Hindi Kami Bati Ng Moon.

So there I was, smoking a cigarette outside my friend’s condo unit. Maybe it was the silence; the absence of the usual traffic that clogs Vito Cruz day in and day out–or the cool breeze that blew on my face and carried off each stream of smoke I exhaled–that got me suddenly thinking.

Of things long past. Of things that are. And what things could be.

Things I always knew I have to be thinking of, but would readily dismiss as soon as they’d turn up. But there they were again. But this time, for some reason, I silently swore: What I lost, I will gain back. What I have now is not what I want, and is something I will improve on. I may not know what the future holds, but I’ll make damn sure I’m going to be there.

Bold words.

As I looked up to the uncharacteristically clear evening sky, I caught sight of the moon. The pale light that shone weakly along its shape, and how it dimly lit the dark blue blanket of the night. Like a friend one would never admit to needing but was always welcome whenever he showed up, it was suddenly there. And like an unbelieving friend whom you’ve just spilled your soul out to, its glowing crescent showed a smile. Only it wasn’t the reassuring kind. Its smile was sarcastic.

Pakyu, moon.