*
year 27 by: Myrah Mae
There were familiar books, unfamiliar picture frames,
The smoke from your lips shivered, your eyes evasive,
and she just smiled, “you look tired”
You told her she still has the same mannerisms, toe tapping,
pouting the lips when unsure and dunking hands into pockets.
“does she have a senior citizen ID?”
“she does, but she could not sign at all.”
“old age, it breaks my heart seeing her, but she can talk with her eyes.”
You made her coffee, typed endlessly, asked her about her family,
her journals, her postponed dreams you knew of years ago. You asked about her
cloud rats, if she is still into star gazing and slingshots.
She looked at you with peace, with the same pair of eyes:
“I don’t want to be a lawyer. I’ll be happier somewhere else.”
“You know what, you own this… this courage, this courage I am envious of.”
I heard of that, someone wanted to burry a bullet on your
Father’s head and… and yours?
Like a little girl she laughed, the poise you thought she has earned
over the years faded and she began pounding your table:
“damn, that was really funny. But well yes, I was not scared.”
“I believe you.”
You were typing so hard, typing so hard that she
could almost hear each button spell out its letter.
You lit a cigarette and blew shivers.
“you look tired.”
You span your chair and giggled like a broken foghorn,
“This is crazy. I am tensed.”
She evaded: “You know, I woke up at the wrong town like three times
when I was still commuting back and forth. But getting lost has always
been my fuel. Fuel for finding home.”
“I was sorry.”
You said and that time, the shivers from your smoke,
clouded in your eyes, she searched for the sun between them
or underneath, but she found the same star-studded sky.
She took the papers from your hands,
gave you a chewing gum,
“Other than this world, we never shattered each other. Let it go.”
Other than this World- Azure Ray
”i am the solitude that asks and promises nothing; that is how i shall set you free”
-W.H. Auden-
(thanks pamela joy for sniffling from the other line and for this line that reminds you of me)
.
how you are always brewing with these amaaaaaazing words is beyond me. it’s magical. sniff sniff.
and my msn is i_laugh_crying at hotmail dot com. 
@officem8: siyagit ko bro : “iroooony” alipin ako ng pag-iisa. nan tagalog dun 
@kimay: you have to tell me unya kung ngano ganahan jud ka sa mga adieu labidabi
I love the way the manner by which you describe the setting, especially the phrase “unfamiliar picture frames”. I like it.
Posted by Panaderos at September 13, 2008, 7:40 am@panaderos: i have noticed that you own a heart of a painter
*
she likes seashore naps and the view of everything from the bus window. she likes tiny moments and the small spaces between faces when people talk.
sometimes, she wakes up to that odd feeling of being a fallen leaf, an old tree, an azotea or a waitress somewhere-- talking to a taxicab driver about that random song on the radio.
*
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and this. a proof that:
how you see LIFE is how
you actually see YOUR self.
*
*
***
maddening spurt:
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“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!”
-Jack Kerouac-
If you could make people fall for just by your writings, how much more by your real presence?
Posted by officem8 at September 11, 2008, 2:18 pm