chiquezee

J-

I do have the right to choose, don't I? Why can't you accept that? You, men, have the same privilege, don't you? Why do you want an exclusive right to that?

- C

Gale is the opposite of Zephyr. I don't see why you could have missed that.

Even before you ventured into the realm of the aurora, I already warned you of the danger. You insisted. Now you blame me. I am not a Juliet to your Romeo. To anybody's Romeo. I feel this is the best time to tell you so you'll skip the extravagance tomorrow.

Breakin' free...

Zee

That was not necessary. Really. The "only to find you there" was the straw that broke the camel's back. The reply didn't even have any effect anymore. The first one was enough. But true to form, you had to follow up... *sigh* ..

Really makes me sad to think that you'd go through that length to, what? What for?... I never could understand how you switch from hot to cold instantly. Like someone trying to take a few steps back to make sure he won't go too far... or because he caught himself walking too close... Like someone covering his tracks. Like someone finding himself in danger and trying to save himself...

Maybe it won't be the last from you. With two weeks to endure... But just so you won't have to, coz I do get slighted too like you do, be assured that I still stand where I do. No where near.

I hope that will make you happy. Comforted. Reassured. Feel safe even.

Aside from that, everything is fine. Cheers.

... but i wonder, what did I do to you?

Ma fille chérie,

J'ai rêvé de toi encore. Peut-être il est parce que je vous désire pour être dans ma vie bientôt. Je ne suis pas pressé mais j'attends votre venir.

Vous serez la fille la plus merveilleuse, je suis sûr. Un plaisir qui apportera le bonheur à mon coeur. Je sais que vous serez beau. À votre coeur. Dans votre âme. Et vous serez plein des pensées brillantes.

Je vous aimerai sans réserve.

L'amour,

votre Mère affectueuse

J'espère que vos cheveux seront droits

floating... floating....

To the phantom who I shall not know, not yet.

No more talk of darkness,

Forget these wide-eyed fears.

I'm here, nothing can harm you -

my words will warm and calm you.

Let me be your freedom,

let daylight dry -your tears.

I'm here, with you, beside you,

to guard you and to guide you . . .

Say you love me

every waking moment,

turn my head with talk of summertime . . .

Say you need me

with you,

now and always . . .

promise me that all you say is true - that's all I ask of you . . .

Let me be your shelter,

let me be your light.

You're safe.

No-one will find you.

Your fears are

far behind you . . .

All I want is freedom,

a world with no more night . . .

and you always beside me

to hold me and to hide me . . .

Then say you'll share with me

one love, one lifetime . . .

Let me lead you from your solitude . . .

Say you need me with you

here, beside you . . .

anywhere you go, let me go too -

that's all I ask of you . . .

Say you'll share with me

one love, one lifetime . . .

say the word and I will follow you . . .

Share each day with me, each night, each morning . . .

Say you love me . . .

You know I do . . .

Love me -

that's all I ask of you . . .

Anywhere you go let me go too . . .

Love me -

that's all I ask of you . .

Hey -

Can I give you a tip?

Waiting is a trap. There will always be reasons to wait. The truth is, there are only two things in life, reasons and results, and reasons simply don't count. (Dr. Robert Anthony)

- C

A (PRE-VALENTINE) LOVE LETTER - Last of 3 parts

My dearly beloved,

I woke up before five this morning, with not even four hours of sleep. Chilling under the sheets, curled up in a sea of soft pillows, head throbbing, throat dry, I realized one thing. The first thing on my mind is you. For the first time in a very, very long time, I felt an emptiness that I am sure only you can fill. You of unknown identity to me.

Shall I be lonely longer? Probably not, for before the year ushers in a new dimension to my life, I shall abandon the forlorn disposition. And whether or not the dawn brings me pangs of yearning, of longing, of needing, I will suspend the vulnerability.

For the meantime, what should I say to hasten your coming? Perhaps nothing, for everything comes at their appointed time. And you, at the most beautiful moment that I shall burn oil lamps for, constantly, until I see your sillhouette approach me and I feel you definitely, and I see you face to face and know that it is you, finally.

But darling, sweetheart, honey, baby, dearest beloved of mine, the wilderness is long and without any bloom of rose, and if I may borrow Elizabeth Browning's heart, the capacity for happiness, like a black gaping hole, before this silver flooding. I can go on and on, but I tell you that should you open my heart, you shall see that I desire for your presence to fill the void.

