Sunday, June 15, 2008

30 years. 30 days.

The tide turns. Waves race toward your toes. Tonight, you wonder if somebody at the edge of this sea, on a similar breakwater or probably on a parallel universe, sits and skips stones just like you do. But you can only make out a blink arranged neatly in the island before you.

It’s been 30 days and 30 years. And you want to find yourself elsewhere. Some place better than this. Perhaps on a cliff. No. A bamboo platform on a cliff. A room with doors that open to the sea. The gauze curtains gathered to one side. With the surf, hazy white lines that falls and rises. Falls. Rises.





10 comments:

  1. ei sir, is it the weather? jejeje.

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  2. too early for 'mid life crisis,' buddy!

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  3. fall seven times, rise eight. :)

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  4. by golly, this entry sounds, yes, something like that already. need to shift gears. pronto.

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  5. this is just one of those rare moments. you know, alone. the sea in front. darkness all around.

    at any rate, i'd like to self-assess this one as nothing short of a reflection. the term "midlife crises," the way it is defined in psychology, makes me uncomfortable.

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  6. hmmn, it's good to slow down once in a while in this fast-paced world of ours. it helps with catching up on our souls. *and* with our stomachs catching up with us. ;p

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  7. Spurs. Of breath. Of thoughts. That make the days. That form out. Sentences. Into years.

    (hehe sampol lang.. suway suway ba...)

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