it's nearly morning and i am not looking forward to anything.

just breathing, watching the window turn a shade lighter... and a shade lighter. these moments of clarity won't last and they come with a price but i take it as they come grateful enough for another perspective; even if it all comes back the same, the view from another angle gives it a fresh new layer of hope and misery in varying degrees.

then these moments pass and I am left with an added wonder to my mysteries, then go on continue on longing for something beyond songs and poetry. beyond touch and breath. hope is one of the very few things left me, and it is a terrible companion; not cold at all, though heartless among other things.

i look forward to missing you again. yes, hoping. like always.

upon going back.

The bus trudged along and I sat watching the on-board movie, and saw the silhouette of someone embracing someone in the squeeze of how it was to be saved and how it was to be found again, and I looked out the bus window a heartbeat later, burnt and almost like I was watching something that didn't feel right. something that was more closer to home than I wanted to. something more closer. perhaps something that I wanted revisited. That like a real burn it lingered and I had to look out of the window and the sun was there like a misplaced memory; strange and familiar at the same time. And warm. so warm.

But I had to return to the movie and so closed the dirty window curtains that stank of the countless trips from this place to that place and saw my reflection for a brief instant, like a glimpse of a face I haven't really seen for a long time then I was back in the cold and hurried darkness... then wondered if my mind was still there, or like that memory had also misplaced it somewhere and I was only watching on autopilot.

These trips are always too fucking long, and if the on-board movie doesn't get me, then the passing scenes outside the bus window will. there is no escape.

by god, I miss your embrace.

to absent friends and companions.

for there were slivers of life, of the lives like secrets that we shared, mostly trivial by this age, perhaps forgotten and faded; secrets not because there was something to conceal but secrets more akin to mystery, that the rest of the world could never hope to understand, those secrets that we kept like they were toys from childhood, like some bookmarks in between the pages of the books of our summers, now almost like fading fringes of a glorious dream except that that these memories persist, instead of just going away when we see our faces again, recognizing places in our faces that have been touched by time, that have been touched by our absence from each other, we ourselves ultimately surprised during those first few seconds after meeting that we can only smile and hold each other, as if for reassurance, as if in a dream, then certainty imposes itself and we find the time, however short, however brief to catch glimpses of those mysteries again, that however tangled and however far our worlds have expanded we are still given the chance to meet. hold hands. hold gazes. hold the visions of a past clearer; that for some have gone ragged and indistinct.

so mobile numbers are not quietly exchanged, business cards noisily passed around and the proximity of addresses argued like proofs that the past of some time ago have not gone quietly into the night of the irrelevant, inconsequential like discarded teabags or nail trimmings. all pointing to the realization that there was evidence of a great life from a point in our lives back then.. when they converged like branches from the same tree.

and our lives themselves were of the same tree, that in a way, in a lovely way we have grown with each other almost by reflex, however far away and however strange; having converged on a plane all of our own back then, and every time we meet after.

the morning sad.

now that early mornings are colder, it sets the chances of holding the mind tableau of longing and constant frustrations more easier. something that the heat of summer could never do. the irony. that the colder it is the more I grow emotionally warm. meaning it is more easier to pine away into reverse somnolence. a four-hour sleep seems too long sometimes. there is also the fact that my media player is working again. more fuel for the fire.

then the rains come. and I go supernova.

as I burn, I doubt if I will even leave ashes behind. ashes for the next phoenix. emotions are like that. always getting reborn and the more I change the more they stay the same. I can only embrace my pillow tighter. devoid of a central nervous system. and that skin. those eyes. and arms. only fibre and a two week old stale pillowcase. only a wish against hope, enough to push the reality to its borders like the morning light edging the dark curtain of this room, a little push and the pillow is you. a fleeting high and the hangover's a cruel bitch.

i miss these kind of mornings.

like rain.

if you ever feel the need to be loved... and sleep with a smile again.

even in this heat and there's only a tired fan to lull you to sleep.
if ever, just in case.

a little distraction once in a while.

since there are ways that summers can leave you frozen. Neglected even.
and the internet is just plain cold despite itself.

if ever, just in case.

