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Who do you tell?

I have just broken up with Nina.

And she may not yet even know.

I sent out the email yesterday, just a few minutes after leaving Sunday Worship at CCF. Yes, I go to church now. I can even say I'm a Born Again Christian without any qualms or bout of angst-ridden giggles.

But I had to leave the relationship that has been with me for a year. Our time was simply up.

For a year, majority of our time together I felt as if I were lying through my teeth.

I loved her, yes.

But who was I kidding?

I'm not in love with her. And perhaps never was.

I have a problem.

I have difficult saying 'No'.

Why is this?

I know that I'm as straight as a rod and yet my playful carelessness and curiosity is now about to come to be a world of pain for somebody else.

At the Christian center yesterday, I had only begun going there around two months ago, I had asked to speak with a councellor for the first time. Tamila was great to me, she did not tell me what to do. But I gathered by reading her that it was probably not in the rules to do so, anyway. She only told me, or rather reminded me of the essentials.

I felt as if I could no longer hold .. This, ME... inside: my seams were bursting and if I did not let it go then there would be a combustion of madness set newly forth into the world from the portal which was my conscience and my being.

I wanted to tell her: Look, Nina. I just want to love God more.

My atheist friends (and in this world we currently live in, there are plenty of those) would snort derisively I'm sure at my expense and my current beliefs and tragedies.

But that's what this is, releasing myself from a relationship that feels and has always been wrong is my Relief, Grace and Tragedy.

I know that I did the right thing. I just feel it in reverberating in my bones. But knowing that Nina would hurt when she reads what I'd written makes my bones feel like ash.

I have difficulty saying No, Tamila observed.

Yes, I answered. Yes, I know that.

So now, that's another thing I am going to have to work on.

I know that God is living in me.

He sees through my actions that I want to live my life for me, and that would in a very direct way once you think about it - be living for Him.

I suppose all I really mean by writing all of this down is:

I wish Nina would not hurt.

If there was someone to blame then it would be me. I would rather she despise me than hurt because of me.

What I pray for today is that God will take care of both of us. That He take care of her and that He would give her everything that she needs.

Dios mio, ayuda me!

Para Siempre.

Once there was a ball of blue gas which manifested itself in the darkest place anyone has ever imagined: the Center of the Universe.

This blue gas was a wanderer, nearly a vagabond...it travelled everywhere, burning a brighter blue with each eternity that passed.

One day as the blue gas sifted and flowed silently, growing fainter and fainter - it heard a voice that was deeper than the depths of the human soul whisper in its ear:

Surprise.

And a meteor shower came down raining upon the vibrating ball of blue gas.

A thousand stars gathered around it and shimmered brightly, the most poetic applause creation has ever encountered.

Slowly, slowly, eternity was locked inside a single, shattering moment.

At the center of the sphere of blue glass a light has appeared. With each second it grew and spread out like a fan, a blush, an ocean...and suddenly there it was. Beautiful, it had become:

Fire.

Thank you for turning me into fire.

..... My whole family, my friends, and especially to my glorious new family in Mexico: Eric y mi nueva amigos. (I hope that I said that right!) - I was so thankful and inspired that I wrote down this story for you.

I would like to thank you all for the wonderful gifts and greetings that you have given me on my 21st birthday. You have made it a world more special than I expected it could be.

It was made even more special with Eric's amazing gift: http://ericrkl.blogspot.com/2008/12/sapo-verde-sasha.html

Eric, that was totally great of you - please kiss your beautiful little Ianna for me (she is a princess)!

Viva la Mexico y mi amigos! (I still hope I said that correctly!)

Gracias. Gracias. Gracias.

With time is Rememberance

What’s amazing to me is that 21 always seemed… you know:

“God, Sasha, you’re OLD.”

And there it is.

21 is staring at me. Eyeing me as if looking for the slightest movement. A flicker of eyelash. A cease in breathing. The hesitant looking thrown over the shoulder.


21: It’s nice to meet you, Sasha.
Me: Uh. Hi. Isn’t your arrival a tad bit… too soon?
21: This is merely an informal introduction. We shall save the grand ceremony for the 10th of December, shall we?
Me: Oh. Ok. (muttering) You just seem a litte too anxious to me.
21: (smiling) And should I not be?
Me: No. I don’t know. No. Not really.
21: And why’s that?
Me: Because I always thought that when I’d meet you I would be in a different place.
21: Is that so? Which place would this be.
Me: A place other than here.

