Manila has always had this foggy gray 5pm. And it will be like this on most days. Which is just great for the sun, wounding the sky into an eye-shaped cut.

I can somehow feel its cut.

We have bled already. But because we don't want to recognize the pain, we carefully hide them behind the fabrics of hugs and kisses.

Why are you leaving?

It's just for a few months.

Just some of the questions that should not be asked. Just like the pain.

I woke up this morning and it jabbed me on the chest. Seeing you sleeping will be like an empty breakfast table after you step on the reality of your dream. But i know, once you have stepped into that, then so am i. The you is me and me is you? :)

A few more of these manila grays...

A little more cuts on the sky....

Yet another jab on the chest.

I'm hearing blue skies by Hale again! Quick! Run away with me!


Yours,

Tristan