Little notes on my blackberry
even now, i still feel a little happy something when a stranger passes by bearing a whiff of the cheap perfume you would spray on when we were in college. those were great times and you were so cute. it reminds me of first love and how you and I were learning the ropes, trying so hard (you more than me) and basically just so new to the whole concept of… enjoining someone.
now we have the comfort of old people. you play plants and zombies and I pad away on my blackberry. under the table our knees are touching casually. it feels great to be like this and to have this with you.-
libog- sa pagsusulat tinuturing na mahusay ang libog ang nasa ang pagkilala sa sinusulat.
There might really be no stories in waiting.
Now would I want to witness, in freefall pov, a dark, en masse sort of wait such as this:
Orderly, weary, lines of people who faced computers all day,
now hungry, now ruffled, now dispirited, now finally some quiet, but lacking in peace and the lucid reflections of typical streams of consciousness. This is just exhaustion.
If thoughts had corpulent versions, wispy clouds of literature over our heads, it would be of dinner, impatience, rest, domestic disarray to come home to.
And actually this is the sad part, where the person feels mildly successful for being able to call it a day. It is a pretense of escape, though it is not as bad as the bright morning w/c is a perennial battle of wills.
sofas, tv shows, cinema reviews. idyll and warm tummies after a day spent eating isaw, then mushrooms then pepper balls.
my head on ur lap. your hand slowly stroking my hair, touching face and eyes and lips absentmindedly at intervals.
your wonder-filled statement, as if u still cant believe ‘your hair is so soft.’ even after all these years?
it feels so good and i cant help falling into a sleepy semi-conscious state even as I want to commit this moment into the eternal repository of positive memories.