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I'm not a graceful person. I'm not a Sunday morning or a Friday sunset. I am a Tuesday 2AM, I am gunshots muffled by a few city blocks, I am a broken window during February. My bones crack on a nightly basis. I fall from elegance with a dull thud, and I apologize for my awkward sadness. I sometimes believe that I don't belong around people, that I belong to all the leap days that didn't happen. The way light and darkness mix under my skin has become a storm. You don't see the lightning, but you hear the echoes.

Sunday, April 26, 2015

The Tragedy of Kadayawan

Same lobby.  Same little dark office.   Must be the same floor or not.  But definitely the same view of the poolside.

There was a problem with our project.  There was a problem with Events.  Neck deep.  I was at the center.  That feeling that time I wanted to check in sa hospital at mag pa confine.  

I was hoping.  When everything else gone haywire ... there was one place ... my safe place ... to hold me together ... amidst the chaos there will be some place, your place, bringing me quiet bliss.

But this was the picture you didn't know.  It went too fast, I didn't have a second of your time to tell you about it.  I was  trying to find your hand, I was drowning, and you were stepping on my head with all your personal baggage.

 April 22, 2015 felt like August.  I boarded the first flight and went back. 







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