Futures

I hope for better in December. As the day comes to a close, the sky explodes into a master's canvas, the strokes deliberate but absolutely effortless, drawing the breath out of my chest as the last rays of light softly touch the earth.

As soon as it arrives, it is gone. I am left completely changed in its wake. These are the moments, these small, fleeting fragments of time, that will remain crystallized in my memory as perfect, as enduring, for all eternity.

Worlds

I promised to wait, as long as there was any semblance of hope, even a futile flicker of what there once was. I do not take promises lightly, sir, and I am honorable enough to keep my word. I am no longer a child, sir, no longer the girl whose hands you used to take in yours, no longer the daughter you left behind so many years ago. I have followed suit, I have grown into someone you would have been proud to have by your side. I will wait, I swear it, I will wait for as long as it takes, for as long as I live, for as long as forever.

I keep my promises.

City

She runs her hands through her hair as she tries to forget. It had been a long day.

There was a time when there could have been so much more, but for now, maybe for ever, this is all there will be.

Hers

She is not very beautiful. To be sure, she is not unsightly. She is pleasant enough on the eyes, but not the kind of woman who sets men's hearts aflame with passion whenever she walks past. She is not the paragon of femininity either, always laughing too loudly or cursing so violently that one is wont to wonder if she is truly a woman or merely a man masquerading about in feminine dress. But she is mine, or at least, I am hers, for she never returns my impassioned (although, admittedly awkward and clumsy) speeches and my meaningful gazes, instead choosing to laugh at me during the very few moments when she chooses not to ignore me.

I had been a proud man before I met her. I was esteemed among my colleagues and was widely sought after by mothers and daughters alike. Romance was the farthest thing from my mind. Dalliances, yes, I admit, were an occasional indulgence, but merely as trifling distractions and never central to my existence. But the first bloom of love changed me so completely, so thoroughly, that it has left me a new man, and not much of a man, in all honesty. I no longer recognize myself when I look in the mirror. Bedraggled wretch!

It has turned me against myself, doing away with any idea of self-preservation, of dignity, of anything else that had to do with selfishness and pride. What a miserable thing, this love! It has transformed me into a simpering, hopeless fool who no longer cares about his very life, his thoughts only turning to the other, the woman, the very cause of his own hurt and downfall! She views me as nothing but an insufferable pest, if anything at all, and turns her nose up at me when she sees me clambering towards her in my desperate attempt to convince her to at least, not even for an entire day, let me love her. Oh, if she would only let me. Pathetic fool that I am.

How savage is the world that offers you everything, yet denies you the one thing, the only thing, that could ever bring you that vile, poisonous form of joy that every man craves for from the unhappy moment he allows himself to become enslaved by love.

Drift

There are times when I catch myself longing to exist in a different world where you and I would make sense. However, I allow myself only a few moments of these delusions, after which I plant my feet firmly back on solid ground. If I, from my own indulgence, let myself wander off for too long, I fear that there would be no more hope for return.

Heart

It is a cruel, cruel business, especially when it is allowed to fester and grow inside you secretly, where it becomes a separate entity from you altogether, rising from the pit of your gut and branching out until it penetrates every nerve in your body, infesting every cell, rising, rising, rising, until you can no longer contain it. There is no escape from this foolishness, no respite from the sharp exhalations of breath, the mad imaginings of things that can never be, the utter hopelessness, and the slow, painful death of your spirit.

What I would give to be young and heartless again.

Pain

The most painful thing, perhaps, is not remembering things long past, but longing for the things that could have, might have, should have happened.

Mixtape

Anyway, honey, there was this boy I met back in college. You wouldn't have liked him, he was the kind of boy who never washed the back of his neck. I know for a fact you hate that type. No, baby, it's not that you're picky, I just wish- Anyway, this boy, his name was Julian. He was very skinny, a little bit of a shrimp. I met him when I was pretending to be studious in the library. I'm on to you, sweetheart. Your mother was young once. He nearly ran me over because he was in such a hurry to get somewhere, I don't know, but you can just imagine. I was walking into one of the aisles and he comes out of nowhere with his backpack and his floppy hair like a raging bull. He was very polite though and he picked up my books and said "JESUS! Sorry, sorry," then went back on storming his path. I saw him again a couple of weeks after in mass. It was Ash Wednesday in school so there were no classes the time the mass was held. Oh, Angela, it would be lovely if you could start going back to- Well, okay, I'm not really imposing anything on you. That would be terribly hypocritical of me. But I'm just saying. Anyway. Where was I. Oh yes.

I saw him in mass. He looked scragglier than ever, with his hands shoved into his pockets the whole time and that hair. I doubt the priest could even make it to his forehead. I was behind him in the line and when he turned around after receiving the cross, I couldn't even make out an inch of skin above his eyes. He had nice eyes though. I could tell. Very wise and sad. They were dark brown and caught light at every angle, but it was unfortunate because almost everything was covered by that awful hair. But he nodded at me, or at least I think he did. And after that day I kept seeing him a whole lot at school.

We finally got to talk when we became classmates in Philosophy and that was about the time I started seeing your father. Julian was actually quieter than I had expected since that first meeting in the library, but he was very nice and he made me laugh. I just hated that hair. Awful. He held my books for me sometimes and lent me his notes, which consisted of 15% actual notes and 85% drawings of the backs of people leaning against chairs. To me, he was one of the friends you made in college that you remember once in a while when you're older, but never really make an effort to look for anyhow. Well, yes, I know it sounds cruel, but you're much too young and idealistic about your friendships to understand. Talk to me again when you're in college, honey.

One time, we walked to class together and as soon as we opened the door to the room, another classmate of ours walked out, yelling "He's not coming to class!!" Well, I had nothing else to do for the day and your father wouldn't be out for another hour, so I stayed with Julian in the cafeteria, where he usually waited for his classes. He bought me an iced tea and a bag of chips, then he sat down in front of me with his floppy hair covering one whole side of his face. I wanted to reach out and tuck that hair back but we weren't friendly enough to do that with each other without it seeming awkwardly affectionate. Then he sighed very loudly and fished for something in his backpack.

"Here," he said, producing a cassette tape from his bag. He plopped it in front of me, looked at me, then suddenly stood up and left. To this day, I still have no clear idea of what had happened.

That night, after fighting with your father on the phone, I took out the tape from my own bag and put it into my cassette player. I was never really the kind of person who had to be listening to music all the time or else I would keel over and die but since that night, I wouldn't stop listening to the songs he had put on that tape. I borrowed my brother's Walkman the next day and went to school with one of those ridiculously large headphones covering my ears, just listening.

I showed up for Philosophy the next week and found his seat empty. Our professor announced that Julian had taken an indefinite leave of absence right before diving into Kant and Von Hildebrand. The next day, we found out that he had jumped off the roof of the building where his mother worked. There was no note or anything like that.

I still have it in one of my drawers. It's obsolete in this day and age, but I still like holding on to it. Now this is a secret, so don't you ever tell anyone, especially your father. I loved Julian. I loved him since the day he almost broke my bones running me over and I still loved him when he jumped off and broke my heart.

You never really do understand how the heart behaves. It's the most fickle thing in the world, sweetheart, so don't you ever trust it for a second.