riVer moOn riVeR

You are in my planner, but only after the fact. See, I don't plan you; I can't -- it's difficult to contain you, this, into that neat little box because it smacks of the forbidden.

So I remember you instead. And I write you down and I try to spruce it up with magic markers and the occasional sticker of a leering yellow face, along with a blade of grass that just happened to be lying in wait in my pocket when we talked.

*

She's singing, "Check, Sound Check" to the tune of a dance-y French song and all I can do is look towards the door and try to remember the words to another song that fits this night like a pocket protector (or something definitely more X-Rated so huwag na lang).

*

I want to know you the way I'd unravel a roll of masking tape found in the bottom of an old drawer -- little shelled worms, stringy adhesive and the occasional poem carved on the yellowed surface and all that jazz.

(Sorry, I'm making up as much horrendous metaphors as I can for a story I'm writing, which I am sure will suck so bad, it'll be inside out -- see what I mean by terrible metaphors?)

*

I want to scream, "Troglodyte, troglodyte, troglodyte!" just because it's a pretty word.

But my voice has taken a vacation; I can't even scream to Paramore properly, which is why I hummed to Britney Spears' Toxic while I laundered. Sad and mental, I know.

*

Ang lalim. Saksakin niyo na 'ko, please. Jev, you draw first blood.