Archive for March, 2013

Murder in the Bookstore

March 21, 2013

Sometimes I wish I could also announce to the world how thrilled I am in getting lost in the pages of the book I read. There’s something reassuring and noble about it. Me, I just get lost in the bookstore. I roam around aimlessly, bump into a table from which a book will fall, and I will pick it up, notice the cover, finger through the leaves, and say, “Cool book,” then return it, and eventually bump again, this time into a shelf, and I will notice all these titles and their covers, and say, “Cool books.” It’s a bonus whenever your gaze bumps into mine, and I see you smile so I smile just the same. See, I don’t read. I only kill time as it kills me too.

Beautiful Ghosts

March 14, 2013

It always is comforting when you get unexpected pats on your back from people who appear to be imperceptible in your life, those silent, beautiful ghosts who float by and make you feel alive once in a while. There’s something charming about their reassurance: that even if you’re not the guy raising a toast under the disco ball, you’re still worthy of the center. You’re just somehow made up of a different element, and there’s a place for you to claim. There is, after all, value beyond insecurities felt, either by you or the rest of the world.

Isn’t Quite Sleep

March 12, 2013

There are times you’d wish you were that kid again, up on the roof, staring at the stars, nursing a heartbreak from someone who never really existed. Then you’d come down, head to your room, and turn on the TV. Cartoons were enough to make you forget. And that bowl of soup mother prepared. They were better than any mature way of zoning out during these days when sleep isn’t quite sleep anymore, rather, just an act of closing your eyes for hours in succession.

Luggage Which Isn’t Yours

March 5, 2013

It has come to a point where all your friends have moved forward, and as they do, you shake at the thought of seeing the transition as you would a rainbow fading in the clouds. You are left with an empty map in your head. You are left with luggage which isn’t yours. You are left with someone else’s aspirations. There is no trip. Just a plane leaving you behind.