i filled myself with green peas tonight. with an RC cola at my side, i stuffed myself with green peas, and waited for my stomach to ache.
yes, my stomach is aching right now.
my soul, too.
the stub of my cigarette glows on the ashtray beside me. my cigarette consumption has fallen considerably (?), from a pack a day to seven sticks a day.
my old and beaten leather cigarette case can only contain seven sticks.
how about my soul? how much pain can it contain?
too correct. the flow of tears have also considerably fallen.
however, as she had written, there are various ways of crying. the most difficult kind of crying happens when the soul cries. there are invisible tears, and these cannot be wiped away. how can you wipe something invisible?
my soul is crying right now. i can't say i'm numb, but definitely i am not happy. definitely, i am sad.
i'm not good at carrying my emotions, at wearing a mask to hide the pain, or my disgust, or my happiness, whatever the emotion may be.
the green peas are definitely lodged in my stomach, and the ache comes from the difficulty of my stomach to digest the green peas.
the sadness is definitely lodged in my soul, and the ache comes from the difficulty of my soul to accept her absence.
all i can do is wait, wait until december when things can become clearer.
but right now, i ache. and i cry in pain. i wake in the morning, and she's the first thing that comes to mind.
a few weeks ago, i'd wake in the morning, and i'd see her face beside me. i'd kiss her, and i'd tell her, "good morning, mahal."
now i wake in the morning, speechless, dumbfounded by the sunlight that streams through my half-closed blinds, chasing the darkness around my gloomy room.
a few weeks ago, i'd refuse to rise, with a half-smile, half-smirk, and her hands would reach mine and she'd try to pull me up."bangon na, mahal," she'd say.
now i wake in the morning, i still refuse to rise, but i refuse out of sadness, out of the nothingness that welcomes my morning, out of the utter silence that fills my gloomy room.
a few weeks ago, we'd talk until the wee hours of the morning, until she surrendered, until she said, "sleepy na ako, mahal." for a few hours i'd delay, for impossible as it might seem, i never wanted the night to end, for the stories to end.
now i sleep alone, tired and weary out of work, speechless just like I was in the morning, saddened by the utter silence that fills my gloomy room. i turn on the player, but nothing gives me comfort. no one can give me comfort, not even live, not even u2, not even nina, not even mymp, not even kula shaker, not even bamboo.
for you, my love. for you, my Truth.
i miss you very much....