And so I’m turning the big 2-1 on Wednesday.

Let me see.

It would be my first birthday without Uncle Bong greeting me. Without him there to tell me how much of a lovable fool I am. How I should never ignore inspiration. How I should not war against my imagination. How I am on the verge of that freefall which is success. How I should give it my all. How I should never stop running. How I will win the race just by being true to myself. How I am going to make it. How I am going to survive the inflaming passion of my dreams. How he much he loves me and how the world will come to love me too, once I take that crucial step to fulfill my dreams.

“Happy birthday, Sash. I love you. Take care, dude. You are one cool dude.”

“writing that million dollar bestseller is your best chance. keep the dream alive and reach for it. i love you.” - Uncle Bong Japan 8/12/2007 3.09 PM

Just examples of random SMS messages from him that I will no longer receive it seems.

Don’t worry, Dude. I still have your messages and your smile alive and burning clearly in the reddest part of my soul.

I just miss you, that’s all.

And I think about you. Forgive me that.

I love you, you see.

And I’ll go on like this for oh… the rest of my life, most likely. Til I see you again. I expect that great big hug and the giddy rush of heat to my cheeks from your proud pat on my back.


21: You still have that promise to fulfill.
Me: I know. I know. I know I promised him. I’ll do it. Ok?
21: (laughing)
Me: (annoyed) What?
21: Sasha.
It is not your promise to your Uncle.
It is the promise you made to yourself.
The day you were born, when the first breath of air rushed in to fill your lungs, a promise flowed from the earth’s lips and met the one which manifested deep within you on the upon the nanosecond of your creation:
And that promise is what you should keep.
It has been a promise you made to God Himself the moment that he configured your existence.
Me: …Yes.


So now I’m turning 21 in two days. And during the years and mad moments that I’ve encountered and that have encountered me as I write this, somewhere down the road, Life had managed to give me the ride of my life. Upside down and inside out is fun and apparently the ride isn’t over.

There have been more things I haven’t expected to happen that did than those I had foreseen.

I am not the College Graduate I always thought I was going to be at the age of 21.

My family , whom I had lived and grown up with in the same big house the first 14 years of my life is now scattered across the globe.

Two of them, Uncle Bong and Lolo Dad, are now…elsewhere. But hopefully (and I keep my fingers and heartstrings crossed on this one) still watching over us.

I have a thousand manic and mercurial poetry in my books – none of which have yet been properly compiled and sent to a publisher.

I have yet to begin to search for a decent publisher to which I could submit my works to.

I have yet to even begin to burn down my quiet fear and try.

I have not begun to edit and in some cases complete the stories which I have written. (This is bad. And for those who are lucky enough to know their true passion, Having No Time is not a valid excuse.)

I have now come to love World Music more than the popular kind, the ones people had me listening to growing up. Meaning, I love music whose lyrics and beats are set in languages that I don’t verbally understand but which resonates and reverberates within the white of my bones. And shakes my soul to stillness: Italian, French, Cuban, South African, North African, Celtic, Mediterranean, Balinese, every color in the world’s palette have now been painting my soul and writings because of it. (This is one unexpected situation I don’t find myself complaining about so much, if at ALL.)

Maybe this is my way of preparing myself for fulfilling my dream of travelling and discovering the world.

Speaking of which, I am now saving up for that.

I still despise being subjected to other people’s rules.

I have become a cliché. More often now I love to put on the candles, turn off the lights, pour myself a glass of white wine, melt dark chocolate into a cofee mug half filled with almonds, turn on the laptop and turn up the Opera.

God I love opera.


Oh, 21! I am ready for all the mad endeavors and fruitful blessings you will bring.
I’m aware that I have to put out my share on the table.
I will fulfill my promise.
I will take out the old guns, the ones that I thought I have left behind me in a past life.
I will take out the old guns and take a deep dive into the world.
I will not go down.
But I will go enveloped in my own fire and with guns blazing:
Take on the world.

I am watching...Slumdog Millionaire

What does it take to find your first love?

He used to be a Man.

And now whenever I catch glimpses of him, in rooftop conversations, at surprise parties under the blue moon - where the blue moon drinks most of the vodka, and at a midnight cruise into the terrible ocean of forgetfulness and remembrance at different hours...

