i would have wanted to meet you a second time. it seems, however, that time would have us better apart - for you not to know how my self pains for your presence, and i about you, if ever something did exist. i would have... really loved to see you again. your distinctly subtle and immeasurable smile invites my wandering soul to take refuge within your warm and comforting womb. to be reborn as part of you, under our umbrage of listless passion for each other.
i would have tried my very best to see you a second time but we were not permitted even to a chance encounter. just an imprint of you - your voice, your eyes, even just your name - to end a multitude of lifetimes wandering to find each other. your split-second image then lasted almost like forever. as corrigible as human life is, the memory starts to fade and without an even good chance of you to replenish me, and my faltering memory. i never got the chance to see you this second time, and i find myself forlorn lost and tormented with this memory of having once seen you but never to have you.
i am disturbed to find myself wallowing again with the thoughts of having, again, missed you.
a quaint white candle-light with a faint singing of a christmas song disrupted the silence and darkness of that night of the first of march in the poblacion. it was surely expected as when the hand struck past twelve in the midnight, he was to turn a year older. technically not at twelve midnight, but it was safe then to assume (generally) that the whole day should be his day, and it would definitely start after twelve midnight.
it was then and there clear already that whatever messages were to come to greet him that day would fly to limbo, as the place he chose to spend his weekend, with or without companions, was a signal-trap. he had to rely on good faith that people remembered him even to a minimum extent as to only think of it, or to a more sincere intent to accompany him, not necessarily to complete the three legends that cradled the poblacion, or simply to be there while he relished the minute significant details of the laid-back warmth of the communities that live there. raising a small glass of wine as an offering to the spirits of then and now with a prayer to join him in his humble celebration...
and as the days wore on --
stripping himself of all,
to the deities --
the fog conspiring with
the sky to bring good rain;
with ridges and rocks
and river falls;
-- he finds his life
the warmest greetings on your 28th year. sincerest gratitude to those who were there in body and spirit.