Everytime I hear the word sexy, I almost want to puke.
But what is sexy? An image of a hunk comes up in mind. An underwear model perhaps. And that image itself gives me the goosebumps. I always want to scream out yuck in my despite. I do not find those men sexy at all. In fact I don't think it existed in my vocabulary until today. Until I saw someone I can call sexy.
He wasn't muscular at all.
He wasn't the model-esque type for many.
But he is quite knowingly... sexy.
And boy does he have that effect.
I almost did go up to him.
I was willing to drop my pride for this guy.
If only I wasn't with M.
It could have worked.
At least I could have given him hints.
I didn't even meet his eye.
What a wasted opportunity.
It almost hurt me that this guy whom I was attracted with, which by the way doesn't occur to me often, is a goner.
I will never see him again.
I can't even locate him on Facebook because I don't have his name. I wonder what his name was. I wonder and wonder until the great big fact is staring me in the face. He's one of them. Who you saw but never again.
Just like the doctor. But that's another story to tell. Besides, I had the doctor's name to live with.
What would it take to cross paths with him again? When and where among the billion of people on earth from miles upon miles of land will I be able to see him again? I got a lifetime to agonize.
It's that rush of adrenaline, awoken from years of avoidance on the matter of possible commitment. It almost felt surreal. He was there and I was there, yet a barrier called timing prevented us to meet. Why in the world did he have to be a stranger? Why in the world can't fate be good to me? For once let me find him again. For once, show me another opportunity. Bind my path to his path. One more time. At the right moment. At the right second. At the right time. Someone told me our minds are as powerful as any other sorcery. Perhaps if I wish upon the star, it may come true.
But for now let me mourn. Let me go beyond hope and know that I have to sleep tonight without knowing his name. Let me sleep tonight knowing he was someone I can allow myself to love however yet defeated by this lost chance. Let me sleep tonight knowing he was an exception to my many other complications.
How very funny. First sight love is. It isn't at all real love, but love of the idea of someone you can love. The spark of attraction, pulling you in like a magnet. The spark of fate, giving you hope like the sunrise. The spark of maybe, giving you this saddened feeling of loss.
It was around late afternoon at Harrison Plaza, December 17, 2014. I was seated at the circle where elders take a seat to rest their feet, where meeters meet. I was there. And you walked in front of me. An image of motion that is your shadow.
Everything was in slow motion, like in the movies. But at the same time it all happened so fast, I barely remember a thing or two. How can it be both at the same time? Is that even possible? Slow yet fast. Like heating up food in the microwave. As you stare at it and watch it get cooked, as it blossom, you count the dying seconds. How very slow time is. One by one the timer ticks. Yet how fast and reliable microwaves are? Compared to regular stoves, somewhat oldschool, it all appears so fast on the microwave, yes? So fast yet so slow. Why is that so? Because I was focused on the food. I was watching it get cooked. I was watching the process. I was watching you. Because I'm hungry as hell. And you appear so appetizing. So attractive. It's the same thing. So slow yet so fast.
One moment you were there, and then you were gone. But in a split second, I feel like I've known you for eternity. Like we shared so much time together, and my soul can barely contain the joy. Like all my rejects were worth it. Remember the box under my bed labeled "No thanks"? I had another box there stashed somewhere, covered with dust. A box labeled "You". How charming. My jokes are as corny as those I hated the most. The irony.
It was your shoes really, how very romantic, which I saw first. You were wearing closed black shoes and tight black pants. Oh how you walk so gracefully. You had a black coat on, like a rich man's coat. Your hands were on your pocket, why? Is it cold? Did you think it was cool? I thought so. And then as you walked you looked at me, but I never saw your eyes. Pity. I was busy memorizing your physicality, you see. Your hair was in a ponytail and you had it dyed. But wasn't it wearing out? Oh baby, you need to redye your roots. But it's your composure. It's your composure that's so addicting. The way you held yourself. The way you walked. The way your hands rested in your coat pockets.
And then I saw you again. Again as I left the circle. You were with your friend, perhaps your older brother? I don't know. I'm really hoping he wasn't your boyfriend. You were waiting for someone, weren't you? Baby, but it wasn't you. It was your friend. He was waiting for someone. You were a tag along. Were you there to meet up with his friend? Was it a blind date? I don't think so. It's an unlikely place for a blind date. Besides, you were calm... too calm indeed. He was waiting for his friend, someone mutual, could be. But then I never heard your voice. You weren't speaking to your friend. Two friends meeting a mutual friend requires conversation. That means it was his friend, not yours. A meeting place then? Maybe you're off to a bar or a party or some event. I doubt you didn't have a car, because there's no way you would ride the puj looking so sexy. And your friend seems decent enough. I have the impression that you're a tourist somehow. Most people don't dress as cool as you in the Philippines. Silent like you were, maybe you don't speak Filipino. Besides, you seem to hold a certain fascination for something I can't know. But I felt it, as you crossed my way. I felt it.
Maybe I'm right, though I'm pretty sure I'm wrong. So many possibilities indebted by timing.
So many thoughts.
Too much thoughts of him.
I wish I see you again mystery man.
The man in the black coat.
