, when his lips touched her supple breasts, he believed he’s immoral and yet it hurt him to realize that the one person who can give him eternal happiness was the person he can never have.

The same blood ran through their veins. It was so taboo, “brother,” “sister;” what is the essence of those words if all you wanted to do i call that person your, “lover,” “soul mate”? Their love was true, their love was pure, and their love was all he had. Yet love was too cruel to him.

- 3:45 pm 02/16/10

Forbidden

2010-04-08T22:59:00.000-07:00

Forbidden Undisclosed Passion Betrayal

How could I?

She was always his that was what he promised his heart.

She walked down the aisle, a smile adorn her face, her body covered by pure virgin cloth; her eyes shined like stars with a hint of crystal misery. He swore, she always took his breath away. He stood along the altar, waited for her feet to land on the same step as his – next to the groom.

Her lips were thin as if she was restraining herself from smiling. He can tell her grip of the bouquet was tight. He can tell her eyes were starting to water. He can tell she tried to look away behind her veil. He can tell she tried to avoid his gaze as she marched down the long carpeted walkway. Yet he can tell she can’t resist him.

Their love was forbidden, their love was an undisclosed liaison. He remembered when he placed kiss on her wrist, on her palm, along her dainty digits as his lips touched the diamond ring on her ring finger; a ring given to her by his brother. Yet he didn’t bother to stop because he loved her.

He was not the eldest son, the one who carried the family legacy, the one who was going to marry the heiress of another clan. He was not his brother. He was not the one who was going to marry her.

She tried to smile for the cameras, she tried to smile for the sake of her name, she tried to smile for her family, she tried to smile to the man he was bestowed to marry but she can never smile at him – never again.

They said it was betrayal when she said, “I do” to another man, while the man she loved was standing in the same vicinity, at a close proximity.

She was always hi that was what she promised her heart.

She was going to be his no matter what. She was his even if they fall apart.

- 12:40 pm 02/15/10

Beautiful

2010-04-08T22:40:00.000-07:00

Beautiful Fantasy Crush Princess

Why her?

She was the most beautiful girl he has ever seen and the last girl he’ll ever love. He first saw her lying in silk sheets. Her dark brown hair cradled her doll-like face. Her pale skin among the ebony sheets, her thick eyes lashes rest on her high cheek bones. She seemed so regal and perfect.

He watched her chest rise and fall. He saw her full pink lips pursed involuntarily. It seemed so surreal to watch her sleep, to look at her resting form as the angels sung her a lullaby. It was his greatest fantasy to watch her sleep and drop a sweet adoring kiss to her lips.

He was an atheist; he adored no god but adored one person; he adored her. She was not a goddess like Hera or a nymph like Echo but she was his princess. Loving was like jumping off a cliff. He took the risk; he took the leap and he was willing to jump for the sake of having her.

Yet loving her was like building his own coffin because he knew she’ll never love him back. The moment he took the leap, he knew he’ll be crushed; no loving arms to hold him, no loving caress to soothe him, no loving kiss to fill him.

He was never meant to love anyone. She was a princess, a princess that was not his, a love he’ll never have.

It was like a dream, he saw her once and time would come and she would fade. He can only have her in his dreams. She was a distant memory, his sweetest fantasy.

- 5:10 pm 02/11/10

Heaven

2010-04-08T22:27:00.001-07:00

Heaven Hell Earth Purgatory

Where are you?

She was young, innocent and so pure. She used to think of fairytales filled with magic, splendor, princess and prince. She was so naïve and the complete epitome of an angel. Sweet words fell from her lips. She only thought of happiness and chocolates, of unicorns and fairies. Her soul was so light and so good. Yet that was before when heaven was so near to her when tasting heaven seemed possible.

But now, heaven has left her and hell seemed to be knocking on her door. All thoughts of flowers and princesses were thrown out in the wind. Then suddenly she was corrupted. Her mind was filled with heinous thoughts, of lascivious ideas of filthy images. You can see Satan breathing life in her sleeping soul. Suddenly she lost her innocence. Her soul became dark.

There was malice in her smile, hatred in her heart, greed in her eyes and jealousy riveting her soul. She was now the epitome of Satan’s favorite daughter. Her body stayed in Earth but her mind and consciousness drifted in Hell.

They said your body was the temple of God yet her body has homed by different men; men who were neither gods nor holy. They said it was possible for the devil to invade your spirit yet she knew still how to love.

She thought her feet were touching the ground of Earth yet she used to live in Heaven and in Hell. Her soul quaked, her soul lived and died and felt like purgatory was her new home. Purgatory never felt so right.

- 1:30 pm 02/09/10

Humanity

2010-04-08T21:46:00.000-07:00

Humanity Integrity Morality Eternal Damnation

What is salvation?

Cold sweat starts to trickle down her pale neck as the veins bulges out. Her eyes are blood shot and her lips bleeding crimson. As red fluid covers her full lips, as her own canine teeth tarnish the full flesh. Cold chills start to run down her spine as her bare arms are covered with goose bumps and dry blood. She starts to shiver as wave after wave of dizzying paranoia rocks her soul. Thick rough ropes start to grope her young neck, as the gluttonous strings of death wrap themselves around her very existence. She feels nails digging down her hips, little daggers that pierce through the skin. The little daggers start to drag themselves down to her thighs, her bare thighs.

