Midnight Thoughts

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When I met you, I couldn’t be happier than I was before. I can’t wait for the day when we both greet each other good morning with a kiss on the lips not minding how sour our breaths are. I can’t wait for you to climb the bed and cuddle me good night. These things and more, have long been overdue.

My midnight thoughts would normally be like these:

I come out of the bathroom fresh, beads of water still running down from my jet black hair as I try to wipe them out. My partner’s abed—busy with his phone. He raises his head at the sight of me half-naked. He looks at me in the eye with so much longing and love and fascination, his eyes talking of intense passion, like he need not to search no more. I am his, and he is mine.

He reaches out for me. He takes the towel off of my hand and wipes me dry. He hugs me from behind, his cheeks pressed against my nape.

“What is it, honey?” I ask. A hint of smile on my face. I feel his, too. A shy smile. A triumphant one because he longs for this moment his entire life.

“I just feel so happy you are here with me tonight.” He answers.

I free myself from his warm embrace and I look at him in the eye and say, “I will be here until you say stop.”

“I don’t want this to stop. I want you . . . always.”

I lean down and feel his lips trace mine as we drown ourselves in the comfort of each other’s heat on the soft white mattress we call our love.

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Stephen’s Vermillion Letters

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THE MORNING OF MY EIGHTH name day, I know things will never be the same again.

I heard them talk the other night in hushed voices. The fire in lamp was dancing and was casting grotesque shadows across my room’s floor and despite the pain inside of me, I heard them well. I heard the men in white with weird hoses with a metal at both ends speaking . . . in hushed voices, and yet I heard them well. I heard them say that whatever it is inside of me has progressed. I heard them say “barely a month.” I heard my mom cried. I heard my dad sighed. I heard the door open followed by silent footfalls that seemed the sound of a death march.

The morning of my eighth name day came and mom and dad was brimming down at me with smiles on their faces.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.” My mom said as I opened my eyes and adjusted to the brightness.

“Brought you some presents, champ.” Dad said as he lowered some wrapped boxes on the chair next to me bed. “Four, to be exact.”

“One from me and dad,” mom assisted me as I sit myself up. “The others are from Marge, Ben and Grandma Kelly.” She said as she finish arranging the pillow at my back.

“Marge? Marge is here?” I asked. Marge is my sister. She works at some hospital in Enfield. Ben, on the other hand is my eldest brother. He works at a bank in here in London.

Dad responded, “She was. She came yesterday when you were still resting. She didn’t bother waking you up…”

“Where is she?” I interrupted. Grumpy.

“Honey, she had to leave. She has work.” Mom said as dad started with his cigar. Mom eyed him and dad put it out.

Sometimes I wonder what my name is. They call me differently every time.

“Anyway, happy birthday Stephen.” Mom kissed me on my cheek. Dad smiled and winked. I smiled.

Continue reading “Stephen’s Vermillion Letters”

What Every Swifties Can Relate To

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In silent screams, in wildest dreams..

You know the words to every song, you sang the lyrics with all your heart, your heart bled with every words; it’s as if Taylor Swift had read your diary open for the world to hear. The strum of her guitar as the opening tune to White Horse play brings back memories of a distant past. The way she exploded on the bridge of All Too Well, resurrects the ghost of a hundred buried feelings. The calm way she sang Treacherous puts you on a day dream, drives you crazy that you hit the gas pedal and went from zero to a hundred hours per mile.

You remember how Tim McGraw played one summer night and remember that one person you dedicated that song couple of summers back. You remember how you felt Enchanted when you first saw that person in a ball gown that made you heart beat fast. You laughed at how you made stupid decisions when you were Fifteen because you felt in love and it was magical; when you first said hello and it was magical not knowing that that hello could one day turn in to your Last Kiss. Continue reading “What Every Swifties Can Relate To”

I Lost You But I Earned Something To Help Me Get By

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Time won’t fly it’s like I’m paralyzed by it, I’d like to be my old self again but I’m still trying to find it. – All Too Well by Taylor Swift

I remember every feeling I felt when my days still revolved around you. I remember how much I want to be with you all the time, every need to see you every minute of every day, even the fleeting moments of carnal bliss. Those are the moments when I felt I am reborn, moments of breathless delight, moments when all the pains of the previous failed attempts to forever are all forgotten. I felt every fibre of my being pulled into your gravity regardless if it’s wrong or right. Somehow, those days were everything. I felt whole, complete. I was lost in the moment of you and me and in that universe we created. There is nothing but you and me and our spur of the moments. I was unconscious that as I was losing the people around me, I was also losing myself in the process.