Let me. warm you again.

like the constant ocean where I can fade out everything.

The ocean, like a friend's certain smile, that I haven't seen in a long while. This infinity where I can reach out and hold myself together, briny air and tides coming and going.
This is a feeling that I have right now, and because my mind is a little bit easier to be with.
And this is also a time again where everything's about to fall away, that you can see the seams and the threads holding them together coming apart; but the thing is, at the same time, everything seems so much clearer and it is not hard to say that after a long while it seems that this is the breather before everything goes big bang again. And time is an illusion since I don't know how long this will last. Maybe after I watch the ocean again then it would all come tumbling down.

But it will be easier to pick up the pieces.

nice! pfft.

You two would have hit it off, like old friends, once you had picked a topic to geek over. Probability being like 99%, the 1% I surrender to Fate. Unassuming geeks, both of you, though Nald's always a dead give away for geekiness. Pfft girl isn't so noticeable, but her eyes light up in a certain way when she hears some particular keywords, and she wouldn't be so silent anymore. It would have been so great, wouldn't it, if the two of you met.

I miss my two punny friends, yes, major pun intended. I miss them terribly and even more because the world wide web has that distinct way of reminding me of both your presence and absence at the same time. I would have liked to hear both of them laugh at the same time, and tell them after, that they laugh louder now more than ever, though Fey's still do need a little work; and thank God, that men didn't acquire that habit of slapping your arm when they are laughing, Nald has big hands, you know. Fey can slap my arm all she wants while she laughs. She has small hands.

Facebook, in particular, is certainly insensitive, when it suggests that I say hello to both of you, when it suggests that I reconnect or that I should catch up with any of you (I'll pass on that last suggestion, of course). Come on. I am still not okay, truth be told, of accepting that you are both now memories that I would never get to refresh again with new ones. I guess, I could comment all I like on your past notes or say something on your wall, but the thought that I would never get an email notification from any of you is, I guess, sadder than hell. It's a bad idea to go rereading over both of your blogs, really a bad idea when I miss you both. Even if both of you write so well. (that I know, and hundreds of other souls know that as well.)

They both wanted to learn the violin. Only one of more than a hundred paths that they would have shared, given the chance. The two of you had so much in common that I wonder why despite the relative distance, your friends (me included) overlooked the singularity of the two of you knowing each other.

Like me, you two loved the reassurance and the freedom of walking aimlessly, of taking our souls for a breather when Life happened too much in our lives. I cannot begin to imagine where our conversations would go if we all had a long aimless walk together. Plus some rolls of film and cameras. And for you, Pfft, I will have nothing against lomography if you were the one taking photos.

I have the two of you to thank for, for certain obscure films, authors and indie bands that I wouldn't have known despite myself, if the two of you haven't told me. I also think that you two would be the quietest moviegoers I would ever be with, and the most loquacious after the movie. Thanking you though for that part is almost trivial if I think about how we were part of each other's lives despite the vastness of this dissociated world, that the two of you are among the few people that also share those same passions that I have, and gave me more reasons why passions are better if shared among souls that you call friends, and know that in your passing, I will continue to write, not only for my own reasons but also because you'd want me to.

And also because it's not really easy when you two visit me here in the office during times like these and there's really no defense but to write, or tear up miserably, enough for my officemates here to notice.

- for Fae and Nald; my two sorely missed, loved and iyo, parehas kamo corny, friends, who both loved words; the spoken, the written, the painted, the photographed, the filmed and most importantly, the unspoken. And this is also for me; for that elusive catharsis that I need, to see you both woven already in the fabric of my memory.

Ma Fae Clarisse Badilla Barandon
Ronald James Paglinawan Panis

boy, you two sure have long names palan.