Crossing, 1:00 AM

At the corner of Shaw Boulevard and Edsa. While sitting on a pavement a few steps away from 7-Eleven. While starving buses hungry for passengers honk their horns from a distance and sleepy people make transit in front of a lone jeepney waiting for the home-bounds to fill its empty seats. A lean man in a blue sleeveless shirt tosses his cigarette on the ground. He has been standing next to a loading sign for eternity before deciding to fling his bags inside the waiting jeep. With a near smoked-out Marlboro lodged between my fingers; a Neil Gaiman novel resting on my lap; a restless body dying to turn itself into a disco ball; and an old soul walking tensely back and forth while trading thoughts with a kindred spirit on a hopelessly romantic telephone.

Crossing his fingers.
Determined to find that once-in-an-epoch connection.

Feeling the cold ground while looking past the lamp posts over a massive bridge; beyond the glare of light bulbs reveals a pitch black sky longing to be noticed. My companion behind me has shut the world, as I say a silent prayer for a runaway star who might be staring down from the heavens.

We try to keep tabs of the moment,

Hoping the heart never withers.

We try to clutch our arms to the memory ,

For something for us to believe.




Exactly one month later, the kindred spirits now call themselves one.
All it takes to find his beloved was a fateful telephone call.