Death of a friend

I stare at my writing pen, now mottled gray and green with disuse. With dawning regret, I reach out and cradle its desecrated body. I wonder how could a once-treasured friend been left to wither and rot in apparent disregard. As my tears fall on its moldy body, my pen gives a barely-felt quiver. It might have been remembering the days when it still had the power to create worlds of fiction and prose, or it might have been a last struggle for air, before death finally claimed it. While I ponder its fate, I felt a sigh escape my palm, and in that sunny afternoon, while I held it in my arms, my pen finally died. Wiping tears of sorrow, I think of a fitting eulogy to describe how a simple pen has given everything and more, but still, its end just became a triviality. As my thoughts commenced, i threw my once-pen's body into the trash bin. Then, as in days past, I shrugged and turned away and started typing a story on the keyboard.

merely to pass the time

for someone that i feel strongly for....


i have had this dilemma for quite a few days now. i will be leaving soon and i don't quite know how to say goodbye, or, if i should say goodbye at all. it's been two years and my heart has been yours ever since our first meeting. unfortunately, we are still on the same ground we were on before anything ever started, on separate ends of the world.

whatever they may say about goodbyes being some sort of a beginning, it means nothing to me but a sad, soul-wracking parting.

i will be leaving you without making any distinction, any impression that would mean something to you, no significance whatsoever. how despondent that such an irony would happen to me, to think that for the better part of two years, you were my heart's beat.
i think i have always loved you, but always, in the background.

when i leave, i hope you remember me, not my shortcomings, nor my fumbles, but those experiences we did share, in laughter, in tears, and even in indifference.

when i go, see me not as a spurned soul but as a hopeless romantic. when i go, don't recall that i was your annoying offkey radio but that i was the one who taught you how to make your fingers dance on the chord fields. when i go, forget that i was always the prankster but remember that i always wanted to see you smile, hence the jokes at my expense. when i go, know that my art wasn't in the least meant for flaunting but only for your viewing. when i go, do not take my constant readiness to do your bidding as a pathetic excuse to be near you, the truth is, i was willing and obliged to help you out.

i think it is pretty obvious that things didn't turn out the way i expected them to be, at least, not between us. however, there is no remorse nor regret on my part. whatever this confession fails to convey, know that i will always cherish each and every one of my memories with you, though they are largely composed of the melancholy and the sundered.

i will be leaving soon and i choose not to say goodbye. remember me as you are wont to, remember me as you please. i will not force nor begrudge your choices, the right is not mine to do so in the first place.

when i leave though, promise me this, that there will be no parting words, no goodbyes. nothing to remind me of leaving you at all.
like nothing ever happened.

way back home

i saw you when i went back. it wasn't the encounter i've been dreaming about, for the longest time. there were no deafening heartbeats, like the mad drumming of wild jungle tribes, there were no prolonged breaths that could have left me hanging on the verge of dying from asphyxia.
in truth, i think you just did a subtle doubletake, not even worth noting, and maybe, it wasn't even from recognition. perhaps, we've grown past the stage of having even miniscule regard for each other. perhaps, you've even forgotten me.