You fill my mind. Constantly.

I shall not go on describing you, for I will take you however you are, for to even reach that point of unconditional acceptance, I would have already seen from the twinkle in your eyes and the fire that you will ignite in my soul; I would have already heard in the tone of your voice in every conversation we have; I would have already felt the sincerity of your touch, whenever we kiss; that there can be no one else who my heart shall beat for unabashedly, faithfully, sincerely, ever so completely.

What I can say, beloved, is when you walk in my life and make yourself known, and I feel in my heart, and know in my mind that there is no room for question, I will stand by you and beside you.

I will support you and enrich your life.

I will not be perfect but I will remain true.

I will never cease to listen, and not just hear.

I will hold you and hold you dear.

I will trust as much as you can trust.

Everything that I am, I will be.

What have you to gain, perhaps none but me;

But which must suffice, for my love shall grow

from day to day, through what's high and low.

I want to be more than your wish, more than a fantasy. More than a part of your journals and musings. I want to be real to you, as you will be to me.

I look forward to that day, though it may take a while. For the meantime, I shall preoccupy myself with duties and fulfillment of calling.

Entirely, sweetheart, I will love you. Everything else goes with the utter profession of affection.

While that hasn’t happened yet, I am here,

preparing myself to love you,

waiting to be yours,

and you to be mine,

Sincerely, tenderly,

C.

A (PRE-VALENTINE) LOVE LETTER - Second of 3 parts

My dearly beloved,

I know for sure, as I yearn for someone to talk to, that you have not yet come. The emptiness is more pronounced as I go through the week. So much has happened and I instinctively look beside me, like I used to, to exhale my rancid thought, and share a good laugh that usually means things will be fine. But, you are not yet there. Not here with me, nor even far.

I shall wait, though not search, for I know, one day, you will look at me and I'd know. It will take a long while, for good finds like you are hard to spot. While I wait, I'll just go on about my day, continue imploring for divine intervention with the issues that you face, and keep on writing, and hoping.

But I am feeling a bit confident that I shall know when I have found you, although maybe not on the onset of meeting. I may have met you already, for all I know. And you may be one of the plenty that I exchange sms with, or talk to whether briefly or lengthily, on the phone, or face-to-face.

If I may be romantic about it, I'd know it as soon as we intertwine our hands, and our fingers automatically place themselves comfortably alongside each other, locking us in a touch that will signify more than just two hands holding. And I need not explain, for you'd understand the subtleties.

I know I'd know. Just in case I fail to see though, don't go wasting time trying to send mixed signals. Let me know.

While that hasn’t happened yet, I am here,

preparing myself to love you,

waiting to be yours,

and you to be mine,

Sincerely,

C.

A (PRE-VALENTINE) LOVE LETTER - First of 3 parts

My dearly beloved,

For some time, I barred you from entering my thoughts. Lately though, I have been allowing myself to think about you. About how you are, where you may be, what you could be pre-occupied with...I did not want to believe I would have a chance to be with you. I lost hope. But like I said, I have often been thinking about you, again. I’m thinking of you right now. (It must be the moon… yeah, I blame it on the full moon, and Norah Jones.)

For several weeks now, I have been shamelessly locking myself up in my quarters, where not a soul can hear my plea, and in the darkness whisper my supplications, with an utmost desire in my heart that the seraphim will bring it with them when they enter into the Holy of holies.

I cannot even miss you. For I do not know you. What I know is I desire for you, to be with you and hold you, and hear you and feel you... to finally know you.

I wonder about the trials that you may be going through and if you have somebody to talk to, to unburden your heavy yoke, if you have one. I’m wondering if you could be in the company of those who will be able to understand you. That is very important.

What are your passions? I wish to know them.

What are your visions? I wish to share them.

What are fears? I wish to be with you when you face them.

What makes you laugh?

What makes you cry?

What moves your heart?

There are times when I'd let my mind wander off to a sphere where no one can reach, for I know I shall find you there. Until now, though, you haven't made your presence felt. But I keep going back, filled with anticipation that I might catch a glimpse of you, perhaps even a silhouette of what you are and who you may be.

