Blame It on the Blackstar

       She saw the outline of his body against the light the hotel room emitted. His shirt strewn across the floor, and some packets of a popular rubber brand on the side table of their rented room. He was sleeping soundly, and she could hear the faint sound of the hotel staff outside, and it was already 3am. She was still awake, and she marveled at this man's being. She thought, that foreign love, is a difficult thing to do. She remembered their conversation last night, that they had finally admitted to themselves that this love they think they have wasn't real, while beer was on their lips, and an atmosphere of total surrealism. 

     Maybe the magnitude of their love was too much for them that they they felt sick at the pleasure they were having, just seeing each other, just kissing each other whenever they had a chance. In the jeepney, you know in the 3:00ams of their 7-11 coffee breaks, during conversations that stopped only to grab the minute to feel each other again through their lips. Reminding themselves that everywhere they went were public places. And she remembered how he took her hands and kissed them under the white lights of that nostalgic convenience store, she smelled brewed coffee on his breath, and she longed for it too.

     She felt, that in the longest of all the longest times, she had met one of the most beautiful men on the planet. There was a lullaby that was set deep in her heart only to be awoken by this man she had met three months ago. The whole world, she believed, was right then and there in the hotel room. The beautiful belt that she took off of his pants, and his shirt from Cambodia showing the letters of their alphabet, his hair that she gently touched, his whole idea, his whole existence meant the world to her. She was lost yet secure in this man's heart, for she knew that she will never come across any man like him ever again. She was ever so sure of herself that she wanted to marry this man, if he ever proposed. 

     He said all the right words, she felt that his words were carved out only for her. She imagined a life with him, and it must be so damn delicious to be with this man, laughter was everywhere, they were freakishly careless, though he was 10 years her senior. They were like kids that roamed Angeles City at the early mornings, no one was there. Only a few people to witness their escape from prying eyes. 

    So this man, on the bed with her, she saw his calm existence in the form of his sleep, and she thought to herself that this man doesn't deserve to be hurt by anyone. He was the purest she has ever seen in her life, unlike her, so young and yet so poisoned by the darkness in her life that she wishes to hide. The steady rhythm of his breathing slowly pulled her back to sleep.

She loves him. She does.