June 23, 2007

fragmented yesterdays

was reading the old posts..
hazy recollections, too faint to be certain.
the cheeriness, the metaphors, the dark thoughts,
familiar yet strangely distant.
could it have been that long ago?

was looking at the old pictures..
.. nights out, partying, drinking, camwhoring.
the faces, so young.. the smiles, so carefree.
i almost forgot how everything has changed.
surely it cant just be me?

was gonna start writing the overdue article..
.. but instead was reminded of the past.
the buried emotions, the memories left behind.
the melancholy gets to you sometimes.
is this how it is supposed to feel?

you dont realize how far ahead you are until you stop to look behind..

.. just make sure you get back on track soon enough.

June 17, 2007

the man of my life

i love how you send me quirky e-mails
that have me laughing out loud
with you, at you, at us.
it's amazing how we have reached a point
where anything at all can be said.

i love your delightful insights
about life, about me, about people around us.
you never fail to surprise me
with your sharp observations.
your intuition has already gotten you so far.

i love how you have let me go,
yet still hold a part of me.

im sorry i cant be home this winter
you know i would love to..

happy fathers' day pa!

June 06, 2007


she stares blankly at the papers in front of her, seeing past the printed knowledge meant to save her this friday.

in the next half-moon cubicle, teenage boys throw vulgarities at each other, an obvious norm in their daily conversation. the chatter drones on, mildly comforting because it ties her down to the reality that she is not in the safe haven of rainbows. the cleaner stacks up the grey stools on the white tables. an unintentionally hostile move, depriving new customers of choice.. and reminding existing ones that it is already two hours past midnight. the music is strangely familiar; pop in all its young glory. the smell of fries wafts through the air. oil-laden, salt-infested, the staple meal for almost all present. two policemen walk in. two friends follow. medics arrive not long after. all with a common goal.. supper.

her shoulders rise with every breath, her body otherwise motionless. the calculated movements stop her from feeling already more suffocated than she already feels. the seat grows warmer by the minute, but her fingers turn icy cold. she wills the tears to come, but none surface. inside, the war continues. outside, she is the picture of tranquility.

she remembers the barter trade; vulnerability in exchange for sweet nothings.

she should have known.