McDonald’s and more…

Last night, while i was on my computer, two of my closest friends called and asked if  i’d be up for a random night out…

Casually with these friends  , we’d go to McDonald’s to talk, eat and more… most nights we spend in that happy place, we share stuff like how our day went, whose ass got kicked in school, which people were seen where and the like… typically these conversations end up to one thing…

Us,  way back when college started, and US, a few years after college ends… ,it’s a conversation we’d call sad and happy at the same time.

To those nights, we recall how we all met that very day, how we all looked, dressed, talked,laughed,cried and dared to become better friends we are now.

Well, that part’s easy. What almost every time brings us to silence, or sometimes, even to tears are those times we have to move aside memory lane and look past it. Those times we imagine ourselves say , ” Those were some 4 years huh, i guess it’s goodbye?..“.

Around that table in McDonald’s, we look at each other and say, “ One good night to remember”.

Those moments,, we have talked almost all things under the big bright moon (yes, it never happened on daytime as we are all self-confessed  to be nocturnal creatures),…

Whether its about some event that calls us to be happy, or a quite “fucked up” (pardon the language) one.

Like who do we see getting married first, who’d probably fail his or her marriage, who’d do good, who’d have affairs.. etc. regardless of what we talk about we always end up calling it a good night.

Whether all three of us go home happy, drained or depressed, we’d still have the liberty of calling it a “good night” as it all happened with us around that one messed up table in McDonald’s. To Georgia and Andrea, cheers to many more candid good nights!

From neckties, bouquets, candles, and crisp champagne linens

From neckties, bouquets, candles, and crisp champagne linens. As far as I know, there’s not a single person who ever failed in identifying these things and relating them to this one special day where two people brought together by faith, by chance, or by choice officially becomes each others better half for the rest of the time breath dictates may it be in front of an altar, inside a mosque, by the bible or under a tree for that matter…

As most fairytales suggest, a prince strolling the woods soon finds true love almost immediately after their eyes meet with his princess, or some pair of glass slippers suddenly brings everything to “ they lived happily ever after” or a torrid kiss with the princess and the frog strikes fireworks to the sleeping sky…

In reality, there are no castles to climb, or fire breathing dragons to brave, no petals of curse or some magical mirror that speaks. The frog may not even turn into something even better looking; let’s say a prince after a kiss, two kisses, or three. Glass slippers do not fit all the time, or there maybe no slippers, nor glass to fit at all..

What is there instead of brick walls, beasts, talking teapots and fairy godmothers?…

I’d say, unsent letters of doubting hearts, eyes that stare at the ceiling for hours, feet that travel shorelines, and emptied feelings waiting to be cradled and filled once more…

Unarguably, there are more chances of heartbreak than love in this earth.. And that, finding that soul whom you’re supposed to end with is nothing short of a miracle..

Somewhere around the globe, there’s this one person who writes ,yet is not written back, someone who dreams, but not dreamt about, someone who saves you every time, yet you never have saved even once… someone who loves, yet never loved back… someone waiting , unknowingly left alone…

If you’re one them, I guess what you feel is painful, for lack of a better word, if you’re not, then I guess you’re in bliss, to say the least.

Love is not when things are picturesque, scenic, of dramatic fashion and what have you,.. Because, it never was, never is and never will it be, for if it will, it is everything the world is but love then…

Sometimes, because of how idealistic we are of love, we end up not noticing that, what is there right before your “imaginative, idealistic, creative, and blind” eyes is actually love in its finest seconds, in most chances than not.

It is not that love only exists in the movies, but fairytales…,
It need not to be an elaborate dinner in gold-rimmed dine ware and cutlery; it is the rustic bench with the plaid linen under the summer sun.

It is not professed in the funkiest accent and rooted from the most sophisticated literature, because after all, what ever culture you are from, you will agree that it is always at its best when “shown” rather than “said”…

It is not the fresh bunch of blooms, but the wilted ones in your closet…,

it is not the night when you wear the priciest trousers or the dress quilted in cashmere, but the night you simply dressed but eagerly awaited to happen..

It is not the high end steak cuts in the restaurant, but the sandwich nobody understands but you..

It is not the fancy limo ride along the well lit avenues of urban streets, simply, it is the thought that you could take that ride together..

Apparently, love is not when things appear to be beautiful.. Love is when things feel beautiful, regardless if it shows or not…

The cliff hanger

Let’s just say I’m falling now, every body falls, fall at the right place, fall at the wrong ground,it’s either you fall and something soft hits you.., like love, or someone, or you hit something solid, much like red bricks on the sidewalk.. Like truth, your truth, mine… The world.

We are all cliff hangers, who all walked towards that corner, that edge we all know to be spellbound by gravity and more. We all come back to refresh our long dead dignities, our torn out selves, our destroyed hearts, and lost dreams.

Despite the fact that what borders those different facets of happiness are lies, danger and heartbreaks, we all still come back to risk that chance of glee, those chances of positive sighs and those memory worthy whiles to the dark and apparent chances of falling.

Right at the tip of that cliff, we remember those beautiful times, beautiful in every sense of the word against the bitter truth that poses harm to the nearly fallen dare devils. Dare devils in the sense that we try our hardest to reach that place for meaningful sunrises, for never ending sunsets, for breath taking scenes and what have you.

These are times you call yourself strong; these are times you call yourself wicked.

These are times, when most people tell you, don’t.

I am not in confusion with the facts of danger aligned along the very things that cause me to stay at the very cliff of cliffs. Anyhow, these things wouldn’t possess their importance if not for the truth that sets them apart from the safe shores or the less difficult treks. They are what they are, dangerous, yet fulfilling in a way.

I’m not justifying the dangers, I’m simply telling you what most cliff hangers say.

It’s worth the danger. Nobody said you couldn’t fall, nobody said nobody has ever fallen.

Yet now I fall. Fallen hard, in broken pieces you can never count, nor put together the same way.

For some reason, it teaches you not to go that far or that close. But we all do. Sometimes when you go somewhere or some place where every now and then presents you loops, heights and steps, there’s not much decision to make. You end up putting them aside and continue; even the vivid signs of pain and much more.

And now I’m in a place most cliff hangers don’t want to be at, looking up from below, the cliff I chose to stand on. Deep in the heart of pain, in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere which can only be described as the place once below the cliff. Not exactly the best place to be at, nor the best place to call heaven.

Typically, most cliff hangers embark on a walk to either go back up, climb the hard rocky wall, or dare to go near another spellbound cliff but for the cliff hanger who calls this painful enough; this cliff hanger’s next decision shall now depend on the next time somebody promises a lighter fall.

He shall not be called coward, he dared, he shall be called the fallen, too broken to climb, stayed too long hanging, fell the hardest, bleeding the most, still spellbound, never scared. Just now.

As the cliff exist, you must now that you did not push him to fall, he got too weak to hang on, the story goes, the fact is, it’s neither the cliff nor you who shared the cliff sent him below, he just hanged to long, he always knew he’d hang somewhere, some time just not how long. And so he let go, he fell.

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