looking out a tall building before sunrise and before sleep.

The cranes are still dead, looking very much like skeletons if handguns had them. And the vermillion sunrise has come and gone in minutes, the morning is now at the mercy of the blues and greys; the moments before the unfettered sun comes.

We have silence for the moment, and coldness. This is much better.

I don’t want to watch the city wake up, no innocence or the magnificence when Rain does.
By the time I have to go home, the city would have woken up and will meet me with the hunger and the veiled desperation. The cool pastels are retreating now, the sun has shed her clothes. Whites and yellows. Radiance. Even the clouds scatter. I can only hope to dream in her fever and harsh rays. Then my dreams go translucent, and eventually transparent enough that my own sweet silent desperations can be seen, cooking in her heat.

Coldness is an eternity of reminisces away.

outside.

Turning blue again, and I am thinking I am somewhere where I never thought I’d be. I’d never thought I’d be somewhere anyway. With the blue comes rain.That early morning rain,When it is a lovely time for sleeping and holding someone else’s warmth to your own coldness, imagined or otherwise.And I’d rather be there, than here facing these digital visual wonders and the world of information.They don’t embrace me back.

whatever.

The rewind button has been ignored for months now, even if things ain't looking so good enough to warrant a looksee in the past and check if back then was much better than the now-as-in.

To flashback if I wanted to, go somewhen and live an older life for some moments and come back wiser and a tad bit more sentimental; and more often than not find that I have broken an ittybitty piece of myself somewhere.

These days, the present is enough reason for waking and to just space out. Solitude has made herself so scarce these months I am starting to twitch nervously sometimes, for the lack of her presence and the thought that she just might have left for good. I remember back then that I fooled around with the word Existentialism.

Now, I am in a limbo far worse than any I have been in and I know that I should be somewhere, preferably moving and making some money while at it.

crumbles.

I'd love to cry in your arms again, be warm again and all my pieces gathered; all in one place. I'd want to be where I can soften my emotional calluses, that I'd want to smile again like it is the natural thing in the world and not be paranoid that someone would see.

Manila is a place where being myself is not exactly a good idea.
And for the past weeks bonks has not been a good idea at all. Yes, I hesitate to use being real, as it falls prey to subjectivity.

Its almost pure sadness to miss my lady's embrace and my daughter's smile floating away in the air unaffected by the gravity of living for money.
At times, I will take that back; because it is pure sadness. The word "almost" would not be there at all.

I think I will listen to loud music again. Put the blues and the Counting Crows on the backburner. There is a need to space out, I miss my family too much.