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image by Tin Lorico
reminders that the ocean and the sky are one.
that’s why we always cling to dreams because one day, we’ll be stars that can turn into wide-eyed sea creatures. nights ago, we revisited our fears. the fear of carousels,your fear of holding infants because they feel too small and fragile as wine glasses. my fear of marriage and the way how choreographed weddings are. erotic art for you spells d-is-c-om-for-t. i always jot down notes about the difference between nude and naked—tell random strangers that looking at themselves without any fabric infront of the mirror is a life coach’s way of self-esteem. you fear mascots, and i have been looking for the phobia term for that. i fear stray dogs but you know by heart that i think there is a need to get astray sometimes.
when we press our hands against each other we think of wishing stars.(also) the waning moon that has been watching us walk under it, its cape flowing and twirling around our thighs, so soft and silky. we feel like walking on clouds. you told me once that you love your mother that much. i nodded. i reckon if most people in the world feels the same way, oh what a better world this could have been. i wrote your name next to Efren Penaflorida’s an afternoon ago. it was just something i thought of that made me smile. i guess, i am glad and flat-awed like that.
i bought a world map when i visited the old novelty store near our house. i used to like Geography that much. i was 8 when i spent hours thinking why the Libyan flag is all-green. well, i’ll take you to Nicaragua though you have been so vocal about your want to breathe autumn. we’ll shine each other’s combat boots, and at night we’ll drive around the vast soil of wilderness. silently, we’ll feel the flowing river beside the highway. i’ll pass you the bottle of vodka. and for once, the stars will look like carps and mudfishes.
we’re fearless. and in the morning, we’ll bathe with clothes on, drive home with the same clothes and never feel alone without even saying i love you.
because the only moment we were alone made us complete though not whole. at least.
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woww very pretty prose 
thanks for visiting my blog so i can find yours!
@iceberg: haha pamuyayaw ba. hello bru
@ floreta: thanks solitary panda. it’s kikit who recommended your awesome nook to me
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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.
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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-
pucha…i can indeed smell the wilderness soil reading this piece of literary sh*t. Words; splendid
Posted by iceberg at November 24, 2009, 2:49 pm