This whole idea of waiting, moreover than not, does not always present itself at a time when we're at our jolliest to stay put, linger a little longer, and extend our palms open for something good to drop from up there.
There are times when my hands get too itchy to write another set of poems in this blog and yet nothing comes off. While there are times when a thought just appears so clearly that the only thing I need is either a pen or a paper to get all the bleeding taken care of. Right now, there is no such bleeding. I have so much to write about but I just could not find the exact combinations of letters, words, or lines just to get the healing begin. You see, so long as I still keep whatever it is that I need to write, I feel some kind of nausea or a sickness of sort. Until I finally put this into writing, I remain brain dead or immobile in most of my functions, honestly. Ironically though, how am I supposed to start a line when, as I said I am deranged with the fullness of so many things, I can't even begin rightly? This is really insane.
And what better way perhaps to begin things appropriately than to stay silent for a short while. As for now, I am in awe of what's going on around me. So moved and so awed, I don't think a poem would contain what's eating me right now. Yes, even recognizing the whole idea that something is taking my focus away from what I usually do when I see a keyboard, would take seconds to download in the head that indeed something is up in the air and I just can't wait. Like I can't wait for weekends, for Christmas and for a trip to Iloilo every Christmas break. But this one has nothing to do with trips or vacations. This is way better.
And despite choosing silence, I desperately wait for the time when I can finally speak and frolic with my pen or better yet with any keyboard I could find just to get this itch go away. Finally.
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