Note: A short and mediocre poem (or excerpt) with no title (originally), inspired by a song sung by Tavares, which I wrote back in Senior High School. The funny thing is that I found it inside the recipe book that I wrote since Junior High School. Addressed to no one, or perhaps, no one yet.
Warning: Another shitty, crappy yet sorrowful content here. Just please refrain from reading it for your own sake.
Even though it has merely been four years since I started writing in this blog, I find and realize that the way I write, including the grammatical quality, had changed significantly, or so I thought. During the eleventh and twelfth grade, I had encountered my critically numb and heartless period. No need to go as far as having romantic feelings toward a person, when I reread my old posts during those days, I am unable to sense nor feel any emotions. But the thing is, those days are when I started to have that courage to speak and express my different thoughts and opinions out loud. I am thinking that it will be a pity if those old archives of mine would be forgotten just like that.
Thus, I am about to retrospect, revise, rescript and republish those old posts together with my current frame of mind.
Here I am sitting seemingly alone. I look around, indeed, I recognize this room. I can perceive every corner of the room and distinguish the types of furniture vividly, regardless the inescapable darkness. As if my eyes possessed the miraculous night vision. This is my own bedroom yet not my very own bedroom.
I see a girl standing at the corner of my bedroom. I seem to know this girl, perhaps because I have not seen her after quite awhile. Her long, ginger, yet dry hair, clipped with a cute red bow. Her aquamarine sailor uniform. Her pale face. Her pale lips. Her sunken cheeks. Her wide thigh gap. The thinnest, the skinniest girl I have ever met. Every tiniest bit of her physical features remained the same. She walks closer, toward me.
It is Anna.
She is back.
Lately I’ve been, I’ve been losing sleep
Dreaming about the things that we could be
But, baby I’ve been, I’ve been praying hard
Said no more counting dollars, we’ll be counting stars
Yeah, we’ll be counting stars
Perhaps my daydream had ended a long time ago, not today. Perhaps that you had died a long time ago, not today. But one thing for sure, today marked the day that I accepted that our crippled cinderella story had come to an absolute end.
I had finally ended my repudiation period.
It is funny when every time I recalled the days we spent together, both sadness and laughter we shared, and the secrets we both hold. Whereas, today you are merely somebody that I used to know.