Little Signs of Love.

Post-It notes, reminding me to eat leftovers in the fridge.

Helping me become a 1000% better cook.

Not letting me stay mad; figuring things out and making peace instead.

Being inseparable on the weekends.

Making plans to travel the world.

When I can make you laugh really hard, about anything, anything at all. – RSM

 

What song will play after the final scene of your life’s movie? 

after the last line is spoken by the up-and-coming young star that was cast to play you, and re-enact the highlights of all you ever did and what you’re about to do,

it’s important to specify these things, you know, maybe in a notarized will or some legally binding shit like that,

so that when your legacy is even further cemented by the highest medium available in cinema, long after you’re onto the next life,

you have your life shaped the way you wanted, before it’s recreated, broadcasted, flaunted, even, as a cinematic masterpiece, the best biopic since Ray (2004). 

That’s kinda how I look at it, the actions in life that I do, at least, I guess, whatever a ‘legacy’ means in the 21st century, be it called our ‘life story,’ or just a series of ridiculous snaps,

we shape our life’s trajectory every day with our impulses, actions and hesitations.

Am I gonna get up at 4 am today? I meann I could just hop a plane to New Zealand, change my name, and have a 2 and 3/4 year vacation,

but that’s not what I wanna do; run away from obstacles, I mean.

The best karma is demonstrated.

Cultivated, by your own hands, your own doings, the hard work you put into this life during hard times will eventually turn tides (like the moon).

Pulling through the rough patches – patient, poised, with a soda on the side,

is like when you have Onyx in a Pokemon battle and you’re about to unleash like, 3 turns worth of ‘Bide.’

Jussayin’, when the credits roll in the last scene of this biopic that so far only exists in my imagination, I don’t want it to be a cliche-catchy-radio-bs-whatever thing,

nor would I be so inclined to have only a song from my time, either, but no matter what era it ends up being from, I want it to get people thinking, smiling, loving, singing, and quickly blinking,

while looking into their soul’s mirror, contemplating, asking themselves just as a what-if:

What song will play after the final scene of your life’s movie? – RSM

 

P.S. My Choice is One Life by The Pillows:

(Lyrics in English)

Tightrope Walking

So close, yet so far once again, he was on the roof of the wrong building. He tried to open the door leading back downstairs; locked.

His back lay on the gravel and grit of the pebbles spread across the roof. Hands behind his head, the grey sky creeped along. Feet crossed, jacket unzipped and jeans ripped, he closed his eyes as the rain fell.

He awoke after what felt like an eternity. His surroundings hadn’t changed except for the sky, a smug grey now a cloudy black, save for the streetlights near and the skyline from afar. He turned his gaze from Manhattan’s lights to a solitary window, directly across from his rooftop sanctuary.

Window closed, lights on, white curtains parted, he began to regain hope. He knew those picture perfect curtains, just as if he had seen them yesterday.

The temperature was dropping. The cool Autumn wind was now a stinging gust, sure to be below freezing. His socks had some holes; his shoes had more. Underdressed, malnourished, and down to his last few cents, his long journey had come to a halt right at the end.

They had made arrangements before he left. Every night at 11:11pm, she would look out of her living room window, onto the street, waiting for him. Before he made the jump. Before he turned all his pesos into dollars, stuffed whatever he could into a tattered backpack and took off.

He said he would be there by September. Before he got beaten and robbed in Alabama. Before he narrowly escaped ICE in North Carolina. Before traveling from house to house, doing odd jobs for next to nothing. Before begging in broken English for 5 weeks in DC. He scraped money together for a Chinatown bus and a few calls to her on payphones.

As the November winds frosted his young face, she prayed and prayed, prayed and prayed again for him to get to her safely. A love she may have lost, but hopes to God she didn’t. She worked at the daycare in the morning and at the hotel in the evening. She said a prayer whenever she could for her love to come, but hadn’t heard from him since his troubled lips whispered “Te quiero tanto” on the phone two weeks ago.

Stuck on the roof, there he was, beginning to shiver from the frigid Northeast winds. He looked across to the white-curtained windows. He knew. He knew it had to be where she lived. He memorized her address, for the most part; he knew she was in apartment 5C. One street off makes a big difference when it’s below 30 degrees and are stuck on a roof.

He saw the roof doorway of the building across slightly ajar, light peaking through the cracks. A solitary cable ran from his roof to hers. He hoped with all his heart and soul it was hers; deep down, he knew.

He approached the barrier surrounding the rooftop. The cable connected the two buildings over their wide, adjacent alleyways, about forty feet apart. Looking down, he saw a 5 storey difference between the roof and the concrete floor.

Slowly, timidly, he placed both hands on the freezing cement ledge, brought both legs over, now sitting on it. He tapped one foot lightly on the cable; a thick cable, no shock, not slippery. He planted his right foot as firmly as he could. He felt his weight depress the cable. Adrenaline and fear consumed him unlike ever before. He knew the cable would bend, but not break under his weight.

He remembered the one time he went to the circus as a child, and cautiously lifted his left arm while holding onto the ledge with his right. As the sky decorated his filthy hair and clothes with light snowflakes, he knew that he had to find shelter. The shivering young man planted his left foot in front of his right, and let go of the ledge.

Before he knew it, one foot had stepped in front of the other; right over left, left over right, right over left, left over right. Small, balanced steps, he took, each leading him closer to the roof ahead. Arms spread, legs moving, he found an unexpected rhythm in his footwork. He focused on the cable ahead, not on the concrete floor below, and recited prayers to himself over and over. Right over left, left over right, right over left, left over right. A gust picked up over the alleyways, but he was not deterred. He had come too far to fail.

He reached the opposite ledge. He climbed over, arms chilled to the bone, and fell onto the opposite roof. He hurried into toward the door, not looking back at the aerial gap he had just conquered.

He ripped the door open to the warm, well-lit building. Down the stairs one flight, his stiff, wet legs descended, and he was on the 5th floor. He slowly approached the door marked ‘5C’, with tears already falling, warming his frozen cheeks. He rang the bell several times and yelled her name, a faint cry at best. He heard frantic footsteps and many locks unlocking.

The door opened. There she was.

They embraced like never before, with more passion then they ever would again. She had a rosary in one hand, cell phone in the other, with the time on the screen reading 11:11pm.

Rain Hails And Love Reigns

The rain hails in figurative and literal terms,

a kamikaze attack in the billions, as the streets get cloud bombed

and all the birds take a break from singing their love songs,

Lovers-no-more wonder where they went wrong,

Seeing only through their rear view mirror,

and their most recent turn, instead of the road ahead.

 

As the rain falls, so do the lights,

and lovers find themselves in each other’s arms

while getting lost in each other’s eyes.

The rain only hails to lovers on its way to the stage,

playing a consistent, smooth tone during its performance.

 

No matter how deep, how wondrous, how intense,

the rain gently caresses the ears of listeners,

sending emotion through the air with every drop.

All who hear and see the sky so grey and unclear

perceive the feelings of raindrops as they do:

 

The stillness of peace, a gentle sadness,

a melancholy holiday, ruined by a dark cloud’s madness.

Emotional wifi, these raindrops are.

 

With each seemingly insignificant stream of precipiation,

we are connected to nature, and feel our moods accented

as goosebumps rise on our skin, and a feeling of cool wetness settles

the water from above refracts our feelings

not unlike a glass of water, or a pond below refracts light.

 

Lovers can’t be starcrossed with dark clouds in the sky.

Real love has the patience to see the storm through. – RSM