Keepsake

It was utterly the most bittersweet moment. The cue in for settling which is which or which is not. She was immensely longing for this moment, that moment wherein she had to choose. She poured her heart on giving this speech of a lifetime but she does not realise she was also pouring her soul, yieldy mirroring through her adlibs not found from her notes. She came prepared yet someone came for a surprise.

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Fiction : Other side.

She was stranded in a stormy weather. She still braved herself to attend the meeting even if it was suggested by her weather app that it will be raining cats and dogs for three days. She was halfway to her destination when she read the text from her client that the agenda was cancelled. Why cancel it twenty minutes before the scheduled time? she asked herself. Why set a meeting with this circumstances, though?

At her stop, she managed herself to land into an eerie coffee shop where no one but her and the barista were present. Josie thought the place is new because she has never seen it before but from the looks of it, everything in the cafe looks fragile and rusty. It is as if it won’t survive the three-day stormy weather. She dropped her yellow umbrella in the bin before going to the table near the window. She took out her laptop and iPhone from her mahogany satchel and brought them to life–ignoring the notifications for a while when the barista came to her.

I recommend our Cafe Misto if you’d like. He has piercings all over his ears, 12 if she might have estimated. Josie thought it was unusual to recommend a drink rather asking her what would she want to have. I’d have Black coffee, no sugar. Thank you.

The moment the barista went back to his bar and make the coffee she asked, she open the drafts on her laptop, essays on her new scripts for the new play on January. She was too drowned proof-reading the lines and dissecting the stanzas for relentless emotions ought to be delivered by her picked actors. It made her think, she is just on top of everything–just everything she wanted and dreamed of.

She took a glance at the window and couldn’t help herself notice a man. He seemed to be battling if he wanted to go inside the bookstore just across the coffee shop she’s in. After quite some moments, he just found himself more comfortable looking through the window of the rusted victorian window. He was supposed to open the door but he just settled with looking through the window instead. Don’t let this be your story. 

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Closure.

I pulled out my 4-year old iPod from my knapsack,
Scrolled in circular and pressed to play, Flowers In Your Hair by The Lumineers.

The smell of freshly baked pandesal joined the breeze.
Buying in some without a pang of hesitation.
For the smell is always included into use for our taste buds,
How heavenly it is when the room smells like butter.

Then I saw you with a newspaper in your hand with a bag of pandesal in the other.
You gestured yourself with the bag by your hand
I smiled and said, “No, thank you.”
I turned my back and walked out of the bakery,
Setting the volume of the iPod to max when I got inside my jeep.

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Aisle.

The trouble is,we think we have enough time. Second chances are made for us who holds in the belief that it is ever too late.

I walked in the aisle, not knowing someone is walking, too, behind me.. Just like three steps away from me. I knelt down and sat at the far end wooden benches. I started praying. For all He knew, he knows what I am praying for. For I, never thought, what stood there in front of me knows everything that I’ve been longing.

This is how you walked. How you found. How you came.

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Exercises

She’s the kind who isn’t struggling when something bad is going on because that’s what life taught her. She’s been through a lot that make her seem to look so easy when handling bad things. The downside, she doesn’t seem to care about anything at all. It’s just all about her now, no one else.

From the looks of it, she’s the stereotyped girl who’s happy enough in the company of a good book and a mix of good music. She acts like she doesn’t care on how she looks but she does.

All of these, I want to know more but it seems like she doesn’t want to.

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This is what it sounds like when doves cry.

It is more than a guilt feeling. It’s even more than being so shameful for what I did. After a year of waiting, I finally got a hold of her. But then sudden conditions in my life occur and made me lose my grip. I’m now in hell.

She’s crying. Like an angelic baby, she still looks adorable when she cries. Her cheeks gone red, her eyes glitters with tears and it made me want to hold her tight. I tried but she pushes me away. She still looks beautiful but I never told her this, she’d only think I’m making up for my unmanly mistake. I see her so beautiful but it still crushes my heart into bits. I am the worst kind.

I am speechless, all I could this is bow my head. I have no words to say to heal her. I tried those 3 words and all I got is, “Bullshit!” This is becoming hopeless, I thought. I want to escape but how could I leave a woman crying? How could I leave HER crying?

You see, I love her. I am deeply, irretrievably in love with her. But I’m even asking my own potentials why can’t I prove that to her.

Now she’s walking away. I didn’t run after her. Unlike in the movies, I lost some balls. We should blame all the fictional men writers built into life, they made women expect more.

next…

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Watch.

It was a sunny afternoon when you saw me struggling with my tote bag, digging inside and looking for something. You thought I was looking so stressed out as if I was robbed with my gold bars. With my ears plugged with music, you think I have no idea what place I’m at because I was getting in the way of many passersby.

Right of the bat, you knew I didn’t care. I was wearing a plain shirt and ragged pants, boat shoes with loosely tied laces. I didn’t look at anyone going in and out of store.

And you just told me about this a little later. The little place we’ve been in, that fate allowed us, all at the same time. Look at the odds. Think about that.

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Destruction.

He gets mysterious every time.

A week of school works have passed. I am still not over with what happened last night. Tequila shots along with lime and salt, dancing with only boxers and shirts, horror films on the DVD player yet having no time to watch because all we ever did last night is a bunch of fun. Watching a movie didn’t pass our standards of having fun that night. We only woke up at 2pm, with my friends snoring and looking beaten-up from last night’s.

As I arrived in our apartment at 6pm, things went from loud into silence. Such a very usual shift every time I got home. I started my shower and brought along my phone with me. This era, I’m thankful of the technology of having a multi-functional phone. Playing music is my favorite part. The music paused for a second and I heard a beep, and then it continued playing Ke$ha’s ‘We R Who We R’. It must be him. As I finished my shower, including my night routine, I lay in my bed.

“When are you going to treat me?”, I desperately asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll just tell you when this jam-packed schedule ends.”

Story of my life. I must have been a masterpiece of the Lord of all failures. Because each time I step on the line, things get fuzzy. All of these come in perpetual exchange of messages, be it texts or from any social networking sites. But it never go further than that. Never did.

Narcissism is my guilty pleasure. I know I have this hunger for attention. I am aware of the fact that I use people, to drive them in my way, to get the attention. So as to let people talk about me. I’ve always had this desire to be envied by many. I wanted people to be in my place. I wanted to be loved, even if it comes in a share of shallow.

But what they do not know is that I envy them.

But every time I stumble to the constant ending of every scenario of my every actions like this, self-abnegation vanishes in my whole system and the embattlement starts causing myself to have this self-inflicted pain. The truth is, I have self-doubts. Low esteem, which irritates me that Maslow got it all right. I have to make him love me, to make me feel high. True as he says, Love and Belongingness comes before Self-Esteem. I don’t feel loved in spite of the efforts of getting the attention. I feel like I am not a part of this world, paradoxical to my actions of using people to be talked about.

*fiction

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