I can't help but be pulled apart.

Mostly by two things.

ONE, by a grevious and otherworldly sense of loss.

TWO, by a calm and egregious peace that I have moved on.

Dreaming a dream. Is it over?

So I dreamed that there was an earthquake.

Or rather I dreamt about finding out about an earthquake.

My mom was telling me about it over breakfast.

Surprised, I said, "When did it happen?"

"Just this morning." Then as she was reaching for the blueberry jam, she said, "I think C is dead."

A large pause. Blankness blanketed my mind.

"What?" I exclaimed in disbelief. "He could not be dead! How do you know?"

"I saw him and his father on the news."

"What - " I paused and tried to rack my brain, trying to remember something that I wasn't aware of had just happened.

And a mental picture, sort of like a random "memory" popped up and the small square of toast I was eating was still perched halfway to my lips. Indeed, I "remembered" seeing a newsclip showing C trying to wade his way over a river of rubble, with his dad following a few meters behind.

And sort of like an immediate realization hit me on impact a moment later.

"Mommy, C is dead! I can't live without him. What am I going to do now?" Although in my mind the words came out in a lament not deep enough to fully awaken my heart to any serious pain. The words, instead, as I said it aloud...sounded more like a whine.

'Of course you can!' Mommy said, waving her hand in my direction. She was already busy doing something else.

Then I remember something else happen:

I went to the corner of the room, near the windows where the white curtains were draped and pulled to a close, and I prayed.

My prayer went something like this:

'God, please don't let anything have happened to Joshua and C. Please don't let anything bad happen to Joshua and C......'

And then later I woke up.

I remember the room was still dark. It felt around 4.30 AM in the morning. I sat up in bed, propped myself up with the palm of my hand pressed down on the bed. My hair, as I saw myself later in the mirror, dishevelled and decorated with long curls big enough to give La Union's tidal waves a run for their money.

In those initial moments after the weird dream occured, I was just sitting quiet listening to myself - with grogginess tending to leave the brain blank and addled. It wasn't difficult to recall what I had just dreamed. And also what I had felt during the dream:

Nothing. A distant mourning and regret, at some point. But without any pain that truly pierced me.

In fact, during the dream and afterwards I felt like how a drugged patient in a mental facility must feel: slow, confused, distant, self-contained, floating, mildly ironic.

I write this down simply because two things surprise me:

1. The way I "unconsciously" reacted to the scenario. And my reaction, in particular, to someone named C----------------. I thought that in the least, whichever way I would have felt would have been....uh, Stronger.

2. The vehemence and suddenness with which I included and even centered my prayer to God around Josh.

There really is no appropriate ending for this general diary entry.

This may be because there are still previous dreams concerning the subject (whatever that is - death perhaps? Or the hidden meaning behind death? Or the hidden meaning behind the hidden meaning of death? etc...) or the people I had before this one. Suffice to say, life is but one big puzzle - and one that is yet unsolved! Woohoo! - and dreams are merely fleeting spiritual orgasms that come to you from the culmination of your current mentality, unexpressed emotions and may even come to you by the supreme pity or in utmost confidence of the Universal Deities.

So there is no diagnosis or anaylsis I'd like to scribble down here. If I have any, I think its only proper to keep my lips shut and keep it stored on a mental shelf for any future reference.

All I would like to say is that I had a dream.

And then I woke up.

Because I will let you Stay on My Mind.

The Legend of 1900: Playing Love

Somehow I break out in starlit wonder when I watch this movie. I have this particular track on my playlist, it's title: Playing Love, and when I listen I feel neck deep in the daze of quiet awe which is the mist of magic expelled from the tip of Guiseppe Tornatore's wand.

There is a hidden majesty always understated, I feel, when I watch Tim Roth on film. A few of his roles which have been my favorite include this and The Bellman in Four Rooms. There is always a quiet elegance to any of the characters he portrays, which makes me want to throw him a standing ovation all evening.

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Be who you Are.

Before you tell your life what truths and values you have decided to live up to, let your life tell you what truths you embody, what values you represent.

Parker Palmer

Random thought.

I was browsing through a section entitled Used Books.

And I remember thinking suddenly:

Funny. Used books. Used books. How does one use up books? By reading them the first time? Used books.

What if it's they who are using us?

