Archive for March 2012

Xadrian Part II

Monday, March 19, 2012 Comments Off

He once gave me a rose. One that is not worthy of being kept in a beautifully sculpted vase, but with deep meaning. The rose was already wilted, like a woman's heart after being abused over and over again and left for the dead cold of winter night, like exposing your vulnerable soul to the unbearable reality; beautiful but too sad to sustain, so it rather be dead than have to undergo all other pain.
He once said his soul is exactly like the wilted rose. That the colour of his soul had already fading away, leaving darker version of the colour that once was. He looked like he an abandoned useless died flower, torn apart by life, fragile and vulnerable and void of anything. His soul was void of life. Void of the warmth and the joy it used to hold. If you touched him, he would broken into pieces. Yet, you could see and feel that there used to be something so magnificent, something that used to be grandeur. An old fashion beauty that emanated quandary to those who saw. An enigmatic beauty that needed to be solved, needed to be care for so tenderly and needed to be loved fully; instead of being tended, life pulled him apart, making him the opposite of what he had been. It was all so lovely, but all too sad. All too profound. All too similar to his condition currently.
He was a beautiful man with beautiful thoughts. A perfect broken being that tied together by his need to survive and his lust for discovering things that he could easily relate to. His passion to travel the world and live the way the natives live was all too powerful that it substituted as his breaths, as his reason to live. Never once he ever talked about other reasons, he always mentioned his days when he travelled to an exotic place in India or when he went to Egypt and stayed in the home of an old man who had lost his wife to a horrible weather. He was even more likable and more attractive that way, his eyes would occasionally lighted up when he mentioned the adventures he had and the adventures he planned on doing. He would sometime brushed some of his raven hair and tucked it neatly behind his ear. He would be an evenly more beautiful man with broken pieces, he would forgot all of his pains, but, it was as if he could feel anything. He was too numb.

Xadrian Part I

Monday, March 12, 2012 Comments Off


He was a vision of sculpted beauty to me, but a demeaning figure to others. Prominent jawline that was so soft to touch and yet at the same time projected his tough personality. In a way he was harsh, but his enigmatic grace could make people forget about his ill-tempered manners, most of the time. His dark brown eyes had unusual rings of light blue on their inner parts, they consumed you like deep water dragging you in until you couldn't reach the surface anymore. His thin ruby red lips often pursed in a harsh way, it closed up most of the time. There were visible bumps of his broad nose, clear evidences he spent most of his adolescent days getting trouble. Fight clubs, he always quietly said with no further explanations. His inky black wavy hair was always so smooth and so silky, making people want to run your hands achingly slowly. His lean but firm figure always stands on a perfect poise with both of his hands sinked almost permanently on his black coat.
It took me quite an aching half year just to get through his barrier. To make his cold demeanor turn into polite one just in front of me. To move the immobile stagnant rock in the middle of a cold sea. People mistook his taciturn persona to a yielding one. I was one of those people until I got the chance to stay in his apartment for a weekend. People would have thought he had a shabby loft, but instead, he owned a small studio filled with books. Poetries, encyclopedias, novels, biographies, poems, short stories. There were also other interesting possessions on his two bedrooms residence, there was an aquarium filled with his trinkets (rings with weird symbols, dreamcatchers, two aztec-printed lighters and a pair of cufflinks with viking symbols), there were stacks of vinyl records (among those, the most notable were Pink Floyd, Arcade Fire and The Radio Dept. because he kept playing them on and on) and in his library there was a guitar and a piano.
He always wore white starch button-down shirts and carried a book in his coat. People would assume, with his black coat with rows of buttons, he would be the kind of guy that could turn the weather upside down, but instead, in my opinion, he always brightens each day, whether with sarcastic comments or with his soft way of approaching people. He made me elude the material world surrounding me by focusing solely on him. On every small thing he did, like the way he elegantly flipped each page or the way his eyes sometimes lit up when he found the things that he liked.
He was the still point of my never-ending misery.
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