Dear Friend (zone),

A little over two years ago, I fell in love.

(At least I think that's what love feels like. I was seeing in color.)

A year and a half ago, I decided to let him go.

("We're better off as friends," I told myself.)

A year ago, I found a window of hope: he said hello (again).

(What a pleasant thing to experience: to see in color--again.)

Six months ago, I was in darkness: she said hello.

(He was seeing in color while I kept my eyes shut.

I didn't want to see.)

And now I'm (still) in the gray.

But through all this, my dear, you've been there for me.

Tom had 500 Days of Summer; I've had 822 days of spring.

(Yes, it's because I've been sprung for that long.)

Oh, friend (zone)... my very, very, best friend.

I know you'll be with me until the very end.

Thank you(?), my dear, for all of the above.

Written with love (and a bit of hatred),

A companion (and victim)

Prologue:

I wrote this a few hours ago. I also posted it on my regular blog. It came out of me really fast (HA! That's what he said...) but I spent a good amount of time editing. I've always wanted to write a novel or something and I actually have a few subplots to go along with this prologue, but THAT's going to take a lot of time (which I currently don't have). Maybe I'll write a chapter or something every now and then and post it up... We'll see. If the creative juices flow.
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The clock read 10:53 PM and with the sunroof open, they sat speechlessly in his car. He glanced at the dangling rosary under the rear-view mirror, looked in her eyes, and then, offered his hand. Instinctively, she stared at his hand, smiled, and filled the spaces in between his fingers.

I’ll stop the world and melt with you.
You’ve seen the difference and it’s getting better all the time.

And boy, did he want to melt.

She reached through the void of the rooftop with an open palm and whispered, “It’s so close but so far away…”

“Yeah… just like you.”

He did not dare look into the windows of her soul and instead kept his gaze at the stars, praying that his wish would come true. For a split second, he waited for her response, for her to at least turn in his direction and reciprocate the same longing that he had for her. He pondered on what other possible curses she would bless upon him under their clear view of heaven.

The cell phone on her lap buzzed with vibration. Somehow, he knew it was time to let go.

With her newly-liberated hand, she looked at the caller ID, silenced her phone and refocused her attention on the stars. At least she looked like she did.

He already knew, but he decided to ask anyway: “Who was it?”

“Huh? Oh… It was just Markus.”

The future’s open wide.

“How come you didn’t pick up? You should call him back.”

“It’s okay. I’ll talk to him later.”

And at that moment, he realized that even if he saw a thousand more shooting stars after the one he already wished on, his wish had already, haphazardly, come true: she was happy.

Say it!

Youve cut my string
and lanyard
and now things are set
to roam about and freely
and free from your intricacies
and my delicacies
and free from your bemusement
my bad influence
tie me now
I guess somebody
so flying won't seem too fake
for new heights and zeniths
such that walls and gaps will be
sealed forever

& Ill tie the string &

My list of "You Are":

MY Prince-of-Peace, My Idealized Soldier clad in snowy-white brilliance:

You Are:

Dashing,
Smashing,
Exuberant.

You Are:

Ticklish,
Diabolical,
Phenomenally (cool).

You Are:

Enigmatic,
Bemusing,
Peculiarly eye-catching.

- - -

The narrator is a woman listing down all the expectations she has of her lover: she expects him to be a perfect "prince", denying any flaws he might have. She overlooks his faults by not including these imperfections on her "list of YOU ARE" and chooses to continue her relationship in ignorant bliss.

Your Window

You walk around with your head held high,
Expecting to be adored, patronized, loved.
You walk into the room knowing that I'll look at you,
Because I've haphazardly fallen for you and your
Incessant, annoying and persistent late night phone calls,
Your jerk-ish attitude but calming laughter,
Your brutal honesty and your
Fresh-from-the-laundry scent.
Gosh--I hate you...
I hate the way the corners of your eyes form wrinkles,
And the way tears drop when you're breathlessly
Bursting in a booming laugh.
I hate the fact that I know how you think
But I don't know your thoughts;
I can predict your every move and
Logically explain your every excuse
For doing (or not doing) what you're supposed to do.
I hate the way I look at you from across the room,
To assure that you can still drive home,
And you catch me.
Then, with a bottle in one hand,
Leaning up against the wall,
You wink and smile and act like all is fine and well.
What I hate most is that I expect that from you,
That I can't pull away from your stares,
That I actually want you to see me--
Even if it's only as a friend.
Because those winks,
Those tears, and
Those wrinkles,
Are what opened me up to see and love
Your innocent, oblivious and vulnerable soul.