(shiver)

Scary thought.

When you belong to the Earth, stand up for it.

If you were a film...what would you be?

At lunch yesterday, I was with Aisha and Nina. They were talking about something which didn't interest me and out of the blue I murmured into my pasta:

"I feel like a noir film."

Aisha looks at me from over her glass and says, "How does a noir film feel like?"

"Bleak. Your outlook is the color of a bruise - everything's hopeless. Like you're trying to walk underwater, it's slow and impervious to you."

"What is?" Nina asks.

"Life."

I looked at Nina and managed a slow grin, perhaps to change the subject. "If you were a film you'd be a war flick." Just to rile her up.

"Thanks."

As Aisha watched us, I turned and jutted my chin out in her direction: "I know what you'd be, Aish. You'd be a documentary - on the Discovery Channel!" Nina and I finish together, grinning.

"That's perfect!" Nina agrees with me.

"What about you?" Aish asks me, exchanging a quizzical look with Ninz.

"Easy. I'd be one of those biographies. You know, like my own E! True Hollywood story. Something flakey and conceited like that! Only I would be the one interviewing myself." I mimic how an episode would go.

We look around us and laugh.

Then Aish suddenly stops chuckling and turns to me. "You know what. I know what you'd be."

Ninz and I look at her.

"You, Sasha, would be a series of short films."

"Hm? Short. Like a cartoon?"

"No, a series of short films. You're different from moment to moment. You have to get that first before you can guess what the whole flick's about."

"Sasha, Je T'aime, anyone?" I said after a moment, because I wait for Nina and Aisha to stop nodding to each other, laughing and exclaiming how A just gave the perfect description.

.....

What can I say? Bipolar anyone?

I live in moments.

And don't the world know it.

(well.. and don't I love it.)

Cartoons' still got it.

"Let go of what kills you. .

and hold on to what keeps you breathing."

- Spongebob

Llamame Azul.

To hide a passion totally (or even to hide, more simply, its excess) is inconceivable: not because the human subject is too weak. But because passion is, in essence, made to be seen: I want you to know that I am hiding something from you, that is the active paradox I must resolve: at one and the same time it must be known and not known: I want you to know that I don't want to show my feelings: that is the message I address to the other.

- Unknown

In case you didn't know.

I suppose people should learn from this.

If you have to hear Madea say it out loud first in order to realize its truth then you have to recite this to yourself every morning right after you dream and before you wake up so that this message becomes a rule engraved in the armour of your chest.

It's an innate knowledge that you're already born with.

But some people refuse to listen.

So I hope that this reminds you why you're here.

It makes Life so much easier.

Everybody has a Theory.

People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that’s holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. And thank God for it.

- from Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

He talks about you like you put the stars in the Sky.

Some loves are precious.

Because some things are yet sacred.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBzoQnwSb9Y&feature=related

La Boheme - The Philippine Operatic Company Staging.

So I watched La Boheme at the CCP.

There were only one or two standout performances and these belonged to the actors who played Rodolfo and Musetta.

I had taken Andrea to watch it, and for a nine year old she seemed to enjoy it fairly enough.

Catch me in a passive mood and I'd say it was a mediocre production.

Catch me in an expressive one then I'd have to tell you that watching this particular staging of the classic, extravagantly artistic opera made me want to run to the nearest Mercury Drugstore and buy a ton of Omega ointment and take aim at the stage.

The cast had truly wonderful voices that fit the bill - we talk of high Mi Mi Mi and deep resounding La La La voices here, of course... the actors' performances are an entirely different thing.

The man who played Marcello singlehandedly gave me the most gut-wrenching case of the sweats I'd ever had watching a staged performance. He was just so awkward that it was painful just watching him. His voice, deep and vibrant, did not match the amateurish awkwardness of his acting ability - he looked as if he did not know where to put his hands the entire time he was on stage. (Let me take a second here and paint a picture inside your head: in the first act, you are the only one freezing your ass off in an onstage cast of 4 men and you're the only one keeping near the barrel where you've got a bonfire burning and you keep rubbing your hands together in a way more reminiscent of a prep-schooler smearing paint all over his hands than someone who's simplest wish is to keep himself relatively warm). And lord, whenever he was was doing his solo lines, belting them out exquisitely (see I'm being fair) his hand would always find a way to bury itself between the top of his belly and the undershadow of his chest - the corniest boyband pose if there ever was one.

