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The bed is unmade, like everything is.




One More Night - Stars

You'll never touch him again so get what you can 
Leaving him empty just because he's a man 
So good when it ends, they'll never be friends 
One more night, that's all they can spend



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he did the arm lock to attack all her weak points, which he still knew: feet, waist, armpits, wrists, and everything in between. and laughing didn't even feel wrong, just confusing in a comforting kind of way, because it was 2010 again that night.


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In re early morning episodes


1.
The night is young at 12:22. She looks out the window while everything is at pause, while the silence - this silence - cannot be construed as an acceptance or a refusal, just a statement of fact. The lights left opened in neighbor houses comfort her, for it just means someone else is up at this hour, waiting for something just as well, just as much. Maybe they're waiting for answers too: to a homework, to a person, to a feeling. Maybe they too are bothered, or tired, or distressed. But then she realizes some people sleep with their lamps on, and suddenly the people behind those windows are no longer there - and she is alone again. She counts the hours she still has left before day breaks and takes the silence as a yes, a yes to finally saying good night, to this, to now, to an unrealizable future.

2.
When she realized what her hands were doing and where they were going, she stopped, for what good would that do? She was touching the seat belt, the buttons, the door, (not him, no longer him), in hopes of still finding herself in this passenger seat she used to call her own. And then after a few more minutes of nervous fiddling she got what she wanted: the perfume was still there, perfectly enclosed in its box inside the glove compartment. 

3.
She looks at the mirror and she sees a different person. "You look anguished," a friend said last night, as an endearing insult. Somehow she hears the mirror saying the same thing, only with much resolve, and less humor.

4.
She looks at him, on the floor, and he is not looking back, for he is sleeping, he is away, he is somewhere else she couldn't hurt him. Maybe that's where he should stay, and maybe that's where she should want him to be. But she looks at the empty seat beside her and all she can think of is, What's taking so long?


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The Phantom of the Opera is there inside my mind.



Would you look at that, an actual weekend for once! I finally watched The Phantom of the Opera with my mom, papa, and tita (who took this picture) tonight. I've been waiting so long to have a break, and what better way to spend it than with an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical?

We last saw Phantom in 2009 at The Venetian in Las Vegas. But the performance tonight at the CCP was just as good, if not better. The actors were a delight to watch, and the overall effect of the sound and the set was a sensory feast. The only thing that puts the Las Vegas production a bit above this one was that the theater itself was built for Phantom, hence a bigger set and a much more realistic chandelier. Other than that, however, I found this production with much more pathos and bravado. I thought the performers were much better singers too, and every song was a delight to hear and see live.

(By the way, can I just say that in that scene where Phantom was forcing Christine into the wedding dress, all I could think of was, "But that marriage couldn't possibly be valid! For one, there's lack of consent on Christine's part! And where's the solemnizing officer?" Yes, yes, because that's how much I love Persons.)

I'm not regretting spending my weekend on this. Not at all.


No more talk of darkness, forget these wide-eyed fears.





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