Lightnings

Looks up at the sky, waits for a meteor shower or something that will break the constant stillness, sighs in defeat.

So, the night is still still. I don't mind the cold - it's just a reminder that the holidays are coming. Soon, too soon. The year's about to end and here I am: still hoping, struggling against pragmatism, that lightning will strike, or at least that I'll come across some excitement somehow.

I really don't want to be stuck in a hustle-and-bustle world. I need excitement. I need fire. Magic. The real kind. I want to be swept off my feet. I want to run. Run free. I don't know why that phrase came up, I just feel like I have to run. Run free.

I want to have a reason to laugh out loud. Or just laugh out loud for no reason at all. But I also want someone to join me in the laughter. I want my lightning to strike now. I need it to strike now.

But there's a little pull inside my head, still. What if there's really no excitement to look forward to? What if life really was supposed to be constant and monotonous? What if I'm really supposed to be contented with... this stillness? And my constant yearning for "magic" and "the great relief" will only catapult me into despair - since those things will never come, anyway?

Gah. But I don't want to think about the possibility of magic not ever happening in my life. I just want it to happen. I want it to come and find me. And when it does, I'll take it from there. For now, I'm just wanting for it to happen. That's all.

before I soak my aching feet in hot water...

There's something awfully lonely about christmas.

The cold air? The malls and busy streets jammed with people thinking about presents, bonuses, and the inevitable traffic jam?

Nothing about humanity in between, save in the minds of the charitable few.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not persecuting the happy people. Neither do I want to be a scrooge. And, no, I don't believe writing "WORLD PEACE" there on my grown-up Christmas list, so to speak, would actually change the world for the better.

I'm just thinking out loud. Being stuck in Shaw Boulevard after being ditched by a taxicab driver I had commissioned (for a lack of a better word) in Rockwell to take me home to Quezon City due to the heavy traffic in EDSA does that to you.

Christmas can really be the loneliest time of the year. And I'm feeling the blues too much to even write anything else.

Fall

You bloom in autumn
with the golden hues reflected
in your pensive eyes;
faraway, the conch bids
a nostalgic lament
and succumbs to the whispers
of the rustling leaves.

Thoughts unfold
and you're demystified -
Time holds no mystery
but of its own perpetuity,
its constancy.

A quiet smile faces
the cool, passing breeze;
around you the maple
and the caballero weep
of its beauty:
you are captivated.

The park is serene
and splashed with the warm
colors of the sun.
By twilight, it is embraced
by the night's solitary breath.

This marriage of contrasting poles
leaves you with a pained smile.
Autumn is your Spring.
You bloom
and you weep its beauty.

Upon waking

For winter’s rains and ruins are over,
And all the seasons of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

- A.C. (Algernon Charles) Swinburne