Nobody told me it would hurt this way. Nobody. Not even the horticulturist.


photo: Internet-sourced

rainy days in June, congested streets on a rainy day, heavy downpour in UST, movie marathon at night, and even certain alert tones on my phone remind me of you.

Now when everything is vaguely remembered.

Sleep with me. For days we've played with the meaning of those words. When you told me I like you, I thought it could mean many other things. But we eventually settled for its ultimate meaning. We left it at that.


My time of the day had always been ahead of yours most especially when you moved from the holy city to the ghetto. On a stormy week here (that was in June), you even instructed me to indicate the time on the SMS I sent to you. It was pointless anyway--you see, it was me who always easily gave up--however you said it was just fine. You can calculate the time backwards. You explained, "I wanted to know for how long the messages get delayed. And please, get to the computer. Your phone is crappy."


You were just like me because you were very breakable and you accepted reasons so long as they're well-defended. Until we canceled each other out. I think I've put myself too much in you that when you were finally gone, I could not find myself, too. And you did not even let me say good bye.

When in case I were asked if I wanted to un-meet him and make some things un-happen, I would still say I'd rather have him come into my life than not (because of fear of loss and heartache). After all, no one has ever loved me more :(

 Lent came early last year; it had been on March.

"A Jew and a Catholic. What could be a more guilty couple?" He asked me once. Still it had not been posed as a question, but a declaration. That was how he usually presented things to me, through statements which initially seemed like questions.

I was roused from my nap this afternoon by the blare of the TV. My father, on the other hand, had fallen asleep in front of it while watching a live broadcast of a Jesuit priest's sermon. I wondered why I had not thought about it until now: M- and I never discussed anything about the passion of Christ, when we had talked about anything Jewish there is to be talked about. I met him on April, only days after I graduated from college a.k.a. when I deliberately missed the ceremonies.


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(I have always liked the Lent season. It's because TV channels don't air the usual crappy programs. Instead they feature 70's and 80's films with themes of catharsis and purgation. I just love watching how the Filipino films and actors were like decades before I was born.)