I am running out of excuses.Once, I told myself I would want to be with a person who would satiate my inner cravings for mental deliberations, and if not, at least someone from the poetic side. Someone who would readily sweep me with words, someone whose mind readily colors out other dimensions even while we’re at an unadorned space. Like a cradle of vast imagination that I would love to wallow in. we would try to understand the world through our unusual views, we would color pastels black and darken the lines that normally etched the thin ice surrounding other curves. We would readily blur the lines of morality and emotions, and we would ride into wherever our minds take us.
And we would talk. We would talk for countless hours without having no real flow of conversation in mind. We would quote authors we learned to adore. We would laugh at the intricacies created by such people we look up to. We would get lost at different plots. We would suffer the blow of various complications. And we would fall under the romances of the pink skies of literary pages.
But the best thing of all, touch would not be a primary need between us: We would hug each other if we need to, but our lives would not depend on the mere existence of my hand on his. The words would be enough for him to touch me, to penetrate my soul.
We would laugh. Endlessly. We would run around, trying to momentarily live crazy lives lifted from some prose. We would give nary a care to everyone. Every day would be seized to the fullest. I would sit under some tree with his head resting on my lap. I would read chapters of some book we would both like to explore. In turn, he would read me some poetry, and we’d plainly sway to the magic brought about by the words. He would not ask where I have been if I get lost in my thoughts. He would understand my need for momentary silence. He would not be surprised because he finds me on the most obscure place possible, but would be surprised to find that we both chose that place to be our recluse.
Before, I dreamed of the sweetest love. We would lie around and feel the earth, and kisses shall obscure from our eyes the heaven and create our own between the exchange of passion; and in the middle we would get lost in his poetic way of losing things. The flight to nowhere would be voluntary, and the sweet caress his fingers would bring would be enough to spark my soul over and over again. He would not mind the atmosphere, for he would have started a different ambiance for us.
And then I would smile, because I know I can live my life at peace. That I wouldn’t worry what would become of us when we grow old. I wouldn’t worry about what we would talk about. Because somehow, I know we won’t run out of it. We’ll both be silent, and still communing.
And then…I wake up.
-originally posted at another site, November 27th 2004
November 27th, 2006 at 4:19 pm
it’s a nice dream though, isn’t it? para kang nasa womb. hehe.