There are times when I drown in the sweetness of a gentle cuddle, and then I wonder if that could be you with me. I have woken up several times from a loving caress on my face, and a sincere gaze of tenderness, and a profession of how beautiful and angelic my countenance is with the golden rays sprinkling pixie dusts over me, then I wonder if that could be you speaking. Alas, many men have come and gone, I have yet to know you.

Nobody can substitute for you, even for a while.

Ironically though, I have not really tried to search for you, somewhat trusting on fate and destiny to bring us together... Though I also know that to make sure you stay, once you enter my life, will entail some effort on my part.

That is why there are times when I wonder if I made a mistake of letting you go, not knowing you were already with me… And if I did, if I could ever repair the damage and bring you back. There are times when I wonder if we have crossed paths, and we just didn’t know it. But often, I just whisper up and ask that you walk by and decide to stay and never leave anymore.

When that happens, if that happens, I shall be very, very happy.

I have been introduced and have myself met several men of good standing, with profound thoughts to share, with gorgeous faces and fine manners. Sons of ambassadors, mostly. Sons of public officials, or themselves public officials, lawyers, doctors, engineers, businessmen, other professionals. Men who move in the same worlds as I do. Obviously, none of them were you. Or perhaps, you just have not made yourself known yet.

When I do finally know you, I shall make sure that you will be very, very happy with me.

I am looking forward to the feeling of being comforted by the thought that we are both safe, together.

I know you will be perfect in your imperfection. Beautifully flawed.

It may take a long while before I chance upon you, or you chance upon me, or when we will be aware that we two belong together, whichever, we’ll find each other. And when we do, it will be a beautiful day.

I will make love to you sweetly, intensely, heart and soul, no less. My body against yours, flesh on flesh, skin to skin, sweat mixing, juices exchanging, lips locked, in tight embrace. We wouldn’t know where the other begins and the other ends, it will just be a perfect synchrony of two bodies in rhythm, made for each other, in the ultimate act of sincere and genuine expression of love.

One day, at the best of times, I shall find you, you shall find me. I will love you, you will love me. Then things will be well from then on.

While that hasn’t happened yet, I am here,

preparing myself to love you,

waiting to be yours,

and you to be mine,

Sincerely,

C.

p.s.

When you find me, make yourself known and don't let me go, ok?

Claudine. Ah, yes, to have the privilege to address you by your first name, for you called me by mine, first.

Nothing in my life is coincidental and having memories of you pass through my mind several days ago was already an indication that I shall be hearing from you. My intuition has never failed me in that regard. Thus, it was, should I say, an expected surprise. I wouldn’t regard it as welcoming, though.

When was the last time I saw you? October of 1998. That long ago… Then you bowed out of my life, although you were very much a constant, your influence still embedded in my dissertation, unfortunately. Then now, you barge in through a phone call, in the middle of a chaotic week starter. You have always been a demanding prick.

Normally, I wouldn’t take a call from an unidentified number, but since my name and my contact information have been displayed all over the web, I have had the unpleasant duty of taking every single one, including those that are from too far away the number can’t even be reflected. Lucky you. And you knew that because I am bound by my breeding and manners, I wouldn’t slam the phone down on you although I was tempted to, what with the “Let-me-ask-you-first-if-you-have-any-idea-who-I-am” s@%t you put me through.

Your husky voice, from too much nicotine, is undeniable yours, but forgive me, it has been nine years and you were the last person I thought would be calling me on a Monday. Oh yes, nine years and here you are trying to be a surrogate mother. You know my weakness and you are using it against me. You were the cunning strategist that I hoped to be, and maybe already am.

You had to narrate to me your achievements. You just couldn’t resist, could you? I would have slashed your moment of gloating except that I remembered I have been rebuked recently for my hypocritical stance against those who bask in the glory of their laurels. Then you segued to remind me of your family name. f#&k you. I know who you are, you don’t have to make sure that I was aware of the power you and your husband have, so much more than what people know. You are practically behind every sickening major league damage control we have to implement! And I would not even start on what your husband has been doing to keep someone glued to a seat.

(I remember how I hated your intimidating black, humongous four-wheel drive every time you’d arrive. Now I can only laugh as I have my own, black too, minus the sirens. I rarely use them, lest I be shot by angry tax-paying, law-abiding citizens.)

