Nov 2014
Think about this - a holiday that needs no funky dresses.
A holiday so creative, there is no need for red lipsticks, no need for nail clippers, no need for pungent scent of over-powering colognes.
A holiday so relaxing, a massage is as unimportant as a torch light near the sun.
All we need is just you; and perhaps the ever so annoying presence of me.
All we need is a bountiful of sundresses that you own, and perhaps my flowery sense of humor that matches the colors of the purple lilac prints of your sundress.
I could buy you a hat, but only if you promise me that it will only hide you from the sun, and not you from my eyes.
It could be big so you don't need sunscreen; and big enough to stop you from cringing when the sun hits your eyes but small enough that you still require some Banana Boat applied on your skin.
I'll bring the Banana Boat that has your favorite scent and I will put them on my hands; white cream will round my palm as I merge both hands together to a rub and apply the heat on your back. I will do it with so much passion because I want to ensure that only I can have your body and only I can touch your skin and that the beam of those evil UV lights will have none of you to them.
I want to feel the presence of you next to me, in our cabana, hidden away from the noises of the city, from the trinkets of the toy stores, from the audible annoyances of office politics.
I want to hear you play your favorite Azalea tunes on your iPod and secretly loving it as the song burst out of your earphones – teasing me, tempting me, seducing me with your bouncing head.
I want to hold on to my Mai Tai, cold as always, as the droplets of the cold water from melted ice succumbs to the heat my palms are dismissing.
And I want to have that Mai Tai with you, with two straws, with a pineapple decoration on the brink of the glass; and maybe…just maybe…if you're playful, a little umbrella that is in your favorite color.
Perhaps then we can hear the sound of crashing waves as our bodies crashes with the nuances of knowing that we are good for each other, but never at the same time as each other.
We can then, together, in silence, delve in the truth, the evolution, that we crave for the attention of the other, but we have the unfortunate excuse to not believe in that craving.
As we sip on the Mai Tai, we see the sun set, and the horizon is as beautiful and as composed and as straight as the bangs of your hair.
We refuse to leave that beach. And we refuse in our hearts because no words filled the empty silence but sounds of crickets and the ***** of wings of the swallows that flew by us - back to their homes, back to their nests, back to their hearts.
We know one of us will have to break that silence and it is so quiet that a drop of a 20 cent coin can jolt us, make our hearts beat faster with the expectations that we have of what's to come next.
"Let's go", you said.
And I mustered up my muscles, aching for one last stretch of my forearm to pull yours closer to mine.
But I could not.
Because you have walked away, walked ahead and far from me.
You have passed the stream of sea water that we could have left our footprints on, together, side by side.
I took that as a painful hint.
"Perhaps tonight is not the night. Perhaps we are not what we are.", I thought.
I finished up our drink like how I would finish writing our unending story.
I sipped the warm Mai Tai of depression, sadness, disappointment and anger as it travels through my bloodstream.
This alcohol – it filled my empty heart with the depressed, sad, disappointed and angry poison.
I was certainly not in the mood.
I packed my towels, wrapped it around my secure body and around my insecure soul.
As I walk behind you, following your imprints of footsteps left on the sand, I lit a cigarette. I put on my earphones, blasted the Azalea song that you love so much as I envision what could have been our most memorable night.
A holiday so creative, there is no need for red lipsticks, no need for nail clippers, no need for pungent scent of over-powering colognes.
A holiday so relaxing, a massage is as unimportant as a torch light near the sun.
All we need is just you; and perhaps the ever so annoying presence of me.
All we need is a bountiful of sundresses that you own, and perhaps my flowery sense of humor that matches the colors of the purple lilac prints of your sundress.
I could buy you a hat, but only if you promise me that it will only hide you from the sun, and not you from my eyes.
It could be big so you don't need sunscreen; and big enough to stop you from cringing when the sun hits your eyes but small enough that you still require some Banana Boat applied on your skin.
I'll bring the Banana Boat that has your favorite scent and I will put them on my hands; white cream will round my palm as I merge both hands together to a rub and apply the heat on your back. I will do it with so much passion because I want to ensure that only I can have your body and only I can touch your skin and that the beam of those evil UV lights will have none of you to them.
I want to feel the presence of you next to me, in our cabana, hidden away from the noises of the city, from the trinkets of the toy stores, from the audible annoyances of office politics.
I want to hear you play your favorite Azalea tunes on your iPod and secretly loving it as the song burst out of your earphones – teasing me, tempting me, seducing me with your bouncing head.
I want to hold on to my Mai Tai, cold as always, as the droplets of the cold water from melted ice succumbs to the heat my palms are dismissing.
And I want to have that Mai Tai with you, with two straws, with a pineapple decoration on the brink of the glass; and maybe…just maybe…if you're playful, a little umbrella that is in your favorite color.
Perhaps then we can hear the sound of crashing waves as our bodies crashes with the nuances of knowing that we are good for each other, but never at the same time as each other.
We can then, together, in silence, delve in the truth, the evolution, that we crave for the attention of the other, but we have the unfortunate excuse to not believe in that craving.
As we sip on the Mai Tai, we see the sun set, and the horizon is as beautiful and as composed and as straight as the bangs of your hair.
We refuse to leave that beach. And we refuse in our hearts because no words filled the empty silence but sounds of crickets and the ***** of wings of the swallows that flew by us - back to their homes, back to their nests, back to their hearts.
We know one of us will have to break that silence and it is so quiet that a drop of a 20 cent coin can jolt us, make our hearts beat faster with the expectations that we have of what's to come next.
"Let's go", you said.
And I mustered up my muscles, aching for one last stretch of my forearm to pull yours closer to mine.
But I could not.
Because you have walked away, walked ahead and far from me.
You have passed the stream of sea water that we could have left our footprints on, together, side by side.
I took that as a painful hint.
"Perhaps tonight is not the night. Perhaps we are not what we are.", I thought.
I finished up our drink like how I would finish writing our unending story.
I sipped the warm Mai Tai of depression, sadness, disappointment and anger as it travels through my bloodstream.
This alcohol – it filled my empty heart with the depressed, sad, disappointed and angry poison.
I was certainly not in the mood.
I packed my towels, wrapped it around my secure body and around my insecure soul.
As I walk behind you, following your imprints of footsteps left on the sand, I lit a cigarette. I put on my earphones, blasted the Azalea song that you love so much as I envision what could have been our most memorable night.
