How
does one fall in love?
The
music is pumping. Neon lights, lights of different colors are blinking in
beat of the music. Or is it just an imagination? Smoking, thick, hovering
above heads of people cramped, closing in to them. Touching bodies,
caressing, skin to skin, they don’t mean to, perhaps, they just couldn’t
help it as they groove to the music. Men and women dancing close, almost too
close for comfort. But then, they were sedated that they don’t feel
discomfort. So sedated, they were rather enjoying it. Was it the alcohol;
the music and the lights; or was it a tablet they took?
How
does one want someone more than his life?
How
does one need someone like air?
She
danced. Her eyes closed. Alone. Sweat run down from her forehead to her
face. Amongst the other swaying bodies in groove with the music, he watched
her. And all that he could see is she.
How
could it be?
He
had never seen her before. It was only there, in the dance floor. That was
the first time he saw her. Yet, too much, at that very moment have he
thought of her. So much in so little time; so little like in a snap of a
finger, she meant the world to him.
She
danced still, oblivious of him and perhaps of the others… of the world.
The
world? How much does the world mean to him?
So
much. He stood there with his double scotch at the dark corner, a distance
away from the dance floor. He just stood there watching her. Nobody was
there to stop him. He could very well gulp his drink, discard the glass to a
table, and walked to her.
Nobody
was there to stop him. He could just stood there near her, pretend to dance.
Just to be near her, nobody was there to stop him, nobody but himself.
He
stood there in the dark and watched her. There was so little satisfaction to
nothing in just watching her. But he stood there still as if waiting for
something.
He
wants her.
Out
of nowhere, a man put his arms around her. Still moving in tune of the
music. Her eyes still gently shut… as if asleep, dreamy.
More likely, she doesn’t know the man… more likely, she have no
recognition if indeed there was a man touching her or that it was a dream.
More likely, the caress from the man to her body for her was just an
addition to the pleasure.
It’s
pleasure. Neither is good or bad.
He
could have been the man feeling her body. He could have been the man who has
her breast cup on his hand, smelling her hair, blowing into her ears, down
her neck.
They
danced.
He
watched.
How
does one fall in love? It’s 3 a.m.
It
looked like they were working things together. It looked like they were to
end up fucking each other in some bed, whose bed? Would it matter?
It
looked like the man have her and that she have succumbed. That was how it
looked like. And he had given up with regret, more regret than he was
willing to admit even to himself. Perhaps, he could have been the man. He so
much wanted to be the man.
Perhaps,
but then that was all it looked like.
Something
went wrong. Something made her snapped out of it. Was it something the man
said? Done?
He
pushed the man away. Released her self from the man, and walk down the dance
floor. Leaving the man in utter confusion for a moment –what have he done?
Does
it matter?
The
man went back to dancing.
What
went wrong?
One
big gulped, he emptied his scotch and left with hope. Hope?
Perhaps, that he catch on her. But then, what?
It’s
3 a.m. but the street is still peopled. From the door, he looked left, then
right. Where did she turn to leave?
How
much faith do you have in fate?
What
if it’s not fated to be? Is fate the end of everything, is all there is to
be?
He
decided to go left.
Peopled.
They lined the street, standing, sharing a laugh with someone they came
with, came to, someone they just meet. Conversations. Smoking. Just chilling
around. Walking through and fro. Peopled. Hope, fast, running dry. He walked
with urgency but with much attention to details, to people specially of other
women. So intently he looked so not to miss her.
Is
fate the end of everything? Is it all there is to be and that you have no
choice?
Is
life really a bitch, one lousy mistake and it let you pay for all eternity?
He
walked looking until the people thinned off, until there was just the street
and cars parked on the side.
Hope,
quickly, ever so quickly, running dry. Slipping. He refused to. Didn’t
want to. He was to hold on to it. Believe. No matter how little or none of
it is left. Hope.
How
could one want someone so much?
How
could someone need someone like air?
How
could this happen?
Hope.
He couldn’t just give up like that and accept the fact that he was cursed
forever to regret.
The
street was empty.
He
took one good look again at the empty street, as if making sure indeed it
was empty. Indeed, she wasn’t there. Then, he turned around to walk back
still with urgency. With little hope but still is with hope. Hope. He looked
around, to every face that comes his way. Hope. Walk past the club he was
in, where he saw her. Walk. Pleading. Face after face. Hope.
He
can’t, he refuse.
Then
it was again an empty street.