Imaginary Love

I got depressed all of a sudden. Like on my previous post, I talked about how content I already am in being single. Now, it all came to me in a whip (with no cream) and it was like cars crashing.

I had dinner in Tiendesitas after attending a Con-celebrated Mass in Mega Mall presided by Cardinal Gaudencio Rosales. I just had to squeeze that in because, man, I felt blessed ultimately. So going back, I had dinner in Tiende as I said and the place was polluted by lovers passing me by. I asked, “Where is my somebody? There’s no way these people are prettier than me. Why am I alone and why are they taken, or pretending to be, at the very least?” I hated the feeling. Like the world came crashing down and I woke up.

It’s this day. This Sunday’s been pretty slow. And blame it on Lily, it’s her song Who’d Have Known. Like the whole addicted-to-the-song got me too far and now I’m back to longing for someone which I knew I’d only hate if I nurture it.

So now, it’s either I oppress the feeling or I let it flow. If I choose the latter, I swear, I’m gonna open myself to all the krazies out there. I’ll figure out where all the good people hang out and pick or have myself get picked up. I guess I’m ready. OR… I may just be saying this because I’m a bum, I have no job and I have all the time in the world, during the afternoons mostly. I dream of just staying in bed with whoever the person-to-be is and just DVD, get crazy, get stupid and do nothing, bum around, cash out, cash out and just cash out! Burn lungs, drown liver and fall in love.

Or not.

I have this new face I’ve been imagining since… And I have no idea where on earth I could find the person who owns it.

Oh and you might suggest that I just pick from whoever I already know and start a relationship with that person to save time in getting-to-know. I say, hell no. If I’d liked someone from the people I already know,I would’ve started dating whoever that is a long time ago already. I’m dreaming of a new face, a new person, new sounds, new music junk, new love. Oh well. Words flowing out from a hopeless romantic who’s just trying to be happy.

Every kind of love,

or at least my kind of love

must be an imaginary love to start with, baby.

Lily Allen, Rufus Wainwright, you caused me this drama.


~ by ardenkhan on 08/11/2009.

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