Musings

I feel as much as I think. I do both excessively.

Category: Poetry

Crack

by avrillorenzo

Date created :12/28/2012 00h45
Last modified : 01/03/2013 14h10


 

And I realized that I haven’t thought of you for a while.
But now that I did, it didn’t shake me.
It was more of the pavement beneath my feet breaking in one strong instant
as layers of ground and masses split like the red sea and the ground swallowed me whole.
But I’m not yet within the depths of this crack, falling deeper and deeper.

No.

I am pretty much like how James Franco was in 127 hours.
Stuck, lodged painfully between protruding boulders, relatively mangled.
And the only way I could escape is if I cut my arm off.
Trying to get out of this is gruesome and bloody.

Nothing is ever easy when you miss somebody.
Nothing is ever beguiling when you miss somebody so much.
Nothing is ever beautiful when you miss somebody who doesn’t want to be missed.

Nothing will ever be.

But, in a weird twist of circumstance, it is perfect.

For it is the chip of your favorite cup, the crack on your favorite pavement, the broken branch of your favorite tree and the tattered cover of your favorite book.

It is in these things where we find perfection.

It is perfect because it attests to love.

Love is always perfect.

Sadly enough, it was you and I who tainted its perfection.

And why is that?
Because love didn’t want us.
But love loved every body and is there for every one.

But it wasn’t for us.

So, here I am, wondering if I should proceed to cut off my arm and set myself free,
challenging gravity as I make sure I don’t fall in the process.

I should and I admit that I miss you.

But admitting that does not instantly grant me the freedom from the yearning.
I still have to climb out of this crack.
Maimed and bloody and only about a 12% chance of survival.

And I am holding on to that percentage.

Who knew missing somebody could be so dangerous?

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Of Crickets and Sunsets

by avrillorenzo

A set of stone tables lined

beside an old building.

18 years old.

At 4:30 in the afternoon,

if you happen to pass by,

you’ll see her.

Earphones plugged on each ear.

Sitting alone.

Notebook out, pen in hand, writing

and constantly looking

at her watch.

I passed by once.

I saw her. Then

I sat at a far corner,

somehow intrigued.

I watched as she scribbled

furiously on her notebook

as the sun sets to her

left. Shadows of people

passing didn’t seem to

faze her. Once in a while,

she would look up

and around.

The lush greens

were tainted with the orange rays of the sun.

I hoped to be bored soon,

but I found myself counting

the times she would look

at her watch or look

up and around.

Slowly, the sky turned orange.

Then pink.

Then mauve.

Then slightly velvet blue.

And as I sat there,

serenaded by the crickets

and caressed by mosquitoes

which died when they did so,

I watched her

slowly packing her things.

I stood up, the same time

she did, but I sat back down.

Because she looked over to her

left, breathed deeply

and bid the sun goodbye

when it was already gone.

She

left.

And as I sat there,

alone and smelling

the remnants of sunset,

I realized I’ve been thinking of

her as often as the

crickets sing.

In Between

by avrillorenzo

And as I watched her lecture me

on love and loss and all that’s in between

I couldn’t hear her.

I couldn’t understand.

Because I knew, she was talking

to herself more than me.

For my love and loss and

all that’s in between

Reminded her of what she’s forgotten;

Of who she’s loved,

Of what she’s lost

and all that’s in between.

Screwed

by avrillorenzo

It was when I saw

the sun kissing the horizon goodbye,

full of promise of them meeting again;

the rain sacrificing itself to cool

the ground from the burns it

subjected itself just to feel the sun,

the heat seeping into its core;

the leaves falling from trees

with slow sways of hope

guided by wisps of wind

wishing that when they are shredded,

decomposed,

they will grow, live again,

in the arms of their tree..

 

It was when I saw things this way

that I knew

 

I was screwed.

How.

by avrillorenzo

The infatuation, it started

the moment your

eyes lit up

when you talked

about how

she batted

her eyelashes.

The attraction, it started

the moment your

eyes shone

when you looked

at me and

breathed

‘us’.

The pull.

The desire.

The care.

The passion.

The lust.

The attachment.

The need.

The devotion.

They started

right after you

breathed

‘us’

and whispered

my name.

Then,

love came after that.

The rest,

as they say,

is history.

And now,

we live forever.

Her.

by avrillorenzo

The light,

it dances

between her fingers.

Her hand in the

air capturing

the wind

bare.

Her eyes

lingering

from one cloud

to another

never fazed

by the striking

light of

the sun.

Her nose

all red

with the bite

of the damn

cold breeze,

making it hard

to breathe.

Her lips

bled of

biting,

all wet

with the salted

taste of tears.

Her breath,

Painful,

so shallow

and stolen.

Misery

at every

inhale.

Her brain,

so frazzled

confused

by the multitude

of blacks

and whites, she

fears she

will

faint.

Her heart,

oh dear heart,

beating slowly

and silent.

Blind,

breathless and

broken beyond repair.

Her face.

Her blink.

Her sigh.

No one knew

anymore.

 

Where is she?