fiction

I couldn't remember the last time I felt so driven and inspired to write poetry.

This I wrote over dinner last March. I had a red pen and a piece of paper sprawled on the table while my friends had a fork and a knife on their hands. I scribbled the first few verses in between bites of calamari, and small talk about love and life with them. And I went on for three hours. But it wasn't enough. So even while riding a jeepney on my way home, I was writing, striking out phrases and then replacing them with prettier ones. I was obsessed. I wanted it to be perfect.

WHEN THE MORNING COMES
[REPOST]

We could lay right here
Still, just breathing
And the space between us
Awaits for words to fill the silence.
But sometimes there is just nothing
Left to say,

Just like tonight

When we could lay right here
And I'd ask you to open your eyes, and
Kiss me once, or maybe twice,
Or till you reassure my heart
To take your conviction for sweet repose

But not tonight

For we'd lay right here
Entwined in pristine satin
Unmoving, just breathing
Like we're one,
But not quite.

For tonight there is no need
For empty words, nor
Water kisses and caresses,
But just the honesty
That I won't find you beside me

After tonight.

In retrospect, I felt so empowered that night I could've written a song and it would be a hit. I wish I did. Then I'd sell it to a record company and ask that it be sung by Mariah or Rihanna. Then I'd be rich. Freaking rich. It would top the music charts, break records, and earn nominations and awards left and right. Perez Hilton will rave about it. CBS will use it in one of its shows (read: Gossip Girl). It will be American Idol's next coronation song. $$$! A few months after, I'll just hear a Tagalized version of the song. This of course is an unlicensed reproduction of my song therefore I shall sue whomever wrote and subsequently, recorded it. Penalties, damages and more penalties! And then local TV stations will compete for the right to turn it into a teleserye. It will be covered by Ate Reg or Sarah G, depending on who will win the bid. Then it'll be turned into a box-office movie starring Sam and Piolo, I mean Toni , or Richard and KC a.k.a. Cassandra, again whomever wins the bid. PHP PHP PHP! Good Lord, I'll be freaking rich before 35.

I'd be so happy and contented that I wouldn't need to tell you that the poem that I wrote that night... it was actually for someone. But someone never wanted any of it.