Player of the Game

Cigarettes & Lighters (Clara Benin)

I think I can fully comprehend now how truly alone I am. It's 12 midnight and I'm sitting on my bed, facing a television screen that isn't even on, my feet were tangled with the smooth satin feel of my blanket, and I'm still wearing the clothes of yesterday.

More than Words is playing in the background. It's reverberating as loud as a reminder that love should not be left unspoken or else it would ruin the whole purpose of itself— who would want such an invalidation of one's existence?

Much more to this night, I contemplate if I really had loved enough. If so, why is there no one running her thumb through my hair, softly reprimanding me to give the world a rest?

Why is there no one snatching my jittery fingers away from playing with the loose ends of my rather tacky comforter and kissing all fears away from each fingertips?

Why is there no one caressing my cheeks— why is there no warmth to lean on?

Dearest Fel, I think this world had grown lonelier without you.

— Beatriz, On one of those nights when Ben & Jerry's can't be of any help

___________________________

Jhoana.

EVERYTHING is Victorian.

The walls are covered by the sky blue vintage wallpaper adorned by cream and gold roses. The windows were arched and surrounded by rose gold ornaments. I can think of no less beautiful thought about the thin ecru lace window draperies swathed with gold stripes.

The big plush chairs were decorated by crimson Brocade patterns while the singular circular table was laid upon by a lacy white table cloth. It was further decorated by small vases with light pink roses and a three-tier cake stand displaying all kinds of heaven.

But unlike the surroundings, the background music seemed to renegade from the modern time as it continuously lulls a piano rendition of an indie music. I recognize the piece as La Lune by Billie Marten. But this music was particularly different— the way the music is being played makes a very vivid picturesque of a staircase leading to the curb of the moon. The feeling is concrete, non-impossible at all. Even at a closed room, I can feel the beauty of the night surrounding me furthermore illuminated by the moonlight.

How can someone create such a beautiful music cover?

I began reaching for the teacup that the lady earlier had poured my drink into. I breathed in the smell of white vanilla and grapefruit (a perfect usual mix) before finally drinking it— slowly and tastefully. Then as if following through, the inevitable smell of strawberries and coconut cream made my stomach lurch.

"Isa lang. Isang maliit na kagat lang." Sabi ko sa sarili ko habang dahan-dahang umaabot ng isang piraso ng vegan scone. I was once told by my mother never to dig in my scones no matter how hungry I'd get. I should always take time in splitting my scone in half and spreading my jam very slowly on one side and butter on the other.

I slowly spread the coconut cream on the scone and put two pieces of freshly picked strawberries on top of it. I think I had three in no time. Manners be damned.

I heard myself hum in satisfaction as I wiped away the crumbs off my lips.

My eyes wander around the room and finally made me realize how this place is like a stage setup, you know, the ones you see on theaters—those with really cool bloated budget for the production. There has been changes in the background music.