Writings

Words, by far, are what I consider the best weapon I have against the fiendish villains of real life. There are several reasons why I blog. First, life has what I like to call “dead air”. Sometimes, we have nothing to do but sit on a couch and wait 'til our backs ache — we stare at the television, forcing ourselves to watch all those doggone awful shows; or maybe torture our eyes through our computer or phone screens all day. To sum it all up, life reaches a boring point. And to make the spare time productive, I write ...
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Our love story started out very wrong. Everything was wrong — the setting, the timing, the people involved, the anticipated outcome, the situation — it was a jungle of wrongness. And yet, we went in, holding nothing but each other's hands. Frail, but we thought was enough. However, the other side of the story convinced us that maybe, it's not really wrong. Maybe it has just been tagged "wrong" because majority of the people do not agree with it, or because it's against the norms of the society. But we couldn't care less about the people, nor about the norms ...
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I could have not waved goodbye. He could have stopped me from leaving. Then maybe we could have been together, still. But then again, this is just another "could have been." ...
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A little past ten in the evening, and there we are, walking along the almost depleted foyers of a once mundane place that soon became of utmost importance to me. We were at the south, and we're heading to the other side of the parking lot, which made me consider that we will be together for at least 5 more minutes. Each step we took brought us closer to the estimated 5-minute time, and for the first time in my life, I prayed that some form of an impairment will strike us instantly, so as to prolong our time together ...
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There was a girl named Sam and she was beautiful. She was all the zestfulness of the sun and the mysterious beauty of the rain. Her hair casually flipping over her shoulder, the sound of her gentle muffled laughter. She lived "the" life - carefree, fun, free. She seldom talked about herself and that vagueness added a bit of a thrill to those who seek to know her more. She was mysterious, and beautiful. She had friends and family who all loved her. She got all the things she wanted — after all, she deserved everything. How she gently pressed ...
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Decided to publish this five-year-old draft today, just because For the next twelve hours... you will be with me, and I will be with you, and we will worry about nothing but the cold night, which eventually will be not so cold after all, for I will be warmed by your embrace, and together, we will rock ourselves to sleep. The blues are freezing, yet we will stand in the middle, unmindful of the chills. You will hold me and would not let go, and we will watch the water steam. For the next twelve hours... I will lock myself ...
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