kwentuhan 2008

It was an unbearably small feeling, and yet it’s there. Sometimes he forgets that he  has one, taking his usual dosage of never-ending dreams. What a pity, for what he sees as the most trivial of all feelings, it is really the most potent one. The one that can cure his illness. And yet he ignored it just the same. I sometimes think that this… business of neglected affair is in fact his deliberate attempt to prove a point. But then the point was already forgotten, piled under his usual forgettable thoughts and discarded past that became one of mankind’s greatest mistakes. What a pity.

This morning, he sat by the window, staring at the little people minding their little lives, his right hand holding a glass of water — half-empty or half-full, he wasn’t sure — while the other was resting in his pocket, his fingers playing with the few change left from the last night’s trip. Even though he can’t hear it, he liked the sound of his fingernails scratching the silver edge of the coins, as if resonating across his empty room. Hours of staring at a crowded nothingness, and fingers twitching in the dark — ah, a sight to behold: a man staring down like a god, unmoving.

And then he jumped, still holding his glass of water, and woke up dead.