In Light

It's nothing like the light when we stop chasing. When we stomp on the grass thinking no such luck would depends on it. We run through the mirrored sea. Reflecting our losses and warmths. Fights that flicker whenever it gets by. Forgotten the faces that we've driven off without a second glance. Just maybe we haven't realized. That the lights never really swing above us. Or fights the current to navigate our senses. Just maybe. All along. We've been living without it. Without it pushing through the empty vessel inside us. Vessel of our half-clinging life.



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I had the chance to have a terrific conversation with a nice Spanish boy. It was all nice as we speak of football and telly shows that have more than an inch of relevance in it. His picture on the screen is almost an attachment of a story that holds in mine. When I figure it, I know it's way too good to be good.

Terrible luck or star runs in my family. So you could say we have a sixth sense in feeling a bad vibe approaching in situations. And most of the time, we got it in our hands.

As words travel through the pixelated push, I find the feeling inside. Some might say you're lucky to find someone as such. But the L word doesn't exist in mine.

Then, after few more minutes to an hour, I come to my final judgement, with a concrete facts and evidence, that the Spanish boy often walks the other side. If you have no idea what that means, it means he fancies another being of his own build and gender.

I know the cometh would carry such effect on me, since it's not a wonder a person of everything you've dream of would either be a bastard or a homosexual (I believe it should be asexual). Hence my night was spent thinking, he might have thought I was a boy considering the manner we both speak in.

I should thank my mother for disallowing me in developing more like a boy, because then I might fancy girls, and girls are the worst kind any girl should be in a relationship with.

I should have known when he comment on how much of a nice chap D.M is.