I know you have always been looking at me from where you were, although in silence, scrutinizing if I had it in me to stretch a little bit more. I sense your presence here and there. Your name floats every now and then, too.

Your statements gave you away. You know exactly what I have been up to lately, including those that are classified, secret, top secret, and confidential. That, plus, your hushed “you shouldn’t let people know we talked.” Don’t worry, Claudine, I wouldn’t have survived midnight meetings if I didn’t have the secrets already in my coffin even before I am laid to rest.

“Do you still mesmerize them? Do they know you are mesmerizing them?” Flattering words from you. Were you referring to the people I have to order around or where you talking about the men? Either way, the answer would be “I don’t give a damn.” But thank you for not changing your opinion of me. The conversation, in fact, made me wonder if you have started to elevate me as an equal. The first name, yes… Since when has that happened?

I did know, though, that the praises you were giving me weren’t loose change. I didn’t forget you were a communication strategist, first and foremost, and for you every word counts. Every word has a meaning. And the tone. Yes, Claudine, I must say I learned so much from you. If we were talking over blueberry cheesecake, your favorite, I’d even see through your half-open eyes as you lick your fork clean, seductively. You, sexy matron, you. I bet you have even the young men drooling over you until now.

Well, unfortunately, your power has no such effect on me. I know the extent of your reach, and I know the extent of mine. Equals, Claudine. You are a fading glory. Your influence has been limited to my insane gibberish. I must say though that your enigmatic effect still has me giving you an ear.

What caught me off-guard is the truth in what you said. There are just so many reasons for our paths to keep on crossing, although indirectly, and now, directly. There is no escaping you, is there? The horrible truth that I am faced with is that you know me too well. From the deep-sea dives, to the aeronautics… How can you not know when it was you who told me half of what I believe I am now? It is a dilemma, indeed. Suddenly you are, what, a family friend? When did that happen?

I promise to have lunch with you, or dinner, whatever is more convenient for you, this February. So we can talk lengthily about what you are asking, nay demanding, from me. It would take a face-to-face dialogue between two strategizing women, so I’d see how you'd express your intent, and you’d see why I am not amenable to it.

There are just some things, Claudine, that mere name cannot get. Not even your family name. Because my name depends on it, and my family’s… and our honor.

If you are really (suddenly) a family friend, as you claim, you'd know.

‘til then,

C.

So much expectations go with saying I love you.... ain't that simple, baby.

Today, this hour, its been three months. Friends said I should take some time off, allow myself to wallow in a little bit of depression, and celebrate humanity. But that's not what you would have wanted. That is why I have not stopped going about my days as if it were the same.

Ten years ago, when one of us decided to stop fighting, I learned that there was such a thing as irresponsible death. Those whose hair where white with wisdom said that an untimely demise, of destiny not being fulfilled, was a careless irresponsibility. I wanted to say the same of you. I wanted to rush to where they said you were, shake you, and scream to your face that you could have been more careful because you knew there were so much more we needed to do. But I just went in my hotel room, flicked on the lights and looked around me as if to search for answers to questions I dared not ask. I could do nothing.

I could do nothing until now. How many times have I felt the urge to bawl and tear my clothes and put on sack cloth and pour ash upon my head in lamentation? How many times have I attempted to sit still and pull out from deep inside me a bucket of bitter anguish? I cannot. I begged the Lord to help me mourn over my loss, but I escape at the first sign of answer.

Even today, I cannot tell of what I really feel. You were the fourth, Iris. And the pain it brings is indescribable that I find no strength to even embrace it.

Why were you in a rush? There was no reason to, it was over for that day. As a matter of fact, the moment they told me about it, I was already wrapping up and sorting files in folders. You were supposed to be three hours away from your little darling...

They didn't want to tell me how tragic it was, but I put the pieces together. There was no escaping the sickle. Breath is fleeting, indeed. With us one time, gone the next. Who am I to challenge the author of your story?

One day, I shall collapse where ever I am and cry. I need to let it out one time. But not yet now. I will, for sure.

I remember the first time we sat together at the lobby of Waldorf Astoria in New York, seven years ago, at high noon. I will not forget the soft chuckle so common to you, as I count pennies to send a post card home. If I can send you a postcard now, to tell you what I feel, maybe I would... Then you'd laugh at the thought.

You shall be remembered, as you wish to be.

You are sorely missed by this one.

