i eat your name for dinner

Every night I wish only that you would be mine. This I always shyly and cautiously leave hanging in the air. Only the stars and the leaves that rustle by my feet bear witness to my desperation – my pathetic contradictions.

Every night the moon watches me and drowns my plea with its silvery moonlight. I watch my shadows dance beneath the lamppost as I whisper my request out into the world.

The moonlight does not falter. It seeps through my very being. It fills me up and empties me.

Unlike the fragments of light that escape the clasp of leaves and branches, my wish will not reach the Gods.

Every night I whisper your name out into the world in the hopes of having you closer to me. In exchange, a piece of you is taken by the Gods as my own special atonement.

My heart tells me I should stop. My mind urges me forward.
Tell me, will the moon ever run out of light?

イサベラ

(c) image

nausea —
the wind, knocked out of me.
my lungs, like stubborn wind
does not succumb,
unable to surrender to death
for your sake.
my heart breaks
to a fast paced waltz

un
co or
dinate
d.

it shatters more,
each piece crying out
each letter of your name
it starts with a loud J

and ends in a hushed
letter unrecognizable
nausea.

nausea —
it comes back.
like the ghost of poison
empty and
real
enough to bring forth
the fire
of you

and cause me
to bend forward.
and scream your name
in agony
of longingness.

nausea.

イサベラ

(c) image

The Time Keeper

“Ends are for yesterday, not for tomorrows”

Mitch Albom’s The Time Keeper is interesting enough to freeze time or at least to keep me from noticing that quite a big chunk of it has gone.  It basically tells the story of Dor, who is imprisoned in a cave for 6,000 years for trying to capture the essence of Time through his tools and invention. When he is finally “freed” from the cave, he is tasked to teach the real value of Time relative to the meaning of Life to two mortals and as an effect, to himself.

The book presents life-lessons that are not entirely foreign or new such as how we waste Time by trying to “catch” Time or how we miss the living part of life by counting our days and minutes only to find ourselves begging for more when we’ve noticed we only have a handful of it left.

What makes this book engrossing despite the cliches, is its simplicity and how it tried to veer away from a preachy tone which is almost always present in books that are lesson-giving.

“There was always a quest for more minutes, more hours, faster progress to accomplish more in each day. The simple joy of living between summers was gone.”

イサベラ

maybe we need more

A young man probably in his late twenties sat down beside me and started a monologue without regard of embarrassment as if  I am a longtime friend he had not seen for years and not like the strangers that we really are. He did not look at me when he split open his heart and shoved it to me.

I wish that she could have loved me… not like how much I adored her but even more — like how the day marries the night without question. I wish that she could have loved me so earnestly enough for her to have created a storm inside my emptiness. I wish that she could have loved me enough for me to burst into an endless symphony of chaos and beauty that made sense and meant nothing altogether.  I wish that she could have loved me enough  . . . 

イサベラ

(c) image