Someone beat me to it

Finding the words before I did ---

We talked about nothing in particular, but it felt like we were talking about the most important things.

 Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close

Yep, there are things I sure miss.

"Hey, you," said I, as I wave to you in dreams that vanish in the morning, snippets of which hover in the air as I make my morning coffee.

Anyhoo...

Trying to a write a poem with se[x]nsual undertones. Progress report: Not very successful.

This may not see the light of day or am I the only one who thinks writing/revising a piece can take forever? This rediscovery is (still) scaring me but reining it in. And trying my hardest to catch up. Or keep up?

Of course there are the questions: Must everything always be tested by time? Must things always take time? Time to heal, to evolve, to make sense of? Time -- that which I do not have -- is slipping away like a missed train I want to be very much on.

Obviously, patience is not a strong suit. Also, a penchant for stating the obvious. Minus 5.

Starting to get sick of the voices inside my head. Three words: Not good enough.

I have been feeling better --- and worst. One more so than the other; guess which. 

But, trying to make a conscious effort to see the glass half full. As in 'seeing' -- really -- and not merely 'looking'. To inject some sense of "Yes, I understand." Which means getting over Things Not Going As Hoped, Things Not Happening, and Being Too Hard On Self.

Fighting off this anchorage. Let go -- it's ok -- let go.
Fight.

For now, a poem by e.e. cummings -- because words are elusive sometimes, like butterflies.

Lady, I will touch you with my mind.

Touch you and touch and touch until you give

me suddenly a smile shyly obscene.

Lady, I will touch you with my mind.

Touch you, that is all,

lightly and you utterly will become

with infinite care

the poem which I do not write.

----

I love updates, don't you?

Bagong Buwan

Sa sandaling iyon

Umiral ang isang tagpo

Nang kinuha mo sa aking kamay

Ang isang tala at ibinalik ito sa kalangitan.

Ang sabi mo:

Mahal, ako lamang

Sa gabing ito, ako lamang.

Sabay tayong maglalakbay

Patungo sa isang banyagang dalampasigan

At doon, mag-aabang ng panibagong buwan.

Kung paano sa mga sandaling iyon

Umiral ang pag-asa, hawak kamay.

Hindi natin namalayan ang paghilum

Ng mga kung anu-anong sugat

Na dala-dala ng nakaraan,

Habang tinatalunan natin ang mga alon

Ng walang pag-aalinlangan.

Ang ating mga tawa umaalingawngaw

Habang tangay natin ang isa’t isa ---

Hudyat ng umuusbong at namumukadkad na simula.

---

If you listen, ever so closely, you will hear my sigh. The sound of feathers, my choosing to nurse this ache happy.

Inspiration[s]. Sort of.

Tell me about it. I've been spewing words for weeks now. And I'm as surprised as you are. But amused nonetheless. So who could have caused this? Some list.

1. Someone of all trades. A master of one. Or two. Oh, alright, a few. Fine, several. It was good while it lasted. Sweet escapes. Quite civil given half the chance, no longer chummy. Questions. Kaput.
2. Epic: One of the most amazingly talented people I know. A mean combination of prose, poetry and photography. May wield more, I'm afraid to admit. Or maybe I have, i.e., reason for unsound sleep, flying.
3. Silent. Fleeting. Most likely. But then we'll never know for now. Feathers all around still.
4. Smiles that make me forget how dark the world can be. Sweeping. Primal and unadulterated conversations that could go on for days. Progress report: Nil.
5. Constant like change. 
6. Some kind of wonderful.

It should not come as a surprise that all of them are women.
Men, you ought to shape up. But I couldn't care less. Har dee har har.
Save for 5, I'm currently keeping a safe distance for my own good. And theirs.

Haiku-happy for days now. There are words but they speak too much of the truth. Only a haiku because the poems must get shorter in the attempt to not risk anymore of what's left (if there are any). Oh no.

Lose yourself in art ---
in poetry surrender
in song abandon.

and because the heart has indeed grown fonder but has learned its lesson and will opt for silence:

Windblown refugees
wandering with empty hearts
mistaken for stars.


See what I mean?

To silence

At night, she bellows

the sound barely audible

unheard ‘til the morn.

“I would like to know

what it will take to make you

fall in love with me?”

In the morn, humming

she sings laments of longing

the tune without words.

“Winged the span of time

Yet your footprint remains etched

right here, above my breast.”

That thing with feathers,

hope, discloses everything;

revealing nothing.

“Within the confines

of my heart, I begin the

task of vanishing.”

You

You are the wave that
quickly retreats the moment
it touches my feet.

I am a Jonathan Safran Foer paragraph

• when sadness takes another form
• of longing and loneliness
• of escapes and forgetting
• when confusion is a necessary good
• in which I cannot stop writing
• but I must

Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn't the world, it wasn't the bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.

So many words in the English language and yet, they still manage to fail you at the most opportune moment. You may be interested to read this.

And then I came across The History of Love to find that "When will you learn that there isn't a word for everything?" which greatly reminded me of my e-mail signature from two years ago, "Do not the most moving moments of our lives find us all without words?" 


There's a moral to this, I swear! Or I can always say "Deja poo! I've heard this crap before!" but something tells me enough is enough, "Pour yourself a drink, put on some lipstick, and get your act together." 

Whatever

Hindi ang nalaman mong hindi ka papasang cum laude ang pinakaayaw mong pakiramdam sa mundo. Hindi rin ang nalaman mong hindi ka makakauwi sa semana santa kasi maraming trabaho sa opisina kahit pa mahigit isang taon mo nang hindi nakakasama ang mga mahal mo sa buhay. Ang p-------------- pinakaayaw mong pakiramdam sa buong p---------------- mundo ay iyong malaman mong may ibang gusto ang babaeng gusto mo, iyong tipong inamin mo na sa sarili mo na alaala pala niya ang isa sa mga pinakainiingatan mong bagay. Parang bumulusok kang bumagsak bago ka pa magsimula; parang pinatay ka na bago ka nabuhay. :)

How do I tell you

I'm sorry.

The misleading volume of my words has gone out of line. And I know I have got to stop speaking in flames that give birth to knives, and maim quite successfully.

I'm sorry.

When friends press for stories, I like to laugh and pretend like you were the one sent to me by angels at the moment I needed reprieve, and that your job here with me is done when the reality was that you were the one that had potential, which is infinitely more painful for reasons I cannot even begin to explain.

I'm sorry.

A part of me will always ache for you, I suppose.

On nights when I am lonely and just a tad proud, I remember our conversations and the way we could go on for hours just talking about things not meant to be discussed. In our little space in time, we did disappoint each other (like the time I promised I'd call but forgot) --- because people always do --- but at least it would be in ways that we both understand.

I'm sorry.

I've never resented you for having a home inside my heart. I built that myself. It's here to stay, I think. Others may occupy it but their names and faces would be stored in some other body part; a space for each moment. But never where you are.

I remember how it was with you. Exchanging our versions of sadness. Some days I still hear you --- the funny sound you make when you're laughing, about to laugh but not quite.

I'm sorry.

I think I need to learn that the trick is to keep it quiet. Yes, I think this I learned from you. Keep quiet and smile (how you won me over).