Before August

Before August

The age of majority comes a ringin’
Messages; reminders that I’m not always
Always a kid dreaming, reeling the fantasies
I conjured at night in a safe haven

in my head.
There’s a room full of sparkles
and hope and fear, evolving.
They run and jump turning, around the
seemingly vast space of possibilities
cramped

Every night.
I watched them live and die and be
Born in a time where a journey like no other
Dawns before my very eyes.
And it’s painful to watch all the sparkles change.

They once have had wings
And eyes
And love
And poetry
And minds that uses its faculties
As creative and as chimerical as possible.
“Where have they gone?” I asked.
I questioned myself in a dream.

Now it’s the eve of July 31st.
I woke up this morning hearing a quiet response.
“They did exactly what they had to do,” it said.
“With or without your knowing,” it whispered.

“They grew up.”
I asked, “Like I did?”
“Not just yet.”
I’m left not feeling my face,
Not having a clue what to do next.
Until it said,

“They’re waiting for you.”

Something to laugh about.

Something to laugh about.

One of these days I’ll have a new chore and that would be laughing as I stalk your Facebook timeline. I would be laughing at you and your new pet. “Aww. isn’t this just nice?” “Who knew he’d act like this?” “For someone who claims he’s an ‘epicurist’ when it should be called ‘epicurean,’ look how far he’s come to find this new girl…” Then again, “Aww, this is just nice.” To hell if I sound and seem bitter but I guess that would be me relishing my so-called happiness and contentment on the kind of life I have now.

Maybe it is difficult to work with my bodyclock switching on at 5:30 in the morning when I badly want to marry the bed for the rest of the day. Maybe I struggle making sure that I keep a lifestyle where I keep me feet on the ground by still doing the same things I do even before I even learned that I already have a job. Maybe it is hard for me to think about how I have to spend my hard earned money. Maybe I still find myself questioning why I took a job where I work 10 hours a day and get curious how I suddenly got to where I am now.

All these things and more swim in the pool of my thoughts wondering if I made the right choices in life. And then there’s you… Your eternal face etched deep in the core of my thoughts when it first learned what it’s like to be attracted.

“Adulting” made thinking about my future adventures a part of my system. The system never ate me. I devoured it whole. Because I thought it would be better to get the best of it than let it get the best of me; let alone get ahead of me. And that is something I try so hard to avoid.

Sure. You may ask why I exert so much effort avoiding that situation but the reason is clear. I would rather not make the same mistake I did before and look back… It’s a fucking time vortex in there. A rift in the fabric of my reality that is a fixed point in time and is a piece of my history that can never be undone. I have no other direction to look at other than forward and not back. At the same time, I have to make sure that none of the relics of you stand in my way as I tread through my journey. You bear no place in my heart anymore.

We had a chance. Twice. Perhaps it wasn’t even called a chance at all. It was a point in my life where it just had to pass and whenever I have to look back, I just have to keep singing the words “I’ve just seen a face” and cut it there. Because “I can forget” and no, “I have ‘not’ fallen” and no “you never kept calling me back again.” Everything else was all me; me and my mistakes and false hopes and dreams and me welcoming a calamity which I regret setting a place on my dinner table for.

Now, back to the part where I choose to laugh while stalking your Facebook timeline. As I read through your own train of thought -if it even deserves to be called one- I think that I’m happy I have claimed my freedom. I owned the key to the shackles I bound to myself and all I had to do was unchain myself and leave my own prison. I keep recalling that episode of my life and I’m left wondering. When will that new pet of yours realize that she is trapped in your dungeon of lustful desires and selfishness? If not that then I wonder, when will you learn that your selfishness and lustful desires will make you a sad man for the rest of your life? I do hope either of those limbos will end really soon.

And until that fateful day comes, I shall be laughing. At the back of my head. My laughter is too precious to be wasted on your story knowing I’ve come to make mine worth more than myths and fairytales.

The planes over my head.

The planes over my head.

The sound; the engines cry
Your voice so loud
The sound ran dry
But love, every moment fed
Behold the planes over my head

Where rain like tears fall
Familiar, the sight, the wall
And behold time, love; Sped
All the planes over my head

The clouds come forlorn
The echoes of when you were born
Come, love, with me in bed.
Away the planes over my head

Away the misery spell
Tonight my love
I lay wishing you well
Spirit and soul, together, fled
Behold the planes over my head

High on the mountains
My body stand hence
Love I finish the verse instead
Watching the planes over my head

Steps, move; one by one
Four moons while I am gone
I’ll come home, love
Come to your head
Like the planes over my head

For my love, my Pilot.

