some fragments, way overdue

of a love letter to the only place I'll ever love.

• Every dark corner; every rat-infested room, every peculiar scent I've long given up on knowing more about.
• Love. And all it's perils - including, but not limited to: drinking in midafternoons, lying in the middle of the road and rolling down hills completely sober, skipping philosophy classes to drink, reading Kundera's Unbearable Lightness of Being and de Botton's Essays in Love umpteen times and everytime, misreading every line as a direct quotation from your own existential love life (or lack thereof).
• Coming home to a broken mirror with a note that says: I'm sorry, the mirror was fragile; just like me. - Chase
• Snow in the guise of kapok, foretelling the arrival of summer. Foreshadowing goodbyes.
• Poking my face between the pages of Sexing the Cherry in his presence, after he's trekked the Kanluran road to my apartment, to help me apply the feminist and marxist approach on the subversion of roles of de Botton's lovelorn characters. Darn it, he so smart.
• Hoard of extra mattresses, awaiting, often hoping for, the fleet of surprise guests (welcomed or otherwise).
• Closing down Faustina's, the muffled sounds of violin, five cups of cheap coffee after, "to love someone out of compassion means not really to love."

lately, all I've done is write you letters I've nowhere to send.