❚ a hindsight, we‘re together

For What its Worth - For This Cycle

On that frore dead of night of bleary and while on condoled walking, my heart had never trampled over my body that way. It was new to me. My arid hands that had always held bottles of liqueur and addictive thorns of cigars, started spouting dank butterflies. Even with, our hands enclosed much taut like a child fearful of being lost. As we walked our path seeming to last a short while, your skin grazed mine in euphoria. It felt perfect warm that I had only whimmed this picture to end not.

Cowed to break the charm of primordial gods, I gave in to your ways of silence. I gaped at you slyly, a face of no ifs, ands or buts being with me. All I could do was to bog down our speed of treading, hoping I could feel your hands any longer. Soon, you looked at me. I felt thawing as your eyes telling me to look back. You stopped a sudden. How far are we going? It played in loops ‘till angst in my heart. I’m daunted how far can we go. My hands were shaken, your eyes cajoling every inch of me for words. I held both your hands reaching your arms then back, ending with our bosom entwined. Aren't this enough?, I muttered.

Of course it is.

Then why you ask?

It’s just....

Wrong?  It‘s our relationship, Isn't?

No, of course it‘s not. I....

Let me take you home.

Hold on, we should do this a bit longer. 

Night had fallen upon us without taking in further words. Its pale semblance finally succumbed to the fumes of our bodies embraced. I could‘t mind being virtuous now that your subtle lips were convincing. Every thrusts of crimson flesh seemed a gallop of lust. Were our sinful sap called in unison, I felt your heart running savage as mine catching up not far off the pace. It was my first kiss, I discerned it meant something.

We continued strolling down to your way home. This time my arms were across your shoulder. While we reached your house, we bluffed as friends as distance started to substance. Our eyes communed enough to say every phrase a lovers ought—a bond we bitterly pledged occult to any of their eyes‘s bigotry. As the door closed, a tone came out. I cannot lose you. So do I.

Gone are those days.

Just when I thought somehow everything I own smelled of you, your scent meekly slipped out of my esteemed memories. Now, everything I know of you flow past me everlessly. You were the person who thought me that love was never a choice, for I had to feel it more than anything else. When I had to blame myself for my frailties, you were there taking it. And I know for sure that the love I knew once will be different thereafter.

You were gone, you chose him over me without leave-taking litany. I would not mind as I had always been a sin for you; I had no right of my miserly intentions. My being was the most empty of all, engulfing you and so you could fill its expanse—a dreadfully romantic ambition.  Still, your were the most sugar-coated tale I kept, that every time we may see each other now, I know there happened a mystery once. Love.

❚ you are single

   Being single is terse itself. The fact you are alone is an enticing incense not just to same feathers but an impending treachery to existing affairs as well. Rigidly, being caught red-handed is not part of the goal. The whole community extending borders is your humongous playing field. Remember not to perish, you are the protagonist of your own frolic. There are no best-supporting roles for their triumphs in limelight are not yours.

   Recite “single” repetitively without commitment, you’d realize you can stop doing it as desired. All time is yours—no hassle, no late excuses—and misspend it prudently as for others it is gold, for you it is bronze. Your monthly stipend is exclusive. Grope all luxuries of a teenage to young adulthood man, splurge your money through buying the most high-priced perfume in Giorgio Armani. Spritz some on your neck and randomly on your favorite spruce flannel long-sleeve button-up shirt. Pretend you’re strolling in the mall on purpose, an unexpected old acquaintance is around waiting. Your hi’s and hello’s are spectral and remember not to forget to inquire her number. Go out with her once. If your date did not work out or she hold you off on a text message, recuperate and move on to the next.

    Your very goal is to seek for a partner. Plead your friends for their help is crucial. Because presumably, they too have friends whose privy parts are as vestal as yours, withal, keep your fingers crossed. However, social networking sites are an alternate harpoon; add people all you want until you hit a thousand. Inveigle and banter every single “single” girl you think unpretentious. But, do not get your hopes up.

   There are days, months or years you’ll be alone. Truly, the anatomical consistency of your milt can tell. There are people who would curse themselves to quietus, knowing they too want to be woven on a companion’s sweetest troths of forever. Tell them they’ll grow creases a maiden. There will be times, a battered ram of cliché will fire akin questions at you: When will you get married? Tell them as soon as theirs daughters achieve menarche. 

   Brutal, yes. Your love life is never been else’s business.

   

   As your day ends with still an ounce of might to face life’s cruelty, your Abrazador and linen offer the same patronage since days of auld lang syne. They will not have limbs to get even by your caresses neither will they have ears to hear your moans of solitariness. On that night, your bed is single and so are you.

                                                                            

Auld Lang Syne is translated in English Literature as “old long since” or idiomatically, “long long ago.” 

The style of writing is a copy, a frustration. It seems a backslide.

❚ i need to quit

   Lately, I feel like I’m living a hermit life, again. I know I did this a bunch of times though not as much as the past few weeks. Beyond any doubt, I rate this summer the worst of all not only had I not gotten to any of the summer vacation hot spots, not to mention those run-of-the-mill pool resorts, but also my summer sucks for not even had a chance to revel with my friends. 

   I know they’re feeling like I’m contriving this bulwark between us ‘cause every time they would invite me, my pockets seemed abysmal to my reach. I noted some messages from them, How is life? Still alive?, yet the only answer I came up with was to leave them unanswered. Not exactly I’m fleeing myself from my obligation as a friend, I just couldn’t help it.

   What is more eating me is the college’s publication I have been longing for months to forsake to. We have a deadline to meet this coming June but the workload is heaping up incessantly. I remember I told you once that I layout our college’s newspaper magazine as an extracurricular activity since Adobe is my fancy. In spite of, it seems like the moil they placed upon me doesn't equate the return I should be getting. Or I should say I find it infeasible. The sleepless nights are way too unjust. The electric consumption is preposterous. The time I’m spending is terribly tedious. And on top of that, I feel distressed.

   I pushed my luck to ask for my rescindment from the org the moment we had a meeting after the latest issue was published like 4 months ago. I tried to voice out my scheme but everyone including my org mates were nonconforming, even our adviser mock me as I was attempting to. They knew it would be a hard time to find for my replacement. They left me no choice. It is enough that I had once produced something I could flaunt inasmuch as I proved to myself I am adept of doing it so. Unluckily, I’m still an affiliate doing the same routines I hated above this paragraph.

   The next time I would plan about escaping quitting, I would not wage into luck. It is not luck I should be worrying about—it is my right. Had I known then what I know now, I would have not shown my craft in layouting. Everything is at its utmost cry-over-spilled-milk drama recently. My mother whose been insistent on my resignation since, gives me more reason to quit.
   
   Haaa! They’ll see.