of drivings and stickshifts.

a manual,
is like learning to control your life.

first you stutters to understand each of its movement,
then as the miles rack up,
you begin to quicken its paces,
and understands your limit and capabilities.

and when the road suddenly bends into a curve,
you'll know when to take it head on,
or slow down a gear or two to take the challenge better,
and leave unscathed.


ps: just a tidbit of sorts that happen when i try to persuade a certain individual to just abandon his matic car and just drive a manual already..

of cold feelings and hardhips.

in a city of a thousand blurs,

and shapes masquerading themselves to be more than a lie,

i find myself lurking in every corner,

in pursuit of the true meaning to this feeble existence.

of past recollections and indications.

our youth are seeping away,
yet we still linger here,
our shadows melted to the pavements,
and our soul ever reluctant to move.

of starry nights and cryptic details.

we live in a life crafted by our dreams,
and our mind are pieced together by our desires,
just like our sympathies that are snapshots of our fears.

yet we live on,
hoping to wake up from an eternity of dreams.

of ugly truths and consequences.

you will be special,
you're one of a kind,

you're precious.

and then he pulls the switch,
and the lights start to flicker,

and inevitably died.

of hidden meanings and lucrative endings.

what hid behind those words scattered in our lives?
what whispers beneath all the voices around us?

what action we must make to have a proper reaction?
or what reaction we must make to justify the action?

will we walk, or do we wait?

wait for the very moment,
when the truth dies to let out the lies it hid behind.

of spoonfuls of taste.

sometimes, only sometimes,

it's the small things that gave us taste

to the cake we called life, dear..