Escapade 1

It was the first time that he had awoken in the wee hours of the morning, oblivious of where he was. the unfamiliar terrain of the dimly-lit room stopped him from jumping out of bed - oh those nice, thick and soft white blankets with the smell of fragrance only hotels (motels?) have, and those dim lights that made things seem surreal, floating, peaceful, albeit gloomy - and relieving himself of his bladder's incessant complaints.

"Where am I? How did I get here?"

A few more seconds later and he was startled by the fact that he was not alone. huddled beside him was a naked woman, her bare back turned towards him with only the white, innocent blanket covering her waist down, her silhouette outlining the curves of her body, seductive as the darkness of the night's mysteries.

"Who is she," he asked himself with the curiosity of a lover, the excitement of a hunter, but the confusion of a child. he buried his head below the pillow, closed his eyes and tried to remember what happened last night (tonight?). He had one too many drinks, that much he was sure of from the dry throbbing inside his head, wanting him to quench his parched throat with water, and the relentless beckoning of his bladder, begging to be relieved of its misery.

My soul is burning, and no amount of water, let alone a river tears, could ever quell the dry flame that's eating me.


Where was he last night? He couldnt remember. it was downtown legazpi. He remembered dim lights, not the kind you find in hotels, but the kind where you can hide behind the blanket of darkness and snuggle with your dirty little secrets and escapades; tables, black round tables, big ones, for friends and large groups, small ones, designed for the exclusivity that every human desire always musters. But all made for instant intimacy, express, disposable and always for a price (sometimes, a price we never bargained for).

So, does this girl with the lovely, seductive silhouette of a curve, come from wherever dim-lit bar he went to that night? everything was blurry. even the snippets of memories he could recall were hazy. She could not have come from there. He wouldn't hire a hooker.

"Oh God," he muttered as he got up and looked for his pack of cigarettes. "Now, where's my pants," he slowly skimmed the room. He found it lying on the floor, sprawled there as if it were hurriedly thrown. He smiled a bit. as he picked it up, he couldn't help but gaze at the woman lying there on the bed, defenseless, innocent and sensual.

He looked at the time fro his Samsung phone. 4:30 AM, it said with precision. There were several missed calls. But he didn't bother to look who called. it wouldn't matter anyway, he thought.

He decided to smoke at the veranda. Although a smoker himself, he hated a room that smelt of tobacco. It suffocates him, much like what a relationship does to you. SO, off he went to the veranda and lit a stick of Marlboro.

 He didn't find this odd, waking up beside a naked woman in the middle of God-knows-where. To him, this was not an impossibility. He had accepted the fact that after his many turbulent relationships, sooner or later he'd find himself searching, longing, and, perhaps, even begging for one that would have no strings attached. Just the kind of thing that you can dispose of after a night stand. He had come to realize that this makes things simpler. No attachment, no responsibility. Just fun.

He was dragged too deep into this shit-hole to even feel concerned about what he was becoming. He was just tired of the drama of being with someone for a long time. It's really amazing how one's life events can change a person. If there's one thing so pervasive that it can even touch the soul, it is change. Change can be a source of growth. But it can also be a harbinger of disaster. But he couldn't care less. not anymore. this was better. no one gets hurt. Everybody is happy. he is happy.

He realized that, although he found himself bewildered as to where he was when he woke up, right now it didn't matter anymore. he could be anywhere. But even anywhere is good. No direction, for anyway, he has come to realize that its better to enjoy the ride. To hell with the destination.What mattered was that he felt free.

He was almost done with his cigarette when he heard her moan. He looked, and she was there staring at him. He could almost see her smile behind those glass doors as she lay there. She beckoned for him. and as he drew closer, he realized she knew her. Always there when you needed her the most. maybe she's also searching deep inside, lost and longing. Just like him. But he'll never really know. In the morning, when the sun rises, they will part, and everything will be just a figment of their imagination. But from that figment arises a sort of deep hope that  they can touch and go again.

But the sun has not yet risen. there is still time to drown the pain, and hopefully find meaning within their empty hearts.

He kissed her. From that moment, he knew everything was going to be alright.

Touch and Go

Touch-and-go
that's the bond we have
as we hold on to each other's hand
we know that tomorrow we will part
it's a hurricane that hits me
as i try to make sense of this
i swivel and i swirl
til dizziness sets in
and i find myself
staring at your hazy figure
fading and fading

it stabs my steadfast heart
as reality sets in
i have to live with this:
that we'll always be
touch and go

and as the hurricane leaves
my soul is but a wreck
longing for that day you'll fix it
that day that we can touch and go again