A -

Its not as bad as it looks. It could have been worse. Take me for instance, half-deprived, burnt on one side (flip me over!), they lead me to the water, but they do not let me drink. They bring me to bed, but they do not let me sleep. Such is not your case.

All will be well. It takes a faith as small as a mustard seed to move mountains.

Trust is such a rarity these days.

- C

Dear Peter,

I write you with the intent of quelling the disturbance that you are feeling, and have not intended to hide, rather have expressed over and over again. I do not understand why you need to be bewildered by what you are beginning to discover. I do not know why you even take the time to bother, only to fume in disappointment and perhaps, disdain. But I am sparing a few precious moments to address you for I do not want to hear anymore how astonished and affected you apparently are …

You do not know me. You do not know where from I may be coming. You know not a single bit about me except that which I allow you, and the rest to see. How much of it is actually true, or how much is embellished, if at all, to protect identities? You do not even have the slightest idea. Where does the figures begin to take form and when are the prose unsullied and naked? You cannot say. You have no capacity to determine, much less discern. For I remain who I am only to me. You do not know me.

If I wish to remain incognito and feel comfortable under the guise of shadows and enjoy a masquerade, what is it to you? Why are you bothered by the fact that I am apparently not turning out to be what you thought I was? Or am I really not? Even that, you can only surmise based on the images you yourself created. If at all, you are forgetting the only thing you know about me. I am a writer. I create worlds and let people move in them. I create myself, too.

I am a writer and I cannot be confined to somebody’s perceptions, definitely not yours. Do not limit me to expectations for I am a rebellious soul whose natural instinct is to turn left when everybody is turning right. Call it my utter loyalty to creativity, or perhaps, my disdain for the usual. I have often chosen to like lilac when somebody tells me they like red, for I choose not to be conformed to the majority. Liking red, as much as the others is not something I choose to accept. And to change my favors is simply being true to myself.

Do not even speak to me of your dead poets and writers whose words, in the end, are but quotes that will fly away with the wind and shall not be remembered anymore, lest I begin to tell you of the prophets of old whose words carry life and death and are attested to by the very fact of reality that surrounds us today. Then you will find yourself with nothing. Let us not get to that unfortunate circumstance. Preserve yourself.

Do not narrate to me litanies of names of people who are only as good as we want to perceive or romanticize them to be. Nor about their library of literature no matter how immortal, for what good do they do to you if you remain ignorant to the only Writing that banishes to dust every masterpiece ever written? Do their words bring life and salvation? Do your novelists and philosophers turn hearts into flesh, or harden the same? Tell me how much you gain in life by brandishing about the styles and substance of one writer from another? Or that by trying to impress people with how much you have read, be it as much as those that are in the Smithsonian library, you have uncovered the only truth you need to know to sustain your breath to eternity. I dare challenge you for I am a writer myself, and I can only write so much, and in the end, return to dust. I do not share your passion, though I appreciate them. There are essays that are far more immortal than what you wave to the ignorant. They are, in fact, divine.

Words, what are they, but there are words that will never pass away. There are promises that have long withstood seasons and kingdoms. Those, I hold on to. But you do not know that, for you do not know me.

You are forgetting, I am a writer, and that is the only thing you need to know.

No, Peter, you do not know about my passions and the reason why I strive to wake up everyday with a song in my heart. You do not know what I do every morning at the first tweak of consciousness. You do not know the last thing I do at night until sleep catches up with me. You do not know what I do in between, as I go through the day.

You have no idea what my heart’s desires are, nor what can be preoccupying my thoughts as I traverse through the fast lane of life, or what catches up with me when I slow down.

You do not know for what I kneel and bow my spirit, and travail in anguish until heaven opens its gates and finally extend a hand to dip some water onto my lips to quench the excruciating thirst.

You do not know the principles I live by, nor the values I stand for. You have not been able to look through me to know of my dreams and secrets. Nor have you heard of my confessions to know my sins.

You do not know what I do and what I do best. You know not my strengths and the weaknesses that render me inutile at times. Nor of what impresses me and leave me overwhelmed.

You do not know how much I can love, and how much I will give up for the people I love.

Or what brings tears to my eyes and what can make me smile.

What moves me and what passes me by unnoticed.

You do not know how I feel, what I feel.

You do not know my voice and will not recognize me though I stand under your nose.

