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Journal

Lately I’ve been thinking.  Thinking about life, lust, love — lust for life. The lines are blurred as to where I put myself in. 360 is in gray, nothing in absolutes. Like how can I be sure, when no one’s sure with me? The common coping mechanism is to pour myself a glass and light myself one. A slight buzz always helps. Where are we? Okay. I’m lusting for life and what it can offer — But somehow, my libido’s run low. Metaphorical testosterone gets lost in translation Because the line is blurred with the analogy too. "Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity."   — Ecclesiastes 1:2 What am I? Who am I? Who am I but a prideful son? Is this what I really wanted? To quote my favorite artist: "We love Jesus but we learned a lot from Satan." To say that I’m lost is an understatement. I’m no longer wandering. No wonder, I’ve never been this astray. This city I live in, far from the glitz and glamour I was promised. Should I blame the city? I’...
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Keepsakes

Tell me those looks were empty . It was an unspoken thing between us, but we never really got around to sorting things out. Between the stress and the false promises, being with you was actually something I used to look forward to. We shared looks—like messages sent through undisturbed channels. Tell me those looks were empty . I swear I could’ve felt your stare touch my skin. Your gaze was something like a weapon: sharp enough to cut, yet dull enough to make me believe in a fantasy. When our paths crossed, it felt like a scene pulled straight from one of your lovey-dovey books. It made me believe in fairy tales. Butterflies flew from my stomach to my mouth, mind you. Tell me those looks were empty . Cameras caught us with our hands on the smalls of each other’s backs, and that was the closest I’ve ever been to you. I swear I felt something in your touch. Now you swear to me that those looks were empty—because I haven’t felt anything real in the past few years. I wish you knew how much...
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