‘Here comes the feeling you thought you’ve forgotten, chairs to sit, and sidewalks to walk on’

it was summer. it was war.

it was high fives with people you barely even know, i call it the rainbow connection — fuzzy and psychedelic. it was dancing without knowing how. it was confidence without high heels.

it was the almost-gray-area that never was. because it just wasn’t. it was the best friendship. just being there, complete sleep-wake cycle or no.

it was the infatuation that was the omega and the alpha. it was goodbye fuck-buddy and to the brains in your balls too. it was hello kaleidoscopic butterflies fluttering in my intestines, jazzy and bright. it was you.

it was music and love and art and life, as cliché as it might sound. but a cliché becomes a cliché for a reason. for a fucking good reason. like France and Shakespeare and happily ever afters.

it was not growing up. it was not wasting time. it was not getting wasted. it was not getting high. it was not not caring. and so it was.

it was seeing daytime in the vintage blue pink and white and the city nights red yellow and black. it was beauty of the scorching sun in Quezon City and giant sunflowers in UP. it was cheap metaphors and romanticized concrete buildings.

it was a comic book drawn with my right hand.

and i’m left-handed.