How long is my hair? Of what color?

And my eyes, how intense are they?

My skin, is it fair? Is it flawed?

Do I move with much grace, or am I rigid and calculated?

You do not know about what I know, or even how I think.

About the paths I walk nor the places I visit.

About the languages I speak and the people I talk to.

Or the food I take and the air I breathe.

No, you do not know me nor of what I write or who I write about. No one but myself knows who I am. In the long run, I may even be a stranger to myself. Who will know, and when will we know, really? Only the potter who molds the clay can hold a claim to that. Not you, and not soon for you. Maybe even never, for you. But what does it matter? I remain who I am regardless of what you think or do not think. What you know or do not know does not change the fact of who I am.

Nothing comes to your mind about the details of the daily battles I wage against principalities for you to abhor the thought that I pick up sword like I pick up my spoon. You do not even know if I am more comfortable with chopsticks, than silverwares. (Or what battles I choose, what weapon I use, or how I prefer to die, for that matter.) You know not about the pleasure I take of seeing tulips and violets and fluttering butterflies for you to conclude that I cannot appreciate the gardens that the minstrel plucks the strings of his guitars for. You cannot know me or claim to know me simply by waiting upon the manifestation of my inspiration. How much of me is in them, you cannot tell.

You have no idea of the marathons I speak of, whether true or figurative, for I remain an image to you. A movie in the making. A novel in drafts. A song inked in crude staff. I have no flesh, not even a bone, for you to even conclude that there was none before, nor none below, of arrogance, or humility; of guilt or repentance; of anger or forgiveness; of caterpillars or dragons; of hymns or chants; of water or fire. You do not know me for you to judge me. Do not make that mistake lest you fall in a quagmire of quicksand where every effort to free yourself sinks you deeper.

You have not heard of the war I fight, how many victories I celebrate and how many defeats I grieve. You have not heard of the hurdles I jump, to win the race before everybody does. You do not know how fast I can run. You have no inkling of the drive that pushes me, nor what weighs my spirit down. You are clueless. Do not attempt to pretend that you can pass judgment on me. It is clear, you cannot.

Therefore, Peter, it is futile for you to be implying your distaste for the image you gathered, that which I did not even attempt to project. I write for my own selfish reason, and not for any soul in this forsaken corner. Just as much as I do not bother much about how others wish to make themselves known. I do not waste my time for I know better than to pick up words here and there and form a mirage that will disappear as rain falls down on the desert.

You may find yourself forever in pursuit and you do not even know what you are chasing. Tragic, that will be.

My intention, dear Peter, is not appease you or make you feel you have been vindicated. Only, like I said from the very beginning, that I wish to quell the disturbance you feel.

I shall not try to comfort you and tell you that I shall once again speak of melodic echoes and the spectrum of the rainbow. I will, when I want to. When the world I choose to create shall require of grasshoppers and dragonflies and dewdrops and tinkling jewels.

I shall also write of matters of interest to me, which may vary widely.

I shall write when I want to relive certain worlds, such as of pacing and over striding, and the discipline of rhythm and motion, of tartans and spikes, of winning and stumbling, perhaps.

I shall write, when I feel the urge to, of the ruins of Athens and the paved walks of Manhattan, and the rivers of Venice, and the Alps that I can only take a fleeting glimpse of. Or of whose hands I shook and what palaces I have been to, beside whom did I seat and have dinner with.

I shall write with intensity, when I wish to, and speak of how many dead bodies I have seen and the stench that never has left my senses, and has left an imprint in my adulterated mind.

I will write theories and philosophies when I feel the inspiration to, whether or not I believe in them or simply want to negate them.

All these, and more, I will write about when I choose to, not for you, nor anybody, but for myself. Goodness, what do I care about what other people think when I remain under the shadow of a chickee name? I care only to be known by the people who already knows me, and who strive to know me better. In that case, I shall strive to make myself known, too. Even then, what they perceive of me does not and cannot change an iota of truth of who I am and how I know myself. The potter holds exclusive claim to that.

Peter, it is utterly vain. It is useless. You do not have to feel anything towards me or what I write about. Spare yourself the burden and the sentiments that may perhaps be draining a bit of energy from you, robbing you of a minute of happiness, or a second of peace.

For you do not know me, and never will.

I remain,

C.

