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Monday, December 15, 2014

Beautiful Danger



If you don’t normally do this at home, then why are you doing it right now?” she asked herself for the third time.  She combed her hair to the side to keep it from whipping into a tangled mess, her eyes locked on the tattoo on his nape. Squinting her eyes, she remembered that back then, tattoos were a taboo, but tonight, she was not so sure. And as if entranced, she closed her eyes and chanted, “I don’t know. I don’t know anymore.”  Life is funny sometimes. For the most of your life you think about one thing only to be told one day that you were wrong.


Time says it was well beyond midnight but here she was, letting herself get drawn to somewhere else, with someone else. The roads were barely lit, but she liked it; the stars shone much brighter this way. Maybe not as bright as the stars she saw back home, but a lot brighter than usual.


It was dangerous. And she knew that, even before he started asking her out. But she only counted the stars to keep her sane for a while. “It’s lesser tonight,” she thought, wishing the ride wouldn’t end too soon. It did. And the next thing she knew, they were already in front of a playground – swings still, and slides dusty, patches of grass growing in between the cracks of the cemented road.



“Diane,” she heard him whisper. Ron has been staring at her for a while now, half of his face, covered by a nearby tree’s shadow.  “I’m glad you went out for a ride with me. I mean, it’s a little late now, but…” he trailed off. There was hesitation in his voice when he said it, as if he were scared it would come out wrong.

“It is late, but what else could we do? C’mon! Didn’t you say you were hungry?” Diane flashed him a grin in response. Maybe it was his stare that caught her off guard, but whatever it was that set her chest drumming, she didn’t want to know anymore. It was too risky. She skipped to the stall instead and grabbed a few sticks of barbecue after dropping a few coins and bills on the old man’s palm.



“I didn’t know you had a birthmark,” he said in between  mouthfuls of puso. “It’s cute.” He started to trace his fingers on the pink triangle shaped mark on her left shoulder but she swatted it away. He started doing it again but this time, she moved several inches away.

“What in the world is wrong with this guy? Doesn’t he know how much tingles I get each time he touches me?” It could’ve been loud had she not just thought about it. She pursed her lips instead and pretended she was alright.


He chuckled. “You know, you’re pretty even when you get mad.” She looked up and expected him to laugh and say he was kidding, but he didn’t. Instead, what she saw was so beautiful, it was painful, she had to look away and pretend her eyes hurt.


She wanted to hide. She wanted to get away, but at the same time, she didn’t. She hated getting drawn to every single word he says, but she wanted to get closer. To just feel what it is like to actually like somebody. Even if it were only for one night.





Except that it didn’t last for just one night. It lingered too much, her chest hurt. And it’s been weeks.




“I told you it was all a mistake,” she mumbled to herself under her sheets. “I told you he’d stop because you were never meant to be there in the first place.”



Diane rolled to her side to check her phone for the eighth time.


Sunday, December 7, 2014

Are you sure?



I’ve already told myself a couple of times to stop being the storm. To stop being the word of mouth before and after I subconsciously rip and tear everything apart. But I couldn’t help spinning and picking up pieces as if to mend them but only leave windows and doors open. Hearts and souls wounded.

I’ve already told myself a couple of times to stop being the scorching heat. To stop assuming that a little more brightness could help the darkened little corner. That it wouldn’t burn the whole place down like the arson that I truly am.


Perhaps I’ve told myself to stop being the feline as well. To stop purring for a hand to run over my fur, before I raise my claws to scratch it away.


But I am the feline. I am the flame, the storm, and I didn’t know. I come and leave a horrible mark we once thought was beautiful. A little like the scar you’d get from riding the bike with no hands.




No. I don’t think you should get scarred or burnt by me.