first poem of the year

/*

Should the sun set
should the sky decide to crimson
i'd let time spend its only pause
on an otherwise fleeting moment
where clouds bleed in beauty
and rays vanish into specks
the end of my day
is mundane as expected
long enough for my eyes to glisten
fast enough for my tears to end
i will not regret or worry
should I be found in a standstill
my empty hands are not empty
my inertia remains unthreatened

/*

what is unwritten

This is the story you already know, have heard of, read about and if you're lucky enough, experienced.

[insert the inspiring, heart-melting and fascinating story here.]

- - -
For over a month now, I've been trying to finish a piece --- on love. And needless to point out, I haven't finished it. I cannot finish. I can always blame it to my lack of time (busy eh) or owe it to the fact that it's not, in any way, urgent (pang blog lang eh) but something tells me that there's THE obvious - that thing my friends would normally know about - why oh why - it's hard to remember the absent.

They say to write well, you have to write what you know. This is what I know. Today and perhaps long after today, I still cannot make that draft a post.

P.S. It's not like I didn't try - - - I have around 7 paragraphs after that italicized text scribbled all over my white cattleya, but the words are just here and there. If this didn't make sense to you then you got the point.