But when I lost you, I remember how messed up I was. I felt how my heart skipped a beat because it lost its purpose to do so, I remember how I would grip the sheets of my bed because the pain of losing you is equivocal with the pain of being hit by a hundred trains all together. I felt each cell in my body turn ice-cold and my brain couldn’t process my bodily processes anymore. I died. Continue reading “I Lost You But I Earned Something To Help Me Get By”

Autumn Leaves

It’s all over now.

The autumn leaves are falling unceasingly, dead brown leaves falling into place. The chilly wind sends shivers down my spine and it startled me to think that I can still feel after all. I am still capable of feeling emotions . . . but I know it’s nothing from what I used to know. Those emotions are now alien to me, almost non-existent.

The wind blows cold against my skin, I gripped my coat tighter around me.. My hair flying free with the breeze, but I keep my head down because the world needs not to know that something has changed. I don’t need the world to know that it ended. I don’t want them to see the empty cavity in my chest where a beating heart used to lay.

I passed by Schueter’s where we once used to get our latte. Once. Used. Past tense. Sigh. I can smell the aroma of the coffee sifting thru the open window and as much as I try to block the memories from flashing back, they came unbidden like film strips and there’s no stop button. It cripples me. And to make matters more crippling, I sat down there allowing me to be devoured by the haunting past of you and me.

I just sat down there, miserable, observing all the people who pass by me. Observing how the world can still go on without noticing that someone has died. Sounds absurd but yes, I died two nights ago when you decided to leave me without explaining the whys. You left me without turning back, without rendering me second glances. You left me there staring at the sunset that never came.

That night, I turned to all medical prescriptions available to heal my shattered heart. Sleeping pills, antihistamine, taking it in in double dose. The stronger, the better. I have no rational explanation, all I know is I need to forget, I need to get lost and not feel this crashing feeling. I need to get away. Fast. I need to save myself from my own emotions that are caving in on me. But I wasn’t able to get that miracle. The medicines proved to be useless and irrational. Because no matter how strong the dosage is, I know I need a stronger dosage of You. Not any over-the-counter pills, but over-the-counter You.

I yearn for your existence. I want to feel again. I want to feel your soft hands caressing my skin again, I want to feel that shiver your touch brings. I want to feel the jitters in my stomach ten minutes before you fetch me for a date. I want to sing the songs we used to sing on the karaoke. I want to be intoxicated by that close familiarity of your scent, my personal heroine. I want to feel you again, us, two physical beings, moving as one, existing as one in quantum universe.

If I yearn for you, will you come to my rescue?

I slip my hands down my pockets in search for nothing in particular. I stand up and buried my face down behind the collars of my coat, hiding the tears that are now falling unceasingly like the autumn leaves. They are falling into place. I can picture you, us, in one slow dance from a distant memory. The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under.

And once again, I did not resurface.

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The Lady of Cibola

Earlier today, I found myself lost in the shadows of my deepest thoughts. I didn’t notice that I was vacuumed into this unknown where scenes started flashing before me like film strips. The scenes kept on playing and playing like mixtape. Of course nothing was making sense.

Until I started feeling something inside me stirred. A memory. A memory of a distant emotion, a long forgotten feeling. It was a torrent of downhill emotions that pulled me back to the now.

Then I started asking one question that is so often asked but no one can seem to give an appropriate answer aside from “because we are humans.”

Why is it that, as humans, it is so easy for us to pass judgement on first glance basis?

When I was young, I remember breaking my mother’s china during one Sunday lunch. And I was told that it was okay, that I did nothing wrong. I was instantly forgiven. I am whole. I am complete. I am right. Continue reading “The Lady of Cibola”

Banalities

BY: JUSEPH ELAS

(written on the 23rd of November, year 2013)

THE NEARLY DILAPIDATED LAMP-POST | via Juseph Elas
THE NEARLY DILAPIDATED LAMP-POST | via Juseph Elas


THERE ARE LOOPHOLES 
and the  loopholes are abominable in nature; they can, equivocally, bend and break you – sending you down into chasms of dilemma

I have options, of course. If I decide to choose the point where the line is set on me facing the consequences of the  wrong thing I have done, I’m dead. If I decided to choose the point where I will turn my back and temporarily unclaim responsibility, still dead.

I’m trapped.

In a highway of jammed cars, I am trapped. In a land of twisted maze, I’m trapped. In a situation where the solutions seem to give birth to more problems, I am trapped.

Continue reading “Banalities”