of half hearted grins and shady approachs.

i really want to write something here,
really i do,

but all i can think now is ,
well, to tell the truth,
i have no idea..

of startling revelations and borrowed time.

a miracle is just an excuse,

that we create in our mind,
when we have lost hope,

for something that we held dear.

of static musings and dead sceneries.

you're living under a false pretense
that your life is not a complete fiasco..

it is.

and frankly,
i find it not that big of a deal.

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.