She wears nothing but soiled cloth wrapped around her torso. She can hear the angels cry. She can see the devil smile.

She is kicked to the ground, her chin grazing the rough filthy earth, as the cold-hearted witch pulls up her once silky raven hair while pressing her body to the ground. A whimper escapes her bleeding lips; a plea that asks for salvation; a wish that appeals to be granted. Nails start to scrape her scalp. Oh, she can feel the little daggers travel the length of her body once again.

A long glossy tail starts to whack her naked buttocks. She can just imagine the devil deliciously spanking her body.

The flesh starts to burn in pain and thinks that her soul is burning all the same. An angel has fallen from the silent sky as the color of scarlet covers her being. Like an angel she has fallen – fallen and burning in hell.

- 3:00 pm 02/08/10

Pagpapakilala

2009-11-13T17:34:00.000-08:00

Minsan naisip ko kung ang pag-ibig ba ay para sa lahat. Sa isang nilalang na katulad ko na ang edad ay musmos at ang buhay ay hilaw mula sa mga karanasan at problema, aking napagtanto na mahihirapan ako sagutin ang tanong na bumabagabag sa aking isipan. Kung ang pag-ibig ay para sa lahat, bakit minsan hindi ito madama? Kung ang pag-ibig ay para sa lahat, bakit minsan mahirap magmahal? Ang pag-ibig na aking tinutukoy ay hindi lamang ang pag-iibigan ng babae at lalaki kundi ang tipo ng pag-ibig na siyang hanap ng lahat.

Bilang isang nag-iisang anak, labis akong naghahanap ng tinatawag na pagmamahal na namamagitan sa mga magkapatid. Gusto ko ng kuya o ate na magtuturo sa akin; kung hindi man ay yun mang-aalaska sa akin. Gusto ko ng mga mas batang kapatid na siya namang mag-aaya sa akin maglaro o magpaturo. Nguinit mahirap ito hanapin.

Sabi ng iba dapat makontento ang isang tao sa mga biyayang kayang natatanggap. Ako nama’y kontento na sa pagmamahal at pag-aaruga ng aking mga magulang at ang kanilang paghihirap sa “pagsangga” sa akin mula sa mga masamang impluwensya. Ngunit dumating ang punto sa aking buhay na ako’y naghahanap ng ibang mga taong siyang “magsasangga” sa akin. Hindi naman sa pagkasawa mula sa aking mga magulang sapagkat ang nais ko lamang ay madagdagan ang mga taong siyang aakay sa aking tuwing ako ay nababaon na.

Madalas kong maramdaman na ako ay baong baon na; hindi sa utang ngunit sa pagod. Pagod na ako magpanggap bilang isang nilalang na mataas ang moralidad at walang ginagawang masama. Gusto kong matuwa ang lahat sa akin. Nais ko ang atensyon dahil mula sa atensyon at mabuting komento sa akin ng mga tao, nararamdaman kong mahalaga ako. Kumbaga may “sense of fulfillment.”

Mula ng mamatay ang aking lolo, naramdaman kong wala na ang taong nagbibigay sa akin ng lakas ng loob. Bago niya iwan ang mundong ito, ramdam ko na marami akong pagkukulang pero dahil sa lolo ko pakiramdam ko na kahit may pagkukulang ako may magmamahal pa rin sa akin. Noong nawala siya, pakiramdam ko na pag ako ay may pagkukulang wala ng gagalang sa akin, magmamahal pwera ang aking mga magulang.

Kahit sabihin ng iba na hindi importante ang tingin ng iba sa iyo; hindi ko magawang sumang-ayon dahil sa aking palagay kahit anong gawin ko bahagi na ang patuloy na paghahangad ng mas mataas na posisyon, ng maging pinakamagaling, ang patuloy na paghahangad na maging “mas at pinaka.”

Kasabay ng paghahangad ko na maging “mas at pinaka” ay ang paghahangad ko ng pagmamahal. Minsan ito ay isang bagay na hindi ko maranasan sa labas ng aking sanktuwaryo, ang aming tahanan. Naisip ko noon marahil ang pagmamahal na ipanagkakaloob sa akin ng aking mga kamag-aral ay hindi tunay na pagmamahal kundi pagmamahal na bunga ng pagkaawa.

Alam ko na hindi ako ang pinakamarilag, batid ko rin na hindi ako ang pinakamatalino. Pero hanggang ngayon hindi ko pa rin masagot ang tanong ng aking pagkatao. Bakit minsan mailap ang pagdaong palad namin ng tunay na pagmamahal? Bakit puro awa ang lagi kong nababangga sa kalsada ng buhay? At kung minsan bakit hindi ko mapaandar ang aking puso na magpakita ng pagmamahal sa pamamagitan ng mga aksyon hindi lamang salita?

Gusto kong maging makata ngunit hindi ko nais na tanging matatamis na salita lamang ang aking maaaring ialay sa mundo. Gusto kong maging manunulat ngunit hindi ko nais na pinagsama-samang salita ang siyang magiging bunga ng aking pagkatao. At higit sa lahat gusto ko maging “tao,” isang buhay na nilalang na marunong magmahal at minamahal ng kapwa niya.

Pero sa aking palagay ang paghahanap sa pag-ibig ay parang isang destinasyon na kailangang lakbayin ngunit hanggang ngayon dama ko na wala pa rin ako sa kalagitnaan ng paglalakbay.