Hundreds and thousands of things had been in my mind throughout the day. You called and told me to come to your house because you wanted to see me and spend some time with me. There, we talked about the most mundane things to the most important ones. I haven’t felt the weariness that I have felt before coming to you. The day ended too fast meaning I have to go home, but you didn’t let me. You told me to stay and sleep there instead. I said yes, too tired to argue.
I rested on your bed after fixing myself, stared at your plain white ceiling trying to answer questions that had been running in my head – why did I come here with just one phone call? Why am I too tired to go home? The questions I keep asking myself are leading me to the highest heights of denial.
I miss you, yet can’t bring myself to admit it.
How many times did I wish to lay down with someone I love? How many times did I daydream about staying up until four in the morning talking about things? How many times did I ask myself the same questions over and over again?
You lied down beside me and stared at your ceiling too. We talked and talked until you finally fell asleep, faster than what I imagined. I stared at your face – your lashes, your brows, your lips. Everything about you is mesmerizing and I can’t help but smile at myself.
I turned my back from you, trying to keep my feelings to myself. I can’t seem to be sleepy even after a tiring day because my body is fully aware that you are lying beside me. Then you wrapped your arms around me. I closed my eyes trying to savor the moment for I know it won’t last long. You were asleep and you didn’t know what you were doing. I was awake and I know exactly what I’m feeling. Continue reading →
I wish there is a sign that tells me when to stop looking out for someone. I wish there is a police officer that stops me and charges me when I drive too fast. I wish I have a mother who nags me to chase after my dream and to look after myself. I wish I have a brother and a sister that reminds me of how I want them to see the beauty of this evil-stricken world. I wish there was a time when I actually thought of saving myself from the destruction that awaits me, but then again, there’s none. There’s no one. Nada. I continue to walk past the grocery store that offers different variety of Korean foods. No one notices me but I remember every detail that holds the moment, our moment. Every once in a while, I ask myself why did I have to come at this point where I have no one beside me. A voice inside me screams that at one time in my life, this is what I wanted. I have a choice. And this is what I chose.
As slowly as the darkness engulfs the beautiful bright sky, the horizon has the different shades of color fighting over who to dominate. I stare at it and study the vista that is dominated by magenta and has a touch of orange, killing the cyan that lies beneath the other colors. My palm twitches just looking at the pigments dominating what used to be a peaceful and calm shade of blue. But then I know within a minute or two, darkness will take over the sky only leaving us with the tiny dots from a star far away. I slip in my car and start the engine immediately, trying to warm myself inside. Though I know there’s no use since I am cold from the inside, I still try. Just like how I try to bring back the life I have before I ended up alone, and empty. I sigh and drive my way to the apartment that I think is small enough for me not to feel the desolation that won’t go away. Upon entering the room, I quickly pull out my painting materials: palette, canvas, paint brushes, oil paint, and the Lilo and Stitch rag that reminds me of… nevermind. I hold the palette on my left hand and push out the three monotonous colors that basically define my life right now—white, black, and gray. I close my eyes trying to envisage the silhouette of the face of the man who holds a biggest part of my heart, Daddy. I start brushing the whole canvas with gray, and I try to darken some parts of it. When I finish brushing the whole, I dip my pointed brush to a splatter of black oil paint and smoothly draw Daddy’s feature. A smile slowly crept up on my lips remembering how he keeps on insisting that I try charcoal painting instead since I only use the three colors. Had I said yes and did charcoal painting; my Daddy smiling and proud of me may have been my last memory of him. But I didn’t. Did or did not, I love you still, Daddy. I’ll come back and change that last memory.
(Thoughts? Should I continue? Leave a comment below!)