Saturday, August 7, 2010

To a lost love

I was young, and the four years you had on me made you look worldly and much more handsome than you already were (you didn’t need to be better looking, my heart skipped a beat every time I looked at you). We always stayed in a coffee shop in Glorietta, a 15 min ride from your place, a 2 hour drive from mine. (Even then, there were metaphors: you could never meet me in the middle). I always had chamomile tea, and you always bought a cappuccino; I thought it a quaint ritual, you never thought about it at all. Back then I wished for your love and would have settled for your disdain; I could never stand your indifference.

There is always something about first love. Even now, looking back, there is pain, in that singular way nostalgia and regret inflicts pain, but I embrace the sensation: my thoughts are my own. You are no longer important to me, except for that part of you, no, part of me, that remains in my memories.

Music: A Sestina

You turn the knob of the radio, looking for stations between
The monologues of headless voices. I
Touch your knee, wanting nothing but silence
Amid the soft humming of the engine. I am not
Sure how you take my request: a stiff lip greets my smile but
I shake it off and wait for the music

You so want to hear. This listening, this music
Is a ritual we perform unerringly, in between
Departure and arrival, a ritual against quiet boredom. But
Now we sense nothing but strain, as if I
Said something wrong. I ask and you say you are not
Angry, just tired. But your silence

Says so much more. Your silence
Unnerves me. I feel a sudden need for music.
We listen to the droning of the DJ, trying not
To mind the stifling air, charcoal-dark, smoke. In between
Gasps, I
Try to speak but

Words will not come out. In my head, words are but
symptoms of regret by fools. And I need silence
But also lack the strength to carry its discomfort. I
Realize, in between words, we are disconnected: mere shadows. And music
Makes up for our failings, and its absence deepens our pain. In between
Words, we realize we are not

What we think we are. We are not
What we hope we are. But
We need to understand. Between
The mundane and the essential, there is silence,
But as yet, it is not peace. Your need for music
Reveals the answer: To you, what am I?

Am not
In between.

And the realization turns silence to peace. To you, I am not passion but
Pause. I am not emotion but calm. Not song but silence.
Between words, there was hope for something more: Music.

Featured photo taken here.


  1. Reminded me of something (and someone). Ouch!

  2. There's a story about some composer/conductor (whose name escapes me right now) rebuking a noisy audience during a performance.

    "Silence is the canvas upon which we paint music," he said.

    This is the second of your pieces that strike close to home yet again. Someone was once my song. But now there is only silence.

  3. @Sam: :-)

    @rudeboy: thank you. always hoping someone gets something from my writing.

  4. Thinking about it now, lucky that you've experienced that. Your dates/relationships are always longer than mine. I remember the discussion about this poem - we were talking about it on the road, somewhere between Libis and Katipunan. Anyway, going back to the reflection, of course I will compare myself to this situation. And I'm thinking, am I silence too? Or am I too noisy for my own sake - too noisy to hear the silence speaking to me.

    "hello darkness my old friend, i've come to talk with you again..."

  5. @anonymous: this was your favorite poem of mine I think. :-)

  6. I am officially a fan of your writing. This is as real at it is beautiful and moving.:)

  7. I've been into situation like this before . . . actually twice, how sad.... and the sadder part is, I think its happening again now on my present relationship... and I have to fight for it again... hope this time i will win! I'm tired of losing the one I love.... fingers-crossed!!!

  8. thanks! yeah, I think I need a lot good lucks nowadays ^_^ I'm hoping that someday, the universe will also talk to me and say something I would understand.

  9. Wow... Wow. I love the sestina. That's such a hard poetic form to write in, but yours flows so well. I see that the Incredible Shrinking Sestina inspired you a little in stanza 6, but the theme and imagery of the poem is uniquely your. Kudos!

  10. You wrote a sestina! I adore sestinas... and loved yours. You've got quite a talent. ♥

  11. Dear Fickle Cattle,
    This very beautiful.

  12. I chose to read this piece as I'm an old softy at heart. Lost love is so heart-rending and takes time to accept and move on. One of my favourite authors is Katherine Mansfield who wrote many exquisite short stories in her very short and oft unhappy life. She died at 35; a sad ending to a great talent.
    My FAVOURITE short story of her's(a lost love theme) is "A Dill Pickle" and you can see here if you wish:

  13. Just what Sam said... Also reminded me of someone I love, loved. But im not Music. :/ I am Pause. Ouch!

  14. It's not often I read a second post on someones blog, not to mention a bundle of them. Maybe I'm too critical but most blogs I've found so far a bit 'blah' and I get bored quickly.

    Yours is quite different. You have a unique voice, I love the way you often write in the present tense and as if you're actually living the story or telling it to someone, rather than writing about it :) That and your sentences are very concise, to the point and often meaningful (or funny).

    I liked this post a lot. Once we put on the love goggles it can be pretty hard to take them off, after all the world looks a lot prettier through rose coloured lenses... *hits Follow*

  15. well as they said, it is better to love and get hurt than to have never loved at all....

  16. Lost love..

    I was halfway through your poem and started crying already. ;(

    thank you.. really

  17. i have never been in that kind of situation but i felt the emotion from each word.

    very nice. : )



Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...