Tag Archives: long distance relationship

Her Station

She’s there
in my burger

telling me how heavenly
this is,
this cheesy cheeseburger is,
when our bodies are already dried
from the liquor
and the blabber
of the night.

She lives
in the sooty streets
asking me how come I sing
every morning and
I won’t let up ’til we part

in the train station
where I kiss her cheek
a single
stolen
time.

She waits
still at the same spot
in the mall
where we used to wait
without any guarantee
that the other one will arrive
saying their sorrys,
prodding to hurry
to catch the evening TV.

She’s there.

I know

that she dreams of me
half a world away
as I live to sleep
and take my turn
come dark
to dream of her.

I see
her in every bare wall
and each busy page,
in all things the calendar
throws my way,
and in the nothingness
my eyelids and my bed
conspire to envelope me with;

and in my fingers she used to hold,
and in my feet she still adore,
in my face she used to measure,
and my eyes that used to behold

her. She’s there. She’s everywhere

there’s nothing and something and anything!
I lie and I walk and run in circles
along her planetary rings,
hopping and skipping in our dreams,
wishing and watching our favorite films,

making it to the next stop,
checking myself if I should laugh,
hoping we wouldn’t

drop

it.

‘Cause while she’s always a step ahead,
a safe distance where I can’t
smell her hair,
I know I have to keep on going,
keep on eating my cheeseburgers,
walk my way down busy streets
across malls, over calendars
and ’round planetary rings
once more.
And I know I have to keep on humming
the silent song in my chest
for I can’t rest
’til she’s back
in the train station
where I used to kiss her cheek
a single
stolen
time.

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Filed under Love, Poems

Red Light

Bad
Bad

They have no idea
how bad it gets
when the office falls
silent
and I’m left to gaze ahead

at the beckoning abyss of the wall
dotted with sharp pins.

Bad
Gripping

Your face on my cell phone
eternally smiles, and I remember
I was there in that same room
on that same night,
as bald stray cats prowled the grounds,
and I
was seeing more — far more,
an entire more universe
sparkling with undiscovered stars —
than this

greasy

gadget

in my hand.

Mad
Seeping

It’s like a naive cancer or an earthquake,
or a tragic film no pleasant soul
would wanna see on a summer day
of flowers
and lovers
trailed by petals
and a hundred

bowed heads.

Bad
Bad

They have no idea.
Push me with a finger
and I’ll collapse on the bed.
I’ll stare and I’ll glare

at the abyss of the ceiling
where lizards hunt roaches
patiently.

No one has an idea;
not even you since you can’t pick my head.
Oh, darling,

you don’t wanna
pick this head.

It’s so bad that
one day, while crossing the street
among the usual crowd
between the typical jeeps,
inhaling that exact, same soot,

I think I might

stop
in my tracks

and refuse,
just shake my head violently
and refuse,

to cross
to the other side

so I can stay there forever.

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Filed under Love, Poems

My Home

You are my simple life,
my home at the end of the road.
I’ve traveled far, hoisting the problems
of a million strangers on my shoulders.
Oh, I can’t wait
to lay them on your doorstep someday
and worry about them
no more.

On your small wooden table,
a cold glass of water awaits.
I’ll drink it with glee
while looking out your window
at the warring worlds
I’ll leave behind. Continue reading

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Filed under Love, Poems

Self-Diagnosis: Pre-Loneliness Loneliness

Must be the Nilagang Baka (boiled beef) but there are swirling, sloth-like dark clouds inside my cranium today. I’d be lucky if that means a storm is coming because right now, at this very moment, I want a nerve-wracking thunder storm, a near-life experience as Tyler Durden used to say. Maybe another shot at EK’s Space Shuttle or a chance to dance dirty in the middle of a club — not like I’ve ever done that — but something that will feel real, something that will smell real again.

Of course I’m kidding myself if I attribute all of it to the Nilagang Baka. Obviously, the diagnosis should be what I would call a Pre-loneliness Loneliness (PLL). The root cause is the plunging levels of endorphins as your mind anticipates a gray future approaching slowly but surely. Symptoms include staring blankly at the computer screen, a natural reflex to avoid work, listening to a repetitive playlist that drives home a certain feeling, and a positive revulsion for the future. I am experiencing all of these now. I am suffering from a self-developed, self-diagnosed, and self-perpatuated disease. PLL is killing me.

In about three to five months after that plane carrying Chemae heads for Neverland, people won’t recognise me. I’ll tell them “I’m Marvin” but they would perceive an obvious change in my demeanor, like my upper lip is constantly quivering, or my fingers are twitching too much. They’d look at me suspiciously, like I’m an impostor. I’ll probably be scruffy with thick and oily facial hair reminiscent of Pacquiao when he pummelled Clottey last March. Except unlike Pacquiao, people won’t be delighted to see me at all. They would think I am a good tap on the shoulder away from incurable insanity. Continue reading

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