left hanging

(photo borrowed from f0blow.blogspot.com)










already i was caught in between deep breaths trying to keep away the thoughts, of 5 years coming to a close. i just said i was tired, not in my predictable, angry sort of way. his eyes pierced through me, not of guilt, but of concern -- will he make it on his own? my friend was right, he was clueless of what was happening. i asked him then how i always ask him why he was so silent. "i am hurting." his eyes did not well up like mine, like a pestle to peeled onions, a request for a second chance. after all, there wasn't anyone yet. if there was one legacy of my father's i believe to have inherited, it would be of fidelity. covered lies or truth would not matter but my own version of reality. i tucked my soiled clothes into a plastic bag, a habit i have so grown accustomed to doing almost every weekend. the sun pierced through the jalousies and he asked me why, why on a beautiful Sunday morning. i had no words, excepts reverberating echoes of repressed longing and a thoughts set on affirming growing in different directions. i did not foresee the vines. there were many memories in that garden, memorabilia far too precious and all too fleeting. i zipped up my knapsack and started to tie my shoelaces, ready to go, ready to call on friends for an emergency meeting. my hands were shaking and i couldn't find anyone i would want to disturb on a beautiful Sunday morning. i leaned closer to kiss him goodbye. and then i broke down.