i found this on tumblr. it just connected, somehow. after all this time, maybe there are things yet to be overcome.
Your skin grazes mine
Skin on skin
It is remarkable
At that moment
Only at that point
The instant I break free
I feel the part of my soul
To your touch
Happiness cannot be right
If it comes at too high a price
tell the truth all of the time but it is not necessary to tell all of it at that one time.
she steps out and immediately shades her eyes against the glaring sun. terrific day for a walk, she muses, if you don't buy into skin cancer and all of that. she takes the first tentative step onto the sidewalk and more purposefully takes the next. yes, it was most decidedly a terrific day for a walk.
the shade offered by the leaves of aged trees beside the path helped to diffuse the otherwise biting heat. it would be a leisurely walk, she had decided before venturing out, the type of walk that left you with too many thoughts and too little resolutions. it would be the type of walk necessary after the heaviness of an unexpected memory.
it was nothing simple when it started. and when, exactly, any of it started was unclear even to her.
"do you enjoy it that melancholy?", indicating the disc she was sampling
"excuse me?", she had feigned surprise while removing the headset.
"i'm sorry but did you want to use the set?", it was better not to show interest, she figured.
"i only really know one song of hers. and it's quite melancholy," a half-smile kept playing on his lips, "i'm sorry but i was watching you and was wondering, would you like to grab something to eat with me?"
the invitation to grab something to eat turned to dinner and extended to a few drinks in a quiet bar afterwards. she was rarely so impulsive but on a day when you're listening to Sara Bareilles in a music store, you might just be in the mood to be swept off your feet.
from the start he told her he liked her. after dinner it was clear he wasn't the type of guy who often approached women in music stores. after drinks she showed him the ring. it was never simple, even at the start.
he was blase about everything. he would dismiss her protests with a topic change or a sly remark about something she had done. he loved to play the game that way - a game she found fascinating at the beginning and impossible to leave at the end. they fell in love, others would say - they, of course, would never name it with a word so worldly. they fell in love and neither of them would admit it. why end the game? why not just keep playing until the end comes and declares the winner?
i was not waiting for you, there at that music store. i was waiting for love. i was waiting for love to return to me. i wanted it to arrive in the same way i welcomed it the last time. i waited for love to come in the form of the man i promised to marry. but it was you who spoke. i was waiting for love. and it was you who came.
she walked back into the comforts of her room. the sweat made her shirt cling close to her back. somehow, the walk was not as good a cathartic as she thought it would be. she closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath. the creases between her brow smoothen as she reaches towards the player and presses play.
"Something always brings me back to you.
It never takes too long
No matter what I say or do
I still feel you here til the moment I'm gone..."
she doesn't open her eyes. it is better to keep them closed at this moment. the memory of a face is so much more vivid without the colors of reality.
"...Set me free, leave me be
I don't wanna fall another moment into your gravity..."
he left before the end came. she was married before the game could be declared over.
the air is dense with the memory of the lost maybe in time, this too will define us
a child walking out to fall into hands bloodied from clawing at debris
a mother left underneath or perhaps already with the pile rotting on the streets
a lover finding his love, unresponsive but alive nonetheless let the crushing pain echo out- it is a good sign that she isn't dead
a man pushing on. adrenaline comes when the cries become fainter. what does it matter when death haunts even those above the rubble?
what does it mean to be saved? is it to be awakened, brought out to learn hell is more palpable than was taught us?
it is to be assured that holding out a few days in the desperation and to be found can mean hope to others fighting to survive
it means the flooding of life back to those waiting and still struggling. hold out a little bit longer. help is on the way.
i've been following the news about Haiti and everyone who's suffering there. my heart bleeds for the families of those who are still underneath the rubble. and i can't help but feel a silent desperation at the thought of those who are suffering on the streets for lack of food and shelter. i hardly know them but i still believe and hold out hope that those 3 filipinos will be found and reunited with their families. i echo Farie's sentiments when she said, let's pray. someone needs to believe that miracles can happen in this terrible disaster. and in a way, miracles have.
a girl was found by her father and boyfriend and everyone told them that they should throw her body along with the pile of corpses on the streets. she was unresponsive, and her eyes were corpse-like: open wide, unseeing. they persisted and brought her to the doctors. even there they were told that the girl's body should be thrown out. (there are so many who need help and so few there to give it that this reaction was understandable) only one medic found enough energy in him to bend down and check the girl's pulse. she was alive.
a 2 year old girl was pulled out of the rubble. they heard her crying and when they lifted the debris, she walked right out towards her rescuers. people were still found alive after almost a week after they were buried alive. rescue was said to be futile after 3-4 days without water.
miracles happen. if you're reading this, please pray for the people in Haiti. not just for those who are still lost. also for those who have no food and shelter. resources are so scarce that even those who survived the earthquake face the reality of death at the hands of starvation and disease. riots are breaking out. hope is slowly fading. surely we all have time to offer even just one prayer.
lately, my sister's gotten me into the habit of entering Book Sale stores and searching the racks for "good finds" at crazy cheap prices. sometimes, braving the dust mites is actually worth the risk. she once bought a zora neale hurston book in good condition for only P30 or something like that. and i bought The Horse Whisperer for P50 and it was hard bound too.
a book i bought over the Christmas break contained the words of an author i was hardly famiiar with. The Train Now Departing. that's the title of the book. it's not much for plot but the author's introspective characters got me reflecting on myself as well.
there's this one part where the character reflects on a book she's reading (in much the same way i am doing now) and she "wondered about myster writers were they all, in part, despicable? Probably....Perfectly nice people in the main, but there was that one cringing place in their souls that provoked them toward this sort of writing."
if what one writes speaks of the self, what does my writing say? what do my words say i am?
the questions floor me. and when i look at my writing, i can't help but wonder if all that my words show is a gaping hole where love used to be and which i try vainly to fill with justifications and eloquence. am i, then, simply a reaction to the forces that have come and gone in my life? the inquiry is valid enough but the implications of an answer have such destructive potential that i cringe from it and decide instead to wait for the heavy abyss to perhaps engulf these emotions as well.
in books, there are endings. not always happy but things end all the same. resolution is part of a good writer's objectives. in life, sometimes one has no choice but to leave things hanging.
electricity enters through the tip of my middle finger slowing perceptibly near the inside of my wrist tracing back outward along eager skin creating static on soft hair to touch my elbow rising still, the current scintillates, ever so sure winding gently up across my shoulder to touch lightly, purposefully the base of my neck it is as if a kiss has shivered upward along a single path that wreaks havoc on my entire body
it is such a private moment that it stretches on causing my breath to catch and release in slow shudders
you smiled and the world responded with such a physical force, i could not have escaped. allowing for choice, i would not have wanted to.
spare me now the trappings of your well-planned soliloquy practiced perhaps in the hopes of plying what comes as attention or perhaps even begrudging affection from this wasted lot
it is not that your presence is unwanted nor is it that you, yourself, are not worthy of want. this is an inevitable reaction to time bidding defiance disallowing my reprieve, holding back a claim to peace and forgiveness
a sorrier plight surely exists not far from here and one sorrier still just adjacent i wait not for the harangue spoken in a voice stealing from my own lips, the issuance of which might reveal stolidity enough to break you.
i wait for you to walk on of your own choosing. soon it will be clear enough. you supplicate only to shadows.