after all, i could never make myself turn away.

writing on a piece of paper napkin with the traces of damp circles as accidental art. in realizations of me on days such as these. coffee in one hand and pen in the other, i keep my stance in facing the repercussions and musings of what life has been. my eyes wander aimlessly about the world in its course around me while my heart stays resigned in its silence.

this is where i hide away from everyone else and i find myself--in between the warm comfort of company and the freedom of independence. a nook among beautiful strangers who care less than give anyone a second glance.

and this is where i realize i've been waiting and trying to understand this. resting my chin at the back of my hand and peering past the stoplights and the cars; staring at the corner for something. anything. as if pieces of me have always waited here to be picked up.

i know i lost myself somewhere along the streetlights and pedestrians and the constant noise of horns and tires. i lost my thought somewhere here too. i just hope i can get them back.

..and get myself back.

because i see monsters, and those monsters look a lot like me.

she fell into a strange silence with small creases of frown forming in her forehead. her eyes squinted to a sideway glance. there was a quickness in her voice when she finally spoke that gave away the notion that something was wrong.

he was there sitting at the back. a reminder of a friend who wasn't one anymore. the awkwardness came like a disease from memory, never failing to give a bitter taste of why's and the reasons why it is.

a wave of resignation befell her. there was no saving here, and an attempt was simply futile. she gripped her books tighter as she got inside the van and sat up front. and there, away from the prying look, she closed her eyes and breathed a heavy sigh.

it is the same scene.

i could smell the scent of rain through the wet breeze coming from the window screen.

it is going to rain in a while. i am sure of it.

if thoughts were easily sifted from the tangles of wants and needs and mere musings of nothingness, like the coming of rain could be easily predicted from the gray clouds and the sharp hint of cold, it would probably be easier to bear with the consequences that the storm would bring. rather than shooting our way out of things without any presence of hesitation to step back. out of situations. out of choices. like going through a typhoon with only an umbrella clasped in both hands, knowing the howling wind would pull us from our tracks, or push us further.

sanity isn't the thing keeping my composure intact; it's the idea of grabbing a hold of it that is.

so i have come to wonder how it happened that it was gone. if there ever was a time when the absence of innocence did not mean the death of dreaming. was it the reason people why people stopped admiring the stars when it shone the brightest against the blackness of night? is it what the grown-ups would try to make sense of in clear-toned voices of why teenagers swim in angst and hositilty? they were kids once too. kids who knew too well of something and too little of everything. and the kids in us died because we refused to save them.

and i find myself looking down at my stepped-by-so-many-times-on-purpose dirty sneakers.

it wasn't because of the inability to look up and see the sun shining without any trace of gray clouds in the summer sky. or the hesitation to see the good in everything . i chose to admire how the mud and dirt and the stickers on my chucks makes me want to stare down and take vain pictures of my feet than do otherwise. it makes my eyes grow in realization that it's the imperfection that makes something perfect. that black makes something more white, and white makes something darker than black. like a certain feeling could possibly heighten another because they are two sides of something that you cannot quite feel at the same moment.i cannot say which is greener on which side.

all i can say is that there are multitude of colors on both sides which could be better than just the color green.

what makes us fight even though the world has chosen to make us fall? what makes us push through with our reason when it was spat on as blasphemy? what makes us bleed for that small ounce of hope that we could only pray for the gods? for honor? love? what is victory when we have already died?

and what makes us lose when everyone else believes that we have won?

maybe someday i would see you again and you'd look me in my eyes and call me your friend.

it's just there--even amidst the colorful bright lights, the hypnotizing music, of all the booze and smoke. basking in the hiatus of a night that was for enjoyment. in the feeling of happiness, it hits us in between moments when we are left unguarded. in a perfect picture of everything that is beautiful, it does not fail to be recognized that there is something that keeps our eyes darted away from such a scene. loneliness. of having to feel a rush of joy and have that plummet to the ground when we suddenly realize that deep down, we're all just looking for an escape. we're all just making excuses not to deal with reality. it's like falling in love with a frame of a moment, or a painting, because it's probably everything that's not wrong with the world.

okay. back to reality again.