There she goes again…

1:58 AM
In a mosquito den somewhere in Sta. Cruz, Manila
 

Never did I imagine that my next entry would be about her. (For Pete’s sake, am I really this vulnerable when it comes to that one and only her? Shoot! I am just so damned.)

I have actually tried putting this off for a while now – I mean, trying to stop thinking (and dreaming) of that certain she all the time (and when I sleep) and actually writing about this bittersweet spot I am putting myself into. But, you see here, I am a total failure. For one, so far, every moment of my being alone since the time I saw her (which if my memory serves me right, was last Monday) had been spent thinking about her and of things relating to her. Moreover, it’s only Thursday night (well, Friday morning technically) – which is just four nights from the time I saw her – and I’ve already had two dreams including her – one wherein she only had a cameo role and the other in which she was the main star. (So basically, most of my day goes to none other but her – my sleeping hours and my most of my solitary waking ones; and when you’re doing nothing but bum while almost everyone around you are either taking their summer classes or working in an internship, there sure are more than plenty solo flight times).

This is why I decided to write about it, about her (”to succumb to it” is actually a phrase more appropriate).

Wait here, what is there to write?

That I am (still) pathetic (and probably, hopeless) when it comes to her? About how my whole world is being shaken by her again just after me seeing her unexpectedly after the longest time? That I’ve been in bed since 10pm trying to get some sleep and it’s now past two and I still can’t sleep and the time in between the times I have just mentioned I spent thinking about her? Drats! If those are what I will write, I will undoubtedly sound as the most pathetic guy in the whole wide world.

Hell. I think I actually am. Damn. I hope I get over this quick. Or hello again to my affair with sleepless nights and themed dreams. (Not that dreaming about her is totally bad. Well it isn’t. In fact, I kinda like it. The waking up part is the problem. Not that I don’t wanna wake up. But it’s the realizing that, time and again, it’s just another dream – nothing more, nothing less, and there’s nothing I can do about it)

Oh shoot! (yeah, shoot me now!)

 

P.S.

I’m having a feeling that I didn’t pretty much made sense in all that I have just said. But, what the hell! As my usual excuse to my very good friend to whom I share incoherent, nonsense chitchats from time to time in the wee hours of the morning: there is no problem in talking nonsensically and muddlingly at 2 or 3 in the morning because at this late, the brain is probably not working at a hundred percent.