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Monday, 9 September 2013

My Short Love Story

The South American Guy

What have I been thinking? That one day we would cross each other's fate again and there would be the same us? As much I want to "embed" that one magical day into oblivion, I get weaker listening to the sound of the tick of that lame clock inside of me.  Sharing sincere and soulful laughs,  giggles, chuckles and cuddles from 5am-1030pm seemed to be the most ensorcelled footnotes of all time, that I almost forgot the fear of falling for someone whom I had met for a few hours, and knowing that he had to leave me puzzled the next day. I thought being a big girl is enough to at least create a hopeful chapter of my back-breaking ventures towards finding the right man who could "just" dote on me without any promises, kiss me until the sun sets, smell my stinky backbones, caress my unruly hair and tell me that my skin is so soft though it looks like a farmland during an  "El Niño"! 

"You can't replace anyone", as the cliché goes. For a strong, free-spirited woman like me, it could've been easier to forget and create a new story but as the writer of my own hopeless romantic daydreams,  missing him is all I could do.---- That was the third of September, Tuesday that I never thought I would get my pen slip to the brighter side of the fanciful, romance book I have been working on. There he was, trying to be my soulmate for a few minutes...his smiles, his scent, his innocence everytime I call him "stupid", are stuck in my head dancing with the whirlwind as it hits the red cable car.  Deep inside me was the force of a furious river telling him not to forget this high school girl in 32. I almost asked him to stay longer, but I couldn't and I knew that it was literally and farcically a hundred-to-one. What should I do in the next few days? Reminiscing is beautiful,  but it's not easy to move on especially when you both know that there were no commitments, and  didn't even try to talk about it...not even a hint of its first few lines. 

It's smothering though, but all I could do for now is to forge ahead sribbling, shaping, and putting notes to the melody of our melodramatic love affair.  I will make sure that this wouldn't end up  into purely illusions, but honest to God, heartfelt expressions of real feelings of being in love with the South American neophyte  I held hands with while goofing off  the mountains of Ba Na. 

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