To you, whom I do not know

To you, whom I don't know, and who do not know me. The day will break tomorrow to welcome a new life for you. Tomorrow, you will walk to your destiny while my man--who was your man for a fleeting moment--stands at the sidelines watching you.

You will probably seek him out among the crowd, and wonder where he has been all this time, and what has he been up to. Maybe your mind will wander off to those guilt-laden escapades when you and he thought nothing else mattered. Maybe, just maybe, you will wish him the best and pray that he move on to his own destiny, while you revel in the bliss and beauty of your newfound home and hearth.

It pains me that I cannot be there to tell you myself where he has been. While all this is happening, I am probably restlessly going through the motions of Saturday life, imagining your glances and the words that they convey.

Tonight I Can Start...

My apologies to the great Pablo Neruda for the similar-sounding title. I meant to say, tonight I can start writing again.

I have been on a creative sabbatical, or should I say, a sabbatical from creativity for at least three years now. I still have traces of memories left of the time when I thought I would grow old to become a writer of note. Now I have grown old with nothing to show for it except a blog that has not been written on for more than one and a half years. And my blog hasn't even managed to become a Blogger blog of note

So tonight I am taking up the pen again in another attempt to call the Muse back from the depts of piled-up press releases and corporate brochure drafts. I am evoking the enchantment that I used to get from stringing words to convey beautiful thoughts. I am clearing myself of hard jargons that have clouded my thoughts like decades worth of cobwebs. I am looking forward to seeing life again in colors and words and thoughts, and feeling the fluttering of little butterflies in my belly at the sight.

Tonight I can start living again.