The cast had featured a large cast of children - and by this I mean, people who are of the as currently horizontally challenged and age (in)appropriate group - that, say, below the 15 year old mark.

The children had wonderful voices that made one's belief in their future success solidify in their stomachs. But putting so many of these innocent lambs out on stage was like running those wooden ducks on the shooting booth - no matter how cute and talented they were, their presence made the majority of audience members want to shoot them with a pellet shotgun. Why? Oh let's see... because it's a known fact that children and pets are the most difficult to feature onstage. Again. Why?

Because no matter how organized and strategically placed you teach or direct them to be before the curtain rises, the after part always is an entirely different matter. Their performance was so-so at most, relieving and fresh the first 10 seconds they arrived on stage, and then again so awkward to watch while the whole thing was going on because not only did they look like a group of ants, complete with plastic joy written all over their faces, suddenly running amok - they also moved in one large group, all 20+ so of them - at one point they were a massive wave moving from one end of the stage to another and when they closed in around Musetta's former paramore (ie The Old Guy who Gave a Supremely Amazing Performance) their shocked and amused "laughter" looked so staged and...sa Pinoy, sobrang plastik that you wanted to cringe and slide down your seat to hide until they went away so you could breathe normally again.

Mimi on the other hand, had such a delicately stirring voice that you could not help feeling her pain - but her stage presence made you sort of glad that she was lamenting being sick so that she could hurry up and die already.

And that, friends, brings me to the conclusion.

The conclusion of La Boheme where the cast surround Mimi on her deathbed is supposed to be one of the most heartwrenching scenes you will ever see on the theater stage.

Suffice to say that when you watched the scene during this staging - you wanted to melt and giggle with relief at the knowledge that you finally get to leave the theater and this bunch of amateur behind.

Now, I say amateur because there really is only one person to blame - the "acclaimed" director... who I didn't bother to waste my time on trying to find out his name.

For fear I'd ask a hitman to track him down and ask him to give me back the money I spent on the tickets.

Bottom line:

• La Boheme is the number one and most loved opera in the world.
• The entire cast in this production has large potential.
• Approximately four people in the cast has absolute out-of-the-ballpark operatic voice and acting abilites and fierce stage presence (one of them is the boy who sang a little solo and who therefore outshined the rest of the younger-aged cast)
• BLAME THE DIRECTOR for concoting this modernized, half-assed, unthought out, mechanical, awkward and just BAD staging of this dynamic and timeless opera.

Our thoughts to Maestro Giacomo Puccini who must be turning in his grave.

Time's unexpected Expose.

When you grow up, pretenses and bad decisions tend to fall upon your wake like a shadow.

The thing that surprises you most is an unexpected realization which hits at the most alarmingly common time of day.

The realization:

The ripples that form from those pretenses and decisions have managed to defy the laws of science and spread their rings inwards instead of out.

Until those circles finally close in on you, and you feel like a bad joke the universe is chuckling about.

At 4 PM in the afternoon: You smile at the barista as you order your caramel frappe. You take that long breath before you dive into the blue pool located at the center of your condominium complex...(who knows, a million eyes hiding behind windows may be watching you. blue, brown, yellow, green, black, violet. but you don't care. you don't care. all you see is the welcome gaze of the pool smiling back at you). You give a sarcastic quip that makes your friends laugh or shriek or roll their eyes. You take out your handpainted Audrey Hepburn notebook and tap the fresh white pages with the edge of your ink pen.

And before the sun passes over your eyes, the explosive flash in your mind is gone. The billions of equations fall away, each pitchfork and crossroad you had ever crossed ceases its grip on you and you breathe in air.

In the nanoseconds which pass in aftermath, you watch as the barista hands over a smile, meant to be charming, as he hands you your frappucino.

The twinkle of watchful attraction glimmers in his eye.

You look down into the cinnamon powder which an unknown stranger sprinkled across the foam in your cool drink like a starry constellation.

And you decide that you have never felt such a brief moment of isolation as you walk away from the counter, carrying a drink with your name splashed across its side, and into the arms of the Entrance door.

Tell me.

Would you settle for a good life when you know you can have an extraordinary one?

Tu Cosa Fai Stasera?

Tu cosa fai stasera?

