Player of the Game

Track 27: Bloom (The Paper Kites)

A FEW WEEKS AGO

Beatriz.

I remember wanting to cry out—from depression, from the lack of self-worth, from mere existing.

I left without saying goodbye. After that debacle with Maddie, I just lost it. I went to Jho knowing I deserve not even the least of her forgiveness.

But I needed her. I ached to be beside her.

For what? About that, not much is clear. All I know is that I needed her presence to comfort my pedantic, mournful existence.

But as I tried to sleep it off again—doze off beside my damsel, my senses seem to fail me.

I waited for her breathing to subside into heavy unconscious sighs and felt her tensed shoulders relaxed as the clock worked its way to the dawn. By then I have already decided to leave.

I snuck an arm around her waist to bring her closer. I needed to remember her scent—this familiar brand of home.

If you'd ask me, it was a dream come true.

Finally without the distractions from the harsh world, I finally managed to be that close to her.

Sadly, it was a treasure I am not capable of guarding with—no, not with all my frailty and self-pity.

I can never do it.

Not when I'm this broken.

That morning I made a careless decision of leaving her—expecting things to be a little better for her with me away, leaving questions hanging up higher into the void. It wasn't fair. Not of these is for her.

---------------------------------

"The purpose of fiction is to combat loneliness."

The line was scribbled across a wall decorated with other graffitis. You could see the smile of that one poet as the feeling of escape runs through his or her magnitude.

I wish peace is that accessible to the general masses.

You could hear these thousands voicing out the maltreatment and disasters of this society. It is alive in its own dysfunction.

New York is a beautiful city but somehow tonight it has lost its magnificence.

I hope in some other days, it wouldn't be the case. I don't want to lose hope that easily.

The whole lane of Cornelia St. looked busy: bustling with overwhelmed part-time waiters and entitled customers—freckled with mishaps, peppered with the burden of just another night dawning on their rather dilapidated lives. Infusion of wild berries, coffee and mildly burnt pastrami evades my nostrils as I deliver my heavy gait on the calloused pavement of the first-world.

"I'm sorry I'm late. I had to call my sister." I turned around to acknowledge the arrival of my company. The cold demeanor of the night forces her eyes to become smaller. "She's been picking dresses for the ball."

"It's okay, J. Halos kararating ko lang din naman." She linked arms with me and prodded me to walk on with her.

When I arrived here a few days ago, I learned that EJ, too, was here to accompany her sister in buying dresses for the debutante's ball. We met at one of the fashion shows.

I really wanted to be alone—to think things through—but EJ has been persistent in accompanying me. Considering the way we left off things, I don't think I'm in any position to turn down anything from her.