I write better when I smoke. Don’t ask me to reduce it to a science.


Good god, what a tiring weekend. But it’s over now and what doesn’t kill me only makes me stronger, right? HAH! 

Well hell, where do I start? 

Saturday, I went up to Antipolo where i stared at the view from a roadside cafe for about half-an-hour before I realized I wasn’t setting up a shot. I was thinking of his voice; his voice softly saying “i love you” to some girl while he was on the phone with me the last time we spoke. 

It was pointless, really, trying to get any photo(lomo)graphy done. Taking a picture requires that you give something of yourself to the celluloid. You have to feel something for the subject – love, hate, disgust, lust. But how could I give anything to the picture when everything I had to give I had already given to him? And where was my off-white knight? 

I packed up and left about forty-five minutes after I arrived. And then that freak rain came and *bam!* traffic ground to a screeching halt. And so did my brain. I have two filters in there, y,see? In the face of heartbreak, my brain either goes on hyperdrive and finds something funny in everything, or – when the environmental conditions are right – shuts down and I get sleepy. Many times, I’ve driven people over the edge by confronting their anger with a yawn. Comical, if you think about it. But not if you’re not the person delivering the harangue.

With the a/c on, the rain pelting the window, and the car barely crawling – three guesses which filter kicked in. Almost three hours later, I woke up to see my phone flashing about a bajillion missed calls. All from my off-white knight. 

When I finally called him, he was all sugar and steel, asking me where I’d been. I bit my tongue. “I’ve been alone!” Instead, I told him what I’d been up to all day, forcing myself to keep my voice level and as cheery as I could. After all the fighting, I’d be damned if I gave him any reason to say that I ruined his good time. And so as not to cut too deeply into his evening, I said good-bye, and found myself wandering around a mall with nothing in particular to do. I didn’t want to be alone and in the crowd, I could at least pretend that I wasn’t. 

And that’s when he starts texting me, complaining about how he’s not happy and all that. I lost it. I motherfucking swear I lost it. I stormed into the parking lot and screamed my heart out at the phone. Tonight of all nights he would pick to tell me that he was unhappy; tonight when he was far away and saying things to other people that he should be saying to me alone; tonight when I could hear happiness in his voice when he talked to others and only exasperation when he talked to me.

When I was good and done, I texted him some inane message I can’t even bear to remember. By night’s end, I had broken up with my off-white knight amidst the din of his screaming and cajoling and denials. And I hadn’t even asked him yet who he had said ‘I love you’ to. Needless to say, I fell asleep with a broken heart.

Sunday morning starts with a phone call from him and another sugary greeting. As tho the night was something that could be forgotten with no consequence. We met up and I brought my game face. Only there was nothing I could do. I knew that staying together would be painful, but I also knew the prospect of never seeing him again wasn’t something I was ready to face. So I folded.

Game over, and my off-white knight had the field. Again.

Maybe God rearranged the furniture when I wasn’t looking, Niki, but I sure am happily lost now.


Filed under: musings,

6 Responses

  1. BrianB says:

    Jesus, 5 years ago only a good looking guy could do this to a woman.

  2. UP n grad says:

    The mathematics of grief follows exponential decay. Whether the next day is 10%-less-bad or 5%-less-bad or 15%-less-bad than the prior day, what it means is that after ONLY TWO WEEKS , the heartache is already cut in half. And then, another two after that, the heartache is only 22% of how bad it felt the first night.

    Admittedly 25% of a really serious heartache can still be extremely painful…. but it remains true that four Bugs Bunny cartoons and two Family Guy cartoons, plus cheese, salami and alcohol makes for a nice evening.

  3. Marlboroman says:

    Nothing two rounds of Jack Daniels, double on the rocks, can’t take care of.

  4. or, for that matter, 9mm and a backhoe. 😉

    hang in there, rom.

  5. rom says:

    Jester: OMFG! That is so sweet.

  6. niki says:

    rom, looks like there’s two of us ‘folding’ here, lolz! sometimes all i can do is wait for God to rearrange the furniture again and maybe catch Him do it ya know? so i can say, wait the fucking minute that stays there alright?? you know, like provide my insight? lol.

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