may is a hurting month.

Like before, like no other else and like nothing can ever be, will ever be.

The rains that fall are double edged and soothes in remembrance but then also leaves you so deeply bemired and bleeding that there is no thought possible, but they are better than the expanse of heat and strangeness that is Manila, though they don't fall every day.

Walking on the way to the bus stop, as dead dry grass gets blown in my path, their scent hits me some moments later and there is a strange realization that my mind has forgotten about this month, but my body hasn't.

As I look on, at the few days that are left for this month, despite everything it means, I am more than a bit reluctant to see it go. And I admit, I would want it to last a bit longer; when hope at this time produces emotions that are not exactly warm and fuzzy; because in fact it borders more on the bleaker and the blacker and biler side of the four humors. It is also summer and there is no escape when sleep is uneasy and shallow, and the dreams vivid, and real until you wake up, taking so long to fade and they become a solid memory instead of an impossible reality.

In those dreams, your scent is true, and lingers even as I wake alone in a bed for one, and sleep once past cannot easily be embraced again. This is May, and it is ending, and there never is another instance for recognizing that time is passing... that after living for so long finally grasp how time really works, and that there is no loophole, and it cannot be fooled.

Perhaps May might bleed into June, perhaps I would get to miss you more as the months go on.