Two Old Hags Gossiping In Colon

It might just be a disaster waiting to happen. An accident bound to wreck principles that have long stood as a foundation to what he fought for. But it is inevitable. He met her at a point where he thought his purpose was for something else, an innocent introduction led to a simple note and now he has a whole journal filled with secrets exchanged with the woman who he thinks might be the one.

But what about her? The other woman, the first one who stood in line for him while the sun's ray almost burned his skin, what of her? Is she that easy to discard? Like a little tent that anyone can dismantle and then store in a cabinet filled with dusts for safekeeping, only to be pulled out again for future use? What a sad state.

Maybe the well is dry now. Maybe he is tired and wants something else. Maybe what was enough is no longer enough. Old sheets need to be changed with fresh, crisp ones. Cigarettes turn stale. Clothes dictate change now and then. Even eyes go blind through time. You can see it in him. He rattles his keys absentmindedly, bites his nails like how masochists wait for blood and that smile---the smile that is meant for another.

I still think he is making a mistake. I hope someone knocks some sense into that thick skull of his. Did he not make a promise? Not just to her but to himself, that he will spend forever with her. She is perfect for him. She is all there is and that can be. How dare he!

But he is a man after all, despite his many claims. And he will not be able to stop that train from coming. It will come at its supposed time, supposed place. He will not stand a chance, fate has other plans for him.

Silly, silly man!

Who are we to argue with love? Maybe that meeting was a test. Maybe, maybe not. Oh well, it's best to leave it at that and wait for the next chapter of the story. For now, we have dried fish to sell to gullible tourists.