Let me see you again.
Please.
But what is sexy? An image of a hunk comes up in mind. An underwear model perhaps. And that image itself gives me the goosebumps. I always want to scream out yuck in my despite. I do not find those men sexy at all. In fact I don't think it existed in my vocabulary until today. Until I saw someone I can call sexy.
He wasn't muscular at all.
He wasn't the model-esque type for many.
But he is quite knowingly... sexy.
And boy does he have that effect.
I almost did go up to him.
I was willing to drop my pride for this guy.
If only I wasn't with M.
It could have worked.
At least I could have given him hints.
I didn't even meet his eye.
What a wasted opportunity.
It almost hurt me that this guy whom I was attracted with, which by the way doesn't occur to me often, is a goner.
I will never see him again.
I can't even locate him on Facebook because I don't have his name. I wonder what his name was. I wonder and wonder until the great big fact is staring me in the face. He's one of them. Who you saw but never again.
Just like the doctor. But that's another story to tell. Besides, I had the doctor's name to live with.
What would it take to cross paths with him again? When and where among the billion of people on earth from miles upon miles of land will I be able to see him again? I got a lifetime to agonize.
It's that rush of adrenaline, awoken from years of avoidance on the matter of possible commitment. It almost felt surreal. He was there and I was there, yet a barrier called timing prevented us to meet. Why in the world did he have to be a stranger? Why in the world can't fate be good to me? For once let me find him again. For once, show me another opportunity. Bind my path to his path. One more time. At the right moment. At the right second. At the right time. Someone told me our minds are as powerful as any other sorcery. Perhaps if I wish upon the star, it may come true.
But for now let me mourn. Let me go beyond hope and know that I have to sleep tonight without knowing his name. Let me sleep tonight knowing he was someone I can allow myself to love however yet defeated by this lost chance. Let me sleep tonight knowing he was an exception to my many other complications.
How very funny. First sight love is. It isn't at all real love, but love of the idea of someone you can love. The spark of attraction, pulling you in like a magnet. The spark of fate, giving you hope like the sunrise. The spark of maybe, giving you this saddened feeling of loss.
It was around late afternoon at Harrison Plaza, December 17, 2014. I was seated at the circle where elders take a seat to rest their feet, where meeters meet. I was there. And you walked in front of me. An image of motion that is your shadow.
Everything was in slow motion, like in the movies. But at the same time it all happened so fast, I barely remember a thing or two. How can it be both at the same time? Is that even possible? Slow yet fast. Like heating up food in the microwave. As you stare at it and watch it get cooked, as it blossom, you count the dying seconds. How very slow time is. One by one the timer ticks. Yet how fast and reliable microwaves are? Compared to regular stoves, somewhat oldschool, it all appears so fast on the microwave, yes? So fast yet so slow. Why is that so? Because I was focused on the food. I was watching it get cooked. I was watching the process. I was watching you. Because I'm hungry as hell. And you appear so appetizing. So attractive. It's the same thing. So slow yet so fast.
One moment you were there, and then you were gone. But in a split second, I feel like I've known you for eternity. Like we shared so much time together, and my soul can barely contain the joy. Like all my rejects were worth it. Remember the box under my bed labeled "No thanks"? I had another box there stashed somewhere, covered with dust. A box labeled "You". How charming. My jokes are as corny as those I hated the most. The irony.
It was your shoes really, how very romantic, which I saw first. You were wearing closed black shoes and tight black pants. Oh how you walk so gracefully. You had a black coat on, like a rich man's coat. Your hands were on your pocket, why? Is it cold? Did you think it was cool? I thought so. And then as you walked you looked at me, but I never saw your eyes. Pity. I was busy memorizing your physicality, you see. Your hair was in a ponytail and you had it dyed. But wasn't it wearing out? Oh baby, you need to redye your roots. But it's your composure. It's your composure that's so addicting. The way you held yourself. The way you walked. The way your hands rested in your coat pockets.
And then I saw you again. Again as I left the circle. You were with your friend, perhaps your older brother? I don't know. I'm really hoping he wasn't your boyfriend. You were waiting for someone, weren't you? Baby, but it wasn't you. It was your friend. He was waiting for someone. You were a tag along. Were you there to meet up with his friend? Was it a blind date? I don't think so. It's an unlikely place for a blind date. Besides, you were calm... too calm indeed. He was waiting for his friend, someone mutual, could be. But then I never heard your voice. You weren't speaking to your friend. Two friends meeting a mutual friend requires conversation. That means it was his friend, not yours. A meeting place then? Maybe you're off to a bar or a party or some event. I doubt you didn't have a car, because there's no way you would ride the puj looking so sexy. And your friend seems decent enough. I have the impression that you're a tourist somehow. Most people don't dress as cool as you in the Philippines. Silent like you were, maybe you don't speak Filipino. Besides, you seem to hold a certain fascination for something I can't know. But I felt it, as you crossed my way. I felt it.
Maybe I'm right, though I'm pretty sure I'm wrong. So many possibilities indebted by timing.
So many thoughts.
Too much thoughts of him.
I wish I see you again mystery man.
The man in the black coat.
Let me see you again.
Please.
Well written!
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