For my love, my Pilot.

I wonder if there ever was a story behind your desire to fly. I reckon there was a day that your father taught you how to walk. And there came a day that he let you down. When your feet ceased trembling on the ground, his smile was as glorious as the sun that rose when you first gazed the world. And as his smile landed on your mother’s eyes, they knew what you were always meant to do.

I wonder why you wanted to befriend the smell of the grease on your hands embracing your skin like the women you once loved but never kept. I wonder if they tasted like drugs like their kisses, like the high that you desire; the high that love makes you. I wonder if it felt like countless shots of morphene, in solid faith believing that as long as you’re at home with the clouds the monsters that creep below will never hurt you.

I wonder why you wanted to memorize each screw of those engines. Perhaps there might have been a day that you knew how to put yourself together and there were days that you didn’t. Like knowing every inch of the stratosphere above the fabric of the earth but never understand, nor comprehend how to soar with them.

I wonder why you wanted to fly. How many times did the world let you fall? How many times have you been caught? How many times have you caught yourself realizing that none can fathom, none can overpower the magic that flying brings? Was walking, was falling never enough to make you believe that dwelling on the earth’s crust, savoring each step on the soil alone can bring you home? The place right where you belong. The heart where you truly reside.

Thrust. Lift. Drag. Weight. They said. The right variables for a safe flight. But they never secure us from the wrath of turbulence as we traverse the path away from the eye of the storm. Here it comes, love. The stratosphere is not safe now. The lightning catching up with our feet. The thunder clapping in our hands. Blazing like torches in the dim sky. A thick cloud of cold smoke smothering the light. Tell me. Do you still want to fly?

I wonder if there ever was a story behind your desire to fly. I wonder why you wanted to befriend the smell of the grease on your hands embracing your skin. I wonder why you wanted to memorize each screw of those engines. I wonder why you wanted to fly. Do you still want to fly? I’m frightened, love. I’m frightened like the whimpering cat that I was when you first met me. But if it is really is a lion heart that you possess… Brave enough to fight, the storm, the shadows, the darkness, the world. Love, do you still want to fly? Love, I’m scared but I’d like to see you try.

Promises, promises

Promises, promises

Promise me this. Promise me exactly this. That Friday nights at the park would be awesome; just you, me and the stars. We can welcome the streetlights and the loud horns out of nowhere. The people would pass us by like comets which we barely even notice knowing we’re the brightest celestial bodies hovering around our galaxy. Not even the noise would bring us down for we own these nights.

We would take a stroll noticing things; tiny things that we’ve always held dear. We will talk about how life was unkind and how destiny was compassionate to us, so much that fate graced us with miracles. And then we will talk about how the personification of those miracles were having each other.

But these are promises that cannot be made real. At least, not for the time being as we are fated to part time and time again.

One thing I learned from promises that cannot be made real is quite simple. Some promises could be broken. Some promises could and could not be realized. Others become dreams worth achieving.

The Burning Hearth and the Waiting Game

The Burning Hearth and the Waiting Game

Tell me again if the hearth alone burns your skin. Though you’re inches away; just give me the word and I would put away the fire myself. I’ll cover you with something else. Something else, but not me. No part of me shall touch any of you. No heat, no light. None of me. As I know that neither all of me nor any part of me would make you feel any better.

I’m the still burning ember of the fire that made you feel home. I’m still a part of the warmth that you yearned for the night; the body, the arm, the shoulder, you held on to. I am still. And I made you better. I made you feel better. I haven’t changed. But understand that time did.

It passed and it no second shall come to pass the other way around. No entity, not even I can watch the days come back to me when everything was wonderful. Those days when we held hands as if we held the world was still from the storms that caved above and beneath. Those days when we embraced and locked limbs as we held the earth safe from the depths of the abyss. Those days; glory days that always, always come back when yet could never be frozen.

But times have changed and I have to wait for that again. For now, we watch the clocks turning and the world revolving. We’ll have tears and sweat shed by and by as the seconds pass. Bodies apart; no contact. We keep each other warm with no skin nor limb entwining. We’ll have to surpass that oncoming storm not so apart yet seemingly alone in the days, the nights and the twilights ahead.

Maybe the hearth does burn you from inches away. And it pains me to hurt you even when I have said none nor done nothing. Here I stand watching you. I watch you burn as you try and reach me. Do me a favor. Don’t reach for me.

I know I’d feel less alone knowing you wait and I wait; watching the clocks turning and the world revolving. You and I would be still. And that would be enough.