Just hitting the right notes

The warm winds of the dying down January chill dominates the horizon. The palm leaves cast a grizzly shadow as it bears down the weight of the moonlit sky and the drying adobe in which it is planted and has found good resort for the best of its life. People pass by, and yet only their backs forming a silhouette remind the viewing ongoer of what is to be known. In this crossroad between two giants in the learning institution---one that is the building of stacked books struggling to regain its glory in the days of fast media and multiple alternatives and the other building---a host of General Electives but never really the same as it was in its heyday we find the lovers, with one hardly seen with his arm over the shoulders of one slightly shorter and thinner partner. The valiant knight manages to elude the illusion of the stars, and wins the attention of his damzel. He is smooth in his ways. He breathes life, as seemingly challenging God on the surface, and pulls back on time before all is lost and he makes a wrong move. It is as if everything is calculated. His fair complexion shines with his white polo shirt and classy dark jeans. He is the typical modern day Romeo. We know not what he says, or his exact ways or his exact intentions. The fair lady, with eyes small and lips so amiable, if not embracing, looks into his knight's eyes. She, having been fooled more than once by false suiters and real-day flirts in her life, casts doubt. After three or so seconds, it does evaporate into the dark as if nothing did happen. She tries to triumph over this temporal struggle. She is after all, a strong woman of the times. Chivalry is dead to her, or at the least has morphed into its new form. Failed relationship once and a number of undeserving suiters have educated her, arming her blindingly so now she perceives herself to know much of the world. It truth, she yearns to experience more of this world. She has been fooled anew. Little does she know that chivalry indeed lives on and is in the behest of this man she finds comfort in. The gentleman, aware of the rhetoric of the times past, utters sweet nothingness to the air. To the cynical realist, perhaps this is the peak of nothingess. To the idealist and romanticist however, this is the grand experiment of social dynamism. He is putting to practice time-honored tradition in courtship and he, amusingly, is taking control. He lowers his head to her level. He whispers words of love and of a long future to her. She agrees for the meantime. Nothing is forever, she knows this for a fact. Yet she can't help but look at the past, not some fancied future. She recalls her childish ways. She recalls her once pragmatic outview of love. She had destroyed so many men's view on this before. And yet, this is no longer a matter of what she was, but what she could be. She goes ninenty and baits the man for that warm kiss. Bystanders, used to this undertaking, keep on drinking bottled soda or water to those joggers taking a break. It is the meeting of the sun and moon. It is also, the meeting of two great minds humbled by the invisible power they choose to submit to.

The author then walks by. He takes his attention away and refocuses on the bumpy road near Psychology complex. After all, he hears familiar voices from afar. He laughs and tells himself: "I could have been there. But I choose not to be. My destination is not revealed to me." He finds it rather silly, the very things he seeks in life. Along with him is a book by Rizal and on the other, a book by a Fox reporter on the Iraq War and American security. In his thoughts, work, and perhaps more on its way.

I could be there. I am better than what few prominent ones take me for. I choose not to be trapped in the cage of wishful thought. I am unceasing.

Or at the least, I try.

God, I try.

PS: Wala na talaga akong magawa hahahaha. Am surfing and had to make this all up in ten minutes. Kudos Jose Rizal!