One month, ten posts and the realization that I really find it hard to sustain anything I start. I write to move forward. I write to purge. For when you take that leap to cut yourself and spill the lump in your throat, you set free a memory. You let go.
It was a worthwhile sojourn. Amidst questioned intentions, there is no regret. The seed was a giddy feeling. And not knowing how to deal with it, I felt it best to profess... to confess.
He's a superb storyteller.
His writing is pure emotions.
His spontaneity is unmatched.
He's vivid and deep.
He's an unexpected... friend.
His story is familiar.
And he is a gracious soul. Not to take away anything from the others, but know that you are the best... at least from my corner of the universe.
And yet there's still much to cover. The curious cat and the sweetest geek. The bashful one... what happens next? And the unexplained affinity I feel for the one taking a glimpse of the spectrum.
"It's the longest goodbye in the universe when your shooting star burns out, shooting star here's used loosely, figuratively. It rings more poetically in the vernacular - - -bulalakaw. You call them that because they burn so bright, because you wistfully look to the sky for their trajectories to cross your radar again even after their orbits have passed most likely forever, because you wish on them. But you knew that and maybe you knew that out of having had this extraterrestrial hurt too, out of having the unforgettable face of that lapsed darling afterimaging in your head long after her radio silence, her invisibility, her supernova before your eyes. And all of this is in K's head. Like the lovesongs falling on deaf ears, like the poetry in the details, like the words that fail, like the wishfully-thinking extraterrestrial hurt it hooks me with."
Para sa iba ko pang hinahangaan... Dodo Dayao at Khavn Dela Cruz