of waking.

Tonight the stars will be all there again, colors fading in and out the more you look at them. Like eyes, like eyes that are forever seared in my mind and it rained yesterday because March is a fateful month, and perhaps it is the only month possible for our planets to align; even enough to think that perhaps your stray thoughts might wander along the path I am on, as my thoughts, they stray but I know where they always end up.

Also,

it was cold this morning and I think it was the cold; and the cold warmed me enough that I could miss you again, unhindered and without the interference of my mind. Without the need to recollect and to hold the memory scent of your neck. Missing you was just there, suddenly there; pure longing and soft madness.

it does not matter if it is mid-afternoon.

You are liable to hit, like tachyons going past through anything. Right now I am being bombarded by you and for respite, I can only close my eyes for a moment then remember to breath, deep. If i am not careful, I'll break again and it might take the better part of a day before I can think straight, think straight in the way that normal reality moves.

And in the meantime i am caged again, but I cannot see the bars nor do I care when most of the time I do not even notice, and i can only stay in this state of mind, that for lack of a word, I'l call happiness; but only as a matter of preference.

Reality does not work like the reality that i have in my mind. I can only hope it does. i dare not watch any movie at this time or read any book, or even read what I have written before because they will all eventually lead to you. Like gravity, relentless and .just there.

I miss you. I cannot say that enough, I cannot feel that enough; the same way how I feel about you is constant.

keeper of my heart, queen of my mind.

and all the cliches come true, they come true and I turn to liquid as I hear them repeat themselves over and over again.

and it happens again.

I need to be away from everything, for this time. For just some hours and some odd minutes. For some time, for a chance to while away forever, or otherwise I'll be stillborn and vacant, watching the stars and think only of drifting away inside my mind.

It is of an impending implosion inside me, of melting, of something inside starting to claw its way out along with the promise of immolation for this progression, but without the assurance of ever coming back as myself. If only I can call myself sad, then it would be an easier ordeal. Temporary and just a prolonged state of mind, a reverse amphetamine that will only last for some time.

There are a lot of things I miss, that I long for, or wish for; fervently enough that it I cannot mistake reality for what it really is, so I have a lot of daydreams, enough to compensate and to keep my imagination alive. I go overboard sometimes that there are mornings when I cannot remember my dreams.

This has to be done in the coming days, the sense of urgency is stronger now and there is a fear losing something if I cannot find a way to burn.

And because of the impossibility of being in your arms, the ocean is the only place I can think of where I can be.

surprise me.

Browsing through the web and looking at some self portraits that a girl made; her photos reminded me of you, the nose being the mnemonic and as I look back, going through the photos of you that I took in my mind, there might be some truth to what I just suspect - that somehow the shape of your nose has changed. You see, it has been years since, and I am not really sure, perhaps this one of those things that just grows on you, and only by looking at photographs can we see that some parts of ourselves have changed, that we have changed, in some subtle way that sometimes we doubt if that change is ever there or drastically if scars are involved.

(Or perhaps the way our eyes look, that perhaps they have changed.)

I love photos, especially when I can hold them, like the way I can hold you if I wanted to; if you wanted me to. And sometimes it's black and white, and all the emotions are there, even if I can't see your nose sometimes in the pictures.

for temporary reprieves and temporary secret places.

Perhaps there is still the matter of beating hearts and the occasional irregularity of blood pressure during certain times of the day, or probably perhaps more during elevated stress situations when certain things are brought to mind. Or that the reclusive shadows during mid afternoons are bookmarks for some earlier time and I keep rereading those pages.

Even as I continue to continue, I lose track of time and in my mind, I know it is still June even if the calendars around town keep saying November is nearly over. We all keep our own illusions, one way or another, and yes, because they are fleeting and the harder you try to hold on to them the faster they fade and the harsher that life fades in after. I think only those who have lost their mind know the secret of holding these illusions together, and forever hold, what we term as the real, at bay. I don't know if June is an illusion, it is very real.

waiting for daybreak.

At 3am in the morning when the visible streets are mostly empty, the trees here in the Fort are lonely, bathed in the pale orange, almost yellow light of lampposts; and only the occasional headlight of a passing vehicle as it washes over them that the green briefly shows, then it's back to tangerine monochrome sadness. Standing still in this early day scene betrays a concealed longing for somewhere as self-possessed as this place at this time or even the closeness of someone; a warmth in this cold, the silent assurance of a clasped hand and the refuge of an embrace.

There is a sense of beauty in this isolation, and always wary of the effect of its strange attraction to that certain part of my soul as there is a chance of losing myself. Solitude is always good lay, and perhaps something that I cannot live without; for in her company the world ceases, I find my space again without the confusions of time and obligations, that there's a meaning to all these recent distractions, a sense to whatever confluence of emotions that I am in. This is a beauty that I have always understood and appreciated, and as the cold of this morning intrudes and fails to make me shiver, I let go of Solitude and come back to this scene of forlorn streets and sodium vapor lamp-loving trees.

There is this one other thing that I have also become aware of in the past years, that in the ebb after Solitude goes away, I start to miss you.

musings.

there are some times when I am near you
when I want to lay my head down on your stomach
during those afternoons
when the sun forgets herself,
and know that if I did, I'd turn and look
at you and
wonder if you'll look at me in silence,
muss my hair and smile.
if you did then
I'll continue on looking
and we'll watch the afternoon
grow older and colder
and we'll stay warm
wrapped in each other
by then.