| “Can we control the weather?” | sure as dreams will forever live when we never cease to imagine; | the little boy never grows old. | Scars tattooed in our hearts will forever sting of the fancies and the tales that made us who we are. | Hiding and seeking becomes interchanged, when we come to wonder what we have been hiding for. | In the end, when summer ceases and you can’t stop the rain from falling; | it’s only then could we find a reason to look up at whichever shinning orb there is in the sky and have the strength to whisper, | “When it’s hard, why do I bother? Because I know it’s worth trying.” |
December 4th, 2013
I can’t stop thinking about you. I see your smile on every fair-skinned, sunset-stricken hair that my eyes could fell upon. The image becomes even more vivid when I close my eyes. The sound of your laughter reverberates in the air. Your giggle is the cure to the silence and your songs are the mockingjays of wishful thinking.
I can still smell your scent, the intoxicating dose of euphoria in the shampoo that you wore. It was some comforting spell; the feel of your head rested unto my shoulder, your body pressed unto mine, and my arms wrapped around you. The sensation is enigmatic, new and surreal, and my memory replays it, on loop, like a carefully metered word play.
I reckon if there is a remedy to this poison that I’ve somehow willfully ingested. If there ever is, it might be the rationality of how one could be very spontaneous on privately sent messages, yet too dumbfounded to conjure a prolonged, in-person small talk.
Albeit it would be easily misjudged when I’d imply that there is such a force as strong as the recent typhoon (stronger, even). The aftermath of such a calamity that fucked-up so much lives gave way to something that initially swept me off my feet, then tore down the walls I placed around me, until finally swooping for my heart and carrying it to a place I never thought I needed to be. I found something in what everyone thought was a hopeless place.
We made our bridges in hopeful cyber interactions, until it came to a point where we had a chance to finally share grilled hotdogs and some 30-or-so peso worth of hard drinks (under an actual bridge). I’m sure it wasn’t romantic. The smoke in our faces and the booming sound system would suggest that Katniss and Peeta might have the much scintillating encounter in the jungle that tried to take their lives. Nevertheless, life is awkward that way. Much like counting the amount of stares people make, or wanting to tag along with someone and someone’s mom while they’re shopping. We get unexpected things a lot, and that’s the beauty in life: there is no camera 360 to distort a perfect coincidence and an amazing girl.
I don’t always get from A’s to Z’s of whatnot falala’s, but I’m willing to bet that there is something here. I just hope that I will get there in time.
December 3, 2013