Rimani ancora un po

Sara quest atmosfera

ma non mi dire di no...

What are you doing tonight?

Stay a little longer.

It may be this place

... but don't say no.

Desire. Rhymes with. Hmm FIRE.

What do you want?

What are you waiting for?

What do you WANT?

God. These are just the questions that you dread hearing because you dread to answer. Why, you ask? Oh, not because you don't have an answer, or that you do not know what you want.

It's because you know that what you want cannot be had... And isn't within reach.

Saying what you do, in fact, deeply unabandonedly truthfully desire out loud and knowing that you cannot have it...well. It breaks you. It breaks the walls that the world has created around your being. A wall that has named itself 'Reality'.

Instead... I will step into that mirror and look that girl, a woman now, in the eye and bravely but very slowly answer, as if I were standing on a plank of wood that on which the slightest hint of movement might overturn and send me drowning into the mercurial waters of hopelessness: What do you want? What are you waiting for?

...silence.

And a pause.

Because I want my words to shake the ground that I stand upon with every syllable I'd utter and give to the world which hangs onto every word I say as if already planning my downfall and using them against me; to mourn me, to laugh, to belittle, to spit at me.

Sometimes, the world is nothing but a rowdy crowd that holds up rotten banners which is good for nothing except to bleat loud noises and scuffle outside the Casa Rosada. You don't know whether it desires your undoing or the rise of your being. All that you know is that it is loud and it goes wild when you raise your hand in acknowledgement.

I want...

I want him to love me.

I want him to know how I have been waiting all of these years and I want him to know how I feel: That he is the only one in the world for me.

I want to travel the world. And sometimes, especially as of late, even more than I want him. As if I know that the knowledge trotting to and from places which my soul flies to when I am asleep is enough to satiate my restlessness, my strongholds, my passions.

There are so many things...

I want to write. I want to sample the local fish from Sutri and drive up to Rome to watch the sunset over the Coliseum. I want to walk through the halls of the L'ouvre and hold back tears at the centuries of Beauty and ages that I would be beholding. I want to know how it feels to remember how I had fantasized and dreamed about doing so when I was a little girl and be amazed that I am standing where I would be standing.

I want to travel by train throughout Europe and find myself being surprised at how beautiful Germany is (which I had never imagined it would be) and be blown away by the feeling of peaceful pain that my feet would endure after walking through the vineyards of Marseilles and Provence. I want to walk down the backstreets of Tokyo at night and watch the reflection of the citylights on the stars that would wink down at me going, "Stop smiling like an idiot, Kiddo. You're happy. We get it... We're happy, too." I want to eat with my hands in the Scottish highlands and fantasize about shaking hands with Nessie. I want to visit Manarola most of all and get lost in the simple magnificence of its colours.

I want my writings to be published. I want to talk to people about the stories they would find in my books and explain how my style which they would call Magic Realism is actually just another fancy term for the words Reality is Pure Magic.

I want to buy a house where my family and extended familiy could live, sort of like a private village.

I want my brother and I to fight just like old times when every other sentence coming from our mouths would emit a punch from one or the other or both. It is much preferrable than the adolescent silence we share now.

I want my Mom to be happy. I want her to support herself once more because she still has so many gifts to give out to the world. My grandmother and mother are so wise...so wise...and flawed. Which makes them irreplaceable in my book.

I want to paint the local market scene in Aruba and visit the temples in Cambodia to pray.

I want to buy an I HEART NY t-shirt in New York City and not spend a moment asleep as I flit from one Broadway musical or play to another.

I want to freefall in a bungee jump in Niagara Falls.

I want to stop now...

And listen to myself sigh.

For now, it's best to continue to take the planned steps to realize all these desires, these wants, these unopened treasures I am patiently waiting to open.

Now all I have to do is keep dancing the dance....

Revolution.

I asked what she thought, and she said: I don't know.

I smile as I wrought the blue from the snow.

She asked, 'Of what do you believe when you are asleep?'

and I said: My desires don't show because they're buried too deep.

She yanked back her grin and rolled back her eyes,

'Don't start - you're starting. You come as no surprise.'

'Ah, but there you are wrong you prodiguous snake.

For when he talked to me, my heart forgot to shake.'

... A conversation with a close friend of mine. Only recalled and engraved now in rhyme. Don't ask. I have no clue either. Her question: "What happened?"