I hate to see you go, but I'd love to watch you leave...

- C

I asked the Lord to speak to someone's heart, to soften it and make it see beyond the masks... And that's why I have reasons to smile these past days..

relaxed, with time to waste :cool:

To move without inhibition, is like walking naked in a park.. Always do, daily. I dance when people are watching too. And I am willing to do a private number for a particular martian.. hehe

99+ ... akala ko dati lahat ganun ang grade.. di pala... hehe

Go ahead, come on and leave me breathless.

- C

COME WHAT MAY

Soundtrack: Moulin Rouge

Never knew I could feel like this

Like I've never seen the sky before

I want to vanish inside your kiss

Every day i'm loving you more than this

Listen to my heart, can you hear it sings

Telling me to give you everything

Seasons may change, winter to spring

But I love you until the end of time

Chorus:

Come what may

Come what may

I will love you until my dying day

Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place

Suddenly it moves with such a perfect grace

Suddenly my life doesn't seem such a waste

It all revolves around you

And there's no mountain too high

No river too wide

Sing out this song I'll be there by your side

Storm clouds may gather

And stars may collide

But I love you until the end of time

Chorus

Oh, come what may, come what may

I will love you, I will love you

Suddenly the world seems such a perfect place

Chorus

Happy Together

The Turtles

Imagine me and you, I do

I think about you day and night, it's only right

To think about the girl you love and hold her tight

So happy together

If I should call you up, invest a dime

And you say you belong to me and ease my mind

Imagine how the world could be, so very fine

So happy together

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you

For all my life

When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue

For all my life

Me and you and you and me

No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be

The only one for me is you, and you for me

So happy together

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you

For all my life

When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue

For all my life

Me and you and you and me

No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be

The only one for me is you, and you for me

So happy together

Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba

Ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba

Me and you and you and me

No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be

The only one for me is you, and you for me

So happy together

So happy together

How is the weather

So happy together

We're happy together

So happy together

Happy together

So happy together

So happy together (ba-ba-ba-ba ba-ba-ba-ba)

"Out Of My League"

Stephen Speaks

it's her hair and her eyes today

that just simply take me away

and the feeling that i'm falling further in love

makes me shiver but in a good way

all the times i have sat and stared

as she thoughtfully thumbs through her hair

and she purses her lips, bats her eyes as she plays,

with me sitting there slack-jawed and nothing to say

coz i love her with all that i am

and my voice shakes along with my hands

coz she’s all that I see and she’s all that I need

and i'm out of my league once again

it's a masterful melody when she calls out my name to me

as the world spins around her she laughs, rolls her eyes

and i feel like i'm falling but it's no surprise

coz i love her with all that i am

and my voice shakes along with my hands

cause it's frightening to be swimming in this strange sea

but i'd rather be here than on land

yes she's all that i see and she's all that i need

and i'm out of my league once again

it's her hair and her eyes today

that just simply take me away

and the feeling that i'm falling further in love

makes me shiver but in a good way

all the times i have sat and stared

as she thoughtfully thumbs through her hair

and she purses her lips, bats her eyes as she plays,

with me sitting there slack-jawed and nothing to say

coz i love her with all that i am

and my voice shakes along with my hands

cause it's frightening to be swimming in this strange sea

but i'd rather be here than on land

yes she's all that i see and she's all that i need

and i'm out of my league once again

You and Me (Lifehouse)

what day is it

and in what month

this clock never seemed so alive

I can't keep up

and I can't back down

I've been losing so much time

cause it's you and me and all of the people

with nothing to do

nothing to lose

and it's you and me and all of the people

and I don't know why

I can't keep my eyes off of you

all of the things that I want to say

just aren't coming out right

I'm tripping inwards

you got my head spinning

I don't know where to go from here

cause it's you and me and all of the people

with nothing to do

nothing to prove

and it's you and me and all of the people

and I don't know why

I can't keep my eyes off of you

there's something about you now

I can't quite figure out

everything she does is beautiful

everything she does is right

you and me and all of the people

with nothing to do

nothing to lose

and it's you and me and all of the people

and I don't know why

I can't keep my eyes off of you

you and me and all of the people

with nothing to do

nothing to prove

and it's you and me and all of the people

and I don't know why

I can't keep my eyes off of you

what day is it

and in what month

this clock never seemed so alive