Archive for June 2014


Monday, June 23, 2014 Comments Off

It is funny how I have always been the pursuer of misunderstood fictional characters with the scars, dark attitude, brooder and permanent scowls. I have always thought that these misunderstood men (or, in some cases, women) are not capable in showing positive emotions, and they have emotional ties with such ignorant women (or men).

I have always thought that these people are the ones who need love the most. That they deserve my time, attention and love.

But I forgot to see you, to realise that someone doesn't have to be brooding, dark, or almost villainous to be misunderstood by everyone.

I forgot to see someone that needed my attention the most.

Small Deaths

Thursday, June 12, 2014 Comments Off

There are many kinds of deaths, I've noticed.
Real death, when one's body stops functioning and turns into a state of decay, could only be called true death when every single living people that knew the person no longer gives any thought. The dead will continue on living in someone's mind. Whether it is when they are sipping mojito in the world's paradise or when they are standing in the middle of a mosh pit. The dead's small mementos keep on living.

But there are other kinds of death, like small deaths.
Small deaths occur when one disappears from the people's mind, be it with deliberate intention or not. More often than not, the person who does it changes their course of life in order to do so. More certainly, the state they change into never in the form of something that their crowd disapproves or, at least, does not endorse it as much. There is a paradox in small deaths. Small deaths could also be seen as a much needed escapism that one could use in order to feel alive again––being dead to the world so that one could feel alive. Becoming off the radar is another way of being dead. It occurs naturally, sometimes, to the people who does not engage with each other anymore under the norms of exchanging informations. Or it could be intended, like shedding off one's dead skin for being pure again. Healthy again.

And both kind are equally terrifying and sad.

Prom Dance

Sunday, June 8, 2014 Comments Off

"You owe me a prom dance." she said nonchalantly, fingers dancing lightly on top of the silverwares.
He stopped drinking the coffee for a moment and then continued on without any slightest hint of being apprehensive about the subject. His phone buzzed, an incoming call that he ignored but was not unaware of. A polite smile creeped up his soft thick lips and then, as if a breeze suddenly blew near the pair, it went away swiftly. The guy continued on sipping on his hot dark liquid while occasionally put it on the table to bite on his brunch.
The woman in front of him did not flinch at all, her fingers were still grazing the surface of the table, sometimes tap dancing in front of his plate. "How did it come to this?" she asked, her eyes were focused on the weeping babe that sat few seats behind him––as if she was the mother of the babe herself, who thought having a baby equaled to having more cheerful laughters.
He had not said one word throughout the whole exchange. Just a smile, here and there, as if he did not speak her language or her wordings lost their meanings.
"Are you... that is to say... are we..." she breathed.
Silence. Pretty silence.

Later at night, when the woman had settled in for the night and under her trusted black comforter, she kissed him on his neck. Smiling, she whispered, "Thank you for letting me do that."
He nodded. "I know, you don't have to say it; you can't say about anything properly. I understand. I know that every now and then you need to do this. To just say whatever it is that comes in your mind without any remorse. I get it."
"Thank you. I love you."
"And, wife? I think I've paid my debt. I did not get to dance with you at our prom, but at least we had our wedding dance... and others." his statement were followed with generous laughters from both throats.


Friday, June 6, 2014 Comments Off

I once watched a pretty movie that described this exact exhilarating excitement. Even though the beauty of it lied in the events that followed, mine didn't. It stopped right there, like some unfinished poetry waiting to be read but never finished. A tale that was better left that way, without even trying to make up pretences about how it could have been or would have been if I had acted in certain ways. But, no. This real snippet was quite reassuring to my soul, perhaps not to the length of changing my point of view, but at least it softened the way I hold my interactions with another being.

It all started just like any other day, but I took that one small hairbreadth leap, I went on a different route and ended up going to a dollar store. I saw this mug. A mug that I instantly loved because of its exquisite simplicity and the rare occurrence where the market supply matched my personal demand. A mug that matched up to my own love. This mug, with its plain design, brought me another whole degree of unsuspected happiness.

It was only a two minute conversation. I was smiling for politeness and he returned it. His eyes twinkled, like a laughter suppressed or an unvoiced thought. We did not pass the subject of mutual likings of a good cup of hot beverages and the best pastimes to accompany the enjoyment of drinking such liquid. It ended right when a feminine hand rested itself on top of his muscled arm.

There was not any chemistry, only the cosmic coincidence that pushed us together both for an infinitesimal amount of time. But each of our parting smiles said the same thing: in another life.
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