While waiting.

I remembered I helped to count the coins on the table. You were fast. I was clumsy.

A life of dreams all week.

Lately more than ever I've been wishing things will emerge. Trickles down like a memory of silhouettes fading just across my finger tips. Trace the meaning of my words with the corner of your lips. How I miss your face. Play me another song that's so intune to me, I pray we feel alive. I live to see.

I'm not looking for a lover.

It still rings in my ears - Oh, get out, the butcher's knife. I've been screaming for years, but it gets me nowhere. Just get out the butcher's knife.

I can't believe...

Forgetful.

The rising words are pushed downwards, spiral dancing away from insecurities.

Watching my little creatures the jealousy babies, barking for attention.

Covered ear patting blindly only to shut out the sound invasive.

Trying in vain to be understood when the moment had passed, elusive explanation lost to raw emotional energy.

My track record for recollection is spotty, with too many gaps to fill in when I was paying more attention to the way your eyes would glisten.

Two curves sitiing on the comfortable padded chair, the smell of morning.

Always just as important to listen, to interpret correctly, to travelling upward to a positive approach.

Farewell to reproach and my precision must be as sharp as my wit.

Hello W, S.

"Where's food?"

You don't get to choose. You just fall. And learn. Please learn.

A surprised call from a good friend since college days. Woke me up and got me thinking about love and all all over again... not a bad thing, like a reality check sometimes. Seems like people around me is getting a divorce. Or could it be being at this time and age where people are starting to realize that the person lying next to us is not happiness anymore but a selfish thought of hindrance of one's desire? But who am I to say that this is a selfish thought? Well there are certainly a lot of choices around and what makes you think that the later is always a better choice? Or it is your definition of love that keeps repeating itself. Love.

True love means putting up one hell of a fight when it's over. "In a separation, it is the one who is not really in love who says the more tender things," (Marcel Proust). I can attest to this statement, I've been on both sides. Think about it: if true love means giving all you have to someone who you know you're going to lose, fearlessly, you give it all you've got anyway… well, then it wouldn't shock me at all if you make a dramatic exit.

Don't get me wrong, here. There is a certain mode of etiquette and sensible sum of manners that go hand in hand with any breakup. There are definite "do's" and "don'ts," and a degree of calm that one must maintain along with a broken heart. There is indeed some face to be saved. All things considered, I come back to this idea, that real love equals the biggest fuss when it is over. Why? To me, love is so raw and so pure that it is almost childlike in this sense. It is blind. It is reckless. It is desperate. And who does this remind you of? Children. In our heart of hearts, we are all children. Nevertheless, there is indeed a point at which you need to silence the child. For instance, trashing things up is a no-no. However, the text messaging, the emails, the yearning, the crying, the sadness … it's the fuss. It's fighting your heartbreak, because it hurts so much. If you can walk away from it cleanly, it wasn't love to begin with. Real love, when it's over, means a grieving, crying child.

Like a child, love is so simple. Too often do people look at love as this complicated, laborious creature that needs to be contented with and restrained, wrangled like a bull. People get too hung up on the word, "love," or on the social implications of maybe saying it too soon. If you are one of these people, it is said that you have already fallen in love with language, which is, according to some, already a form of break up and infidelity. The first time I really looked at this claim, I didn't understand it. Now I realize that my inability to understand was based soley on the fact that I, too, had been guilty of overcomplicating the word once or twice, okay maybe three times. As far as chemistry goes, the faster you jump into something, the faster it will fall apart. Immature love says I love you because I need you; mature love says I need you because I love you. Consider yourself warned: the problem with believing in love at first sight is that you will never stop looking. Even if you get the person, you will later turn to another. You will cheat. You will escape. You will check out. You will drink. You will relapse. You will run. You will never settle down.

My dear friend is absolutely falling apart with this broken marriage, lost of love and all the hurt that comes with it which I can relate to completely with the later. All I could say is believing in loving oneself before anyone else. Simply being on knowing how can you give that which you do not have? Indeed a circle. It begins and ends with you, as somebody once told me. It can only be so much as pass through the people who surround you. If it is so simple, then it is feeling and accepting unconditional love in return that remains the greatest challenge. I am confident in saying that I do not face this challenge alone. I have met people who, if only they'd let me love them, I would have loved them forever. Sadly, they run...like hell. It was never meant to hurt, to corner, to isolate. or daunting. So, why did these people run? Is it because they did not get it? Did they overcomplicate the word? Or was it simply that they did not love themselves enough at the time to love you back? I've come to the conclusion that the person who ran, did not love me. Or at least, not in the same way that I loved them. Anyone who's ever had a heart wouldn't turn around and break it.

Why did they not love me? Hell if I know. It does not make me unlovable. Maybe it was just a timing thing. Or, maybe, it was one of the questions I asked earlier. Maybe these people were just not ready. Maybe they needed a moment. Maybe they needed someone else. I know this, because I've done this. Once upon a time, I was them. Does this affect me now? Of course not. I loved. I lived. It's what you love, not what loves you. Heartbreaks set aside, I believe I still have a lot left in me and I can only be grateful for the opportunities. Experiences always open up to the future. People, in all of their fears, had given me something. Strength.

My mom used to tell me that timing is everything. She was right. I've learned this much about love: the one you love today and the one who loves you today are never, ever the same person. It's all about the timing. It seems that first you will have someone fall madly in love with you before you are capable of falling madly in love with someone else. This is the pattern I have picked up on from my own experiences and from the experiences of others. It's all about the timing, and timing is all we've got.

I hope I have given my friend strength and faith to get through whatever she is going through now. Here's what I say: Do not give up on people, not even on the bad ones, because in all honesty, when push comes to shove, you are that other person. Never be so arrogant as to underestimate your own capacity to do as someone else. Never cut people out. Simply distance yourself from the unhealthy minds. In all of this, do not forget that we need these people in our lives. They challenge us and make us stronger. And, if it was meant to be … don't worry, they'll come around. They'll come back. They always do.

Glad to have a sister.

It is.

Reflections, through a mirror, or a picture. Everyone looks at it differently. As is? Like a damaged product no one wants to buy that it is not good enough for you and it's not good enough for them. As is, flaws and all, because unlike you it can see the beauty in the messed up things, in the "damaged product" it can't wait until you finally sees it. Open your eyes and pry through it's chest, touches it's heart, it won't hurt. Don't close your eyes, don't give up yet. 

A week of fever.

With furrowed brows the intensity slid down sideburns to drip from my lips leaving shadows into the depths far later than a five o'clock shadow turning hands to midnight, or two or was it three a.m. in early morning hours.

Rumbling like thundering but with a low dull growl hands latched on with need to relaxing back to fraility, to softness, to return to the core of myself where the flowers grow in twisting vines to make footholes and ropes designed to carry such determination to the interiors and rooms locked of my mind.

Moisture from my cloudy head was left like dew on eye lashes closed and moments of silence after silence halted breaths of a muffled I miss you leaving words upon the walls of my bedroom confessional.

With quiet calm these days have turned passing moments like drawing chalk scenes on hot cement and my night times are full of melted marshmallow moments over bowls of chocolate covered pear cocktails I can taste on my mouth.

Fever talk.