the house was empty when i left
and your wallet's empty
But it's on our bed
i took your money with me
to the city

if you think that i'll just
nod and say yes
well you've got me wrong
I'M a rebel no less
a rebel with a SONG
I GRIPPED MY HEART
i can't wait to start

the revolution
of a soul that's been twisted
to disbelief
and a heart that's been wrenched
till The soul would twist
and a body, a body left alone
in a bed that's far too cold

in a place where
the sun rises before you can dream
to drag people from their beds
and bring them to their desks
while i remain asleep

and when heat creeps in
to wake me up
i realize how bad it is
i realize how good it was;
i fall back to my dreams

"there are things to do, son
we will remind you of it, son
you cannot run away from it
unless you die because of it
we've come to end your dreams"

i clung to my pillows
i clung to my sheets
until they dragged me through my door
and stood me on my feet
"you cannot run away

you cannot run away
you can come back in
but there's no running away
there are no places to run to
near nor faraway"

i let myself be dragged
i forced myself to sleep
and i sought revenged against her
by counting her days away
every time she leaves

she will never die out, i know
i never gave up, she knows
but then i lost count
and so did she
it's almost time to leave

how beautiful is it that you can call something yours, like those towels that are hanging outside my balcony door, on those plastic chains i bought for a hundred yen each. they're white. they're ordinary

but they're beautiful. like when i lean out of my balcony window and see the world beyond the four narrow walls of my tiny room at night, it's dark and it's endless and it's beautiful, i wish i belonged to it but i don't

the same way that i don't belong to you because i am too ordinary and it seems to me that i am the only person in this world who finds what's ordinary is beautiful because i am ordinary. i want to be beautiful, too.

and at the same time too, it would be beautiful if i could call you my own. beautiful for me, and beautiful for you. so that i do not have to want to belong to the endlessness of the night when no one else wants me to be their own.

It’s true. James Blunt’s song has become the theme song of our relationship. I can even stretch it as far as saying that his Back to Bedlam is the soundtrack of our shared lives.

I saw you’re face in crowded place. And I don’t know what to do.

The Lord was dead, and so was Metro Manila, when Black Saturday descended like a dry, and dehydrating storm, an anticlimactic pause from the fervor of the past days. Yesterday, Good Friday, we sought the refuge of churches in towns dotting the shores of Laguna de Bay: small churches, magnificent churches, disappointing attempts at modernism and stunning preservations of Philippine colonial and earthquake baroque. The road back to Manila was quick and smooth that I felt the day passed by like a dream. This dream was supposed to be the highlight of my week. But Good Friday shrunk into insignificance when I saw his face in an unusually crowd-less Greenbelt 3.

His image when I saw him for the first time sticks to my mind like peanut butter to the roof of the tongue. He always looked good in black. He looked clean. He had a digital watch on his left arm and he was wearing denims and a pair of sneakers. And he was wearing the best smiles I’ve ever seen in a long time.

Nearsighted people like me are cursed with the need for intimate contact before we recognize people but we are blessed with the gift of seeing people as a whole, rather than dwell into the details. These details, we never see from afar. So from where I was standing the moment I spotted him seated against an orange chair, he was beautiful. It’s true.

Up close, I swam into the depths of his eyes and bathed in the beauty of his face: the smooth ripples on his forehead, his formidable nose, his thin lips, the crow’s feet that show on the corners of his eyes when he smiles, his strong chin, his rough jaw line. He was a joy to look at, a treasure to behold. He had to be mine for the taking.

He must have been having his fair share of the sun, for, like the people of these islands, kissed by the sunlight, he has inherited a sunny disposition and a welcoming smile, a demeanor you would not instantly expect of a man from a faraway land.

I must have been smiling a lot.

I listened to myself speak to him. I was watching my words, wanting to make the right impression, wanting nothing less than for him to see me bare my soul, wanting him to know how sincere I am for every adjective I use. He laughs with me when I crack a joke. He smiles at my anecdotes. And I do the same. For, the moment he opened his mouth to speak, I felt a kindred spirit talking. He was meant for me.

When our time came to an end, I wondered if I could survive the next few hours. He breathes life. And his words nourish me. And his ears when they listen are like an angel’s wings, hushing me to a whisper, wanting to listen, yet in private. He was comfort. He was joy.

But I managed to survive until the day when we met yet again.

Maybe it's right
But maybe it's not meant to be
Or maybe it's meant to be

I don't know anymore

I want you
I need you
I desire you

Who would not desire you

I've been looking for you
dreamt of you
searched for you
Found you

But you haven't been looking for me
And you never dreamt of me
and you never searched for me
and you found me

uninteresting

For me, you came
and things started to happen.
For you, i just
happened to be there.

Maybe I'll go
Maybe I'll stay
Maybe I'll wait

But what if I stayed
And I waited
While you were waiting

for someone else

Maybe I should do
The first thing that pops into my head
trust my instincts
I should go.

But the first thing that popped into my head
The first time I met you
The first time I saw you

When I found you

was that I love you
and